Chapter 6: The Man Who Suddenly Appeared

Selena's POV

A man was sitting on the stairs. No idea when he'd shown up.

He had on a dark gray loungewear top, one leg bent and resting on a step, elbow propped on his knee, looking completely at ease.

His eyes had a faint gleam, like someone who'd been sitting through a boring movie and finally hit an interesting scene.

His features had some resemblance to Jon's, but the vibe was completely different.

Jon was polished but shallow. This man gave off something casual yet deep.

Then his gaze landed on me and stayed there for two seconds.

There was a sizing-up look in those eyes, but nothing like Carl's condescending stare.

His was calm, like someone taking a closer look at something unexpected.

Jon's expression shifted into something strange for a moment — wary, but also a little defiant.

The man on the stairs stood up and came down at his own pace.

His steps were light, making only dull thuds on the wooden stairs, one after another, like some unhurried beat.

Elara reacted the fastest.

She set down her teacup, and the coldness and impatience she'd shown me vanished in an instant, replaced by a smile so gentle it was almost careful. She stood up and went to meet him.

"Leon? When did you get back? You could've called ahead — I would've had the chef make some of your favorites."

Leon Brown didn't look at her.

He walked straight to the dining table, pulled out the chair next to Jon, and sat down.

He picked up the unused backup cutlery in front of Jon and ran his fingertip along the edge of the fork, like he was checking if it was clean.

"Changed my mind last minute." His voice had a rough, half-asleep quality to it. "Wasn't planning to come back."

Elara stood behind him, hands unconsciously clasped in front of her, her smile stiffening awkwardly.

She went back to her seat and leaned forward slightly, her tone almost fawning. "Well, it's good you're back, it's good you're back. It's been so long since you've eaten at home. I'll go tell the kitchen to add more dishes for you."

"Don't bother." Leon picked up the fork and poked at the food on his plate without looking up.

I stood beside the table, my eyes drifting to him without meaning to.

Unlike Jon, Leon had sharper features — his jawline looked like it had been cut with a blade.

The way he sat was relaxed, yet he gave off a kind of heavy, commanding presence that only came from someone used to being at the top.

Carl cleared his throat and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

His movements were slower than before, like he was choosing his words carefully.

"Leon," he said, with a caution in his voice that hadn't been there when he spoke to me, "don't get the wrong idea about what was going on. We're doing this for Selena's own good."

"She's out there grinding away on the figure skating team with no family connections, and now her knee is injured. Pushing through will only mean more pain and suffering."

"We're suggesting she settle down and get married sooner rather than later. It comes from a good place."

Leon put down his fork.

The sound of metal hitting the plate wasn't loud, but in that moment, every small noise in the dining room went quiet.

"For her own good?" Leon raised his head and looked at me.

His eyes were gray-blue, and under the warm yellow light they looked almost cold.

Like a wolf's eyes.

His expression didn't change as he looked at me, but I could feel something aggressive in that gaze.

Then he shifted his eyes to Carl.

"You're pushing her to retire — and that's for her own good?" His tone was flat, but it cut straight through his parents' pretense. "Or is it for your reputation?"

Carl's face changed.

"What kind of thing is that to say." His voice dropped a little.

Leon leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping the surface twice.

It was a casual gesture, but somehow it made the whole atmosphere at the table tighten.

The corner of his mouth curved slightly — not really a smile, more like the kind of smirk you'd give something you found coldly amusing.

"Forget it if you don't get it."

Jon had been clenching his fist, and he finally couldn't hold back.

"This is none of your business."

"Leon, you're never home, and the one time you show up you start telling everyone what to do. Who are you to say anything?"

Leon looked at him, steady and unbothered.

His expression didn't shift. Those gray-blue eyes were as cold as a frozen lake.

Jon faltered under the stare. His lips moved like he wanted to say more, but the nerve was already gone.

"You invited her here for dinner," Leon finally said, his tone still flat, "just so Mom and Dad could humiliate her to her face?"

Jon's face went red in an instant.

Like someone had stripped away every last bit of his dignity.

His lips trembled. The only sound that came out of his throat was a vague, "No."

And then nothing else.

I watched the two brothers and felt suffocated.

This family was even more stifling than I'd imagined.

These people were completely hollow.

I suddenly felt very tired.

"Sorry to have bothered you. If there's nothing else, I'll be heading out."

I turned around and walked away without waiting for anyone to respond.

"Stop right there."

Elara's voice came from behind me, sharp with the kind of anger that comes when a carefully kept mask gets torn off.

"Selena, if you walk out that door, don't ever think about coming back."

"Let me tell you something — girls like you are a dime a dozen out there. Jon noticing you at all was your luck. You really think you're something special? You're just an orphan."

I was already at the entryway. I pushed open the front door.

Her voice kept going behind me, growing more distant, until the heavy wooden door cut it off completely.

The early summer night breeze hit me head-on, carrying the smell of grass and earth.

I stood under the porch, tilted my head back, and saw a few stars scattered thinly across the sky — not very bright, but enough to know they were there.

My knees were shaking.

Not from pain. It was my clenched hands making my whole body tremble slightly.

I breathed in deep, letting the cool air fill my lungs, pushing out the heaviness sitting in my chest bit by bit.

Behind me came the sound of the door lock turning.

I didn't look back. I assumed it was Jon coming after me.

I already knew what he'd say — the same thing it always was. Apologies, grievances, reluctance, playing the victim.

I didn't want to see it anymore.

But the footsteps behind me didn't sound like Jon's.

Jon always moved quickly, with a rushed, unthinking energy, like he'd bolted out the door before deciding why.

These steps were steady. Unhurried. Each one landing with weight.

"Your bag."

Leon's voice.

I turned around.

He was standing in the shadow of the porch, my bag in his hand.

He held it out — arm extended just the right amount, close enough that I didn't need to step forward or step back.

I took the bag. My fingertips accidentally brushed the back of his hand.

His skin was cooler than I expected.

"Thank you," I said.

I thought for a moment, then added, "Thank you for speaking up for me in there."