32-
Niall POV
Ty places a hand on top of mine, a silent plea to calm down. But that's not what's going to happen.
It took everything in me to convince Ted to come to this dinner—to sit at this table with people who move mountains and rule like kings. I wanted him to see that my family, for all their power and presence, could be welcoming too.
What Mirelle won't do is intimidate him.
I saw the way his posture shrank, the way his eyes dropped. That barely-there wince when she questioned him in that clipped, cold voice. Like he was something to be judged.
No.
"It means exactly what it's supposed to mean," I say, cutting in before Ted can open his mouth. My voice is calm. Too calm. And everyone at the table knows me well enough to hear the storm beneath it.
Mirelle turns her gaze on me. That classic ice-blue glare that made high-ranking bureaucrats stammer. It doesn't faze me.
"Watch your tone, Niall," she says.
Ha.
The fucking audacity.
"I refuse to sit back and watch you intimidate him," I say, not backing down. My voice is even, but every fiber of my being is vibrating with restraint.
***
Thieran POV
The pheromones are everywhere. Suffocating. Choking. Mirelle and Niall are barely keeping themselves civil. I sit perfectly still, hands folded neatly on my lap, pretending to be absorbed in the fruit plate in front of me.
But inside, I'm vibrating with secondhand anxiety.
Poor Ted. He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. His posture is rigid, shoulders drawn in like a collapsing star, trying to make himself smaller. His gaze is locked on the silverware, his knuckles white where he grips the cloth napkin.
"I wasn't," Mirelle says flatly.
Niall lets out a sharp laugh that sounds nothing like humor. "Clearly, you think everyone at this table is a fucking idiot."
Rami shifts slightly next to Ted, as though ready to intervene, but even he looks uncertain. His hand hovers protectively near Ted's elbow, not touching, but close enough to offer silent reassurance.
I glance to Rami, silently begging him to do something. Say something. De-escalate. But he stays still, expression unreadable.
This isn't just a dinner anymore. It's a standoff.
And like always, the only ones who can truly settle this kind of tension are the cavalry.
Right on cue, the double doors at the far end of the hall open.
Enter: Dad, Father, and Allie.
My heart lets out a quiet sigh of relief.
Allie, bless his angelic little soul, skips in with his usual quiet grace, clutching a plush toy in one hand. He heads directly for Rami, who pulls him gently into the seat next to him and ruffles his hair.
"Hey, ghost," Rami murmurs, so soft only those nearest can hear. Allie beams.
Behind him, dad and father take their seats at the head of the table.