The car slowed down. They had entered the private estate of the Virellano family. Beyond the black iron gates adorned with golden patterns stood a grand house built on a vast stretch of land. Tall pillars held up the front terrace, manicured gardens surrounded the main building, and large glass windows reflected the overcast afternoon sky.
Everything looked luxurious—yet cold.
The car came to a gentle stop in front of the main entrance.
Without waiting, his father opened the door and stepped out. He stood tall and glanced briefly at Al, who remained seated inside.
"Go in with Harun. Your mother is waiting inside," his father said flatly. "I have to head to the office."
No hug. No smile. Not even a single word of hope for their next meeting.
A well-dressed middle-aged man stood beside the car, bowing politely.
"Welcome to the Virellano residence, Young Master Al," he said with respectful formality.
He was Harun, the family's head butler. His voice was warm but cautious—like a man who had lived too long under strict protocol.
Al stepped out of the car slowly, eyes still fixed on the vehicle carrying his father, watching it drive off until the sound of the engine faded in the distance.
He stood at the door of the house they called his home.
But it didn't feel like coming home.
There was no warmth.
Al's footsteps echoed softly across the front hall of the grand house. Polished white marble floors reflected the golden glow of the chandelier above. High walls were adorned with classic paintings framed in gold, and the gentle scent of fresh flowers wafted from porcelain vases arranged with perfect symmetry.
This house felt like a living museum.
Beautiful, massive, expensive—and unfamiliar.
The main door closed slowly behind him, shut by Harun.
Now, Al stood at the threshold of a vast living room. His eyes immediately caught sight of a woman standing a few meters away in the center of the room.
It was Sandra Virellano—his mother.
She stood gracefully in a pastel-colored dress that hugged her slender figure. Though age had touched her, her face seemed barely changed. Her skin was flawless, her eyes glistened—but not with overwhelming emotion. It felt more like a wave of distant memories had risen to the surface.
"My son…" she whispered faintly. "You've… returned."
Her hand rose to cover her mouth, yet she stayed where she was.
There was no rush toward him.
No hug.
No flood of tears.
Only... carefully composed silence.
Her gaze dropped, scanning Al from head to toe. A plain black shirt slightly wrinkled, simple black trousers, and clean but modest sneakers—everything about him was just... normal. Too normal.
No signs of wealth. No luxury brands. Nothing about his appearance screamed Virellano—the third-richest family in Indorosia, known for their refined taste and grandeur. It wasn't that he looked poor, but in a world like this, simplicity was seen as low-class.
Behind Sandra stood three young women, all bearing the strong Virellano bloodline—smooth skin, elegant posture, and a beauty that radiated elite social status. Their eyes examined Al like a piece of artwork that didn't belong in their gallery.
The first girl stared confidently, her face unreadable.
The second appeared calm, but her posture held a clear distance.
The third didn't even try to hide it—a smirk formed on her lips, her disdain obvious without a single word.
And at the far end of the room stood a young man. He wore a casually elegant outfit, his hair slicked back with a touch of oil. Handsome and smiling—a smile too perfect to be sincere.
David Virellano.
The boy the world had known as the Virellano family's only son.
He stood with relaxed posture, but his eyes told a different story—suspicion, rejection, and quiet hostility.
So… this is my home? This is my family? Al thought.
He looked at them all.
None of them moved.
No welcome.
No embrace.
Only stares—dissecting every part of him.
How funny… I thought I'd be welcomed. But this is fine. I don't need some dramatic family reunion. Hah. Good, Al muttered in his thoughts.
The room felt cold, despite the warm lighting. The air had hardened—filled with invisible social pressure.
Al took a deep breath.
Not because he was nervous,
But because this... was exhausting.
"A-Are you… my mother?" he asked softly, his voice stiff and unsure.
Sandra stayed quiet. Then she took a shallow breath, composed her face, and gave a small smile—sweet, but not warm.
"Yes… I'm your mother," she said gently. She glanced behind herself and continued, "And these are your siblings. Three daughters, and one son—David. He grew up with us…"
She paused briefly, then added, "We… we've all been waiting for this day."
Al stared at her, unsure of how to respond to the awkward tension.
Then David stepped forward, calm and confident, breaking the silence with a friendly smile.
But his eyes revealed something else—sharp, cunning, calculated.
He extended his hand and shook Al's—firm but polite.
And beneath that handshake was a faint tension…
As if he were holding something distasteful but had to smile for the sake of image.
"Your name's Al, right? I'm David," he said smoothly.
"I'm… the one who grew up in your place. I guess you could say I 'replaced' you."
He chuckled lightly, as if it were just a harmless joke—though the tone hinted at territorial dominance.
Then he turned to the three girls behind him.
"Oh, and let me introduce our sisters who are at home right now," he said, gesturing with an open hand. "They're… some of the most brilliant women you'll ever meet."
First, he pointed to a tall, poised woman who nodded subtly.
Aurielle Virellano, 25, wore a high-end neutral-toned business suit. Her makeup was light but flawless, long black hair tied neatly. Her sharp gaze and composed expression radiated control. Beauty level A. Her presence dominated the room—every detail of her face was calculated elegance.
"This is Aurielle, our eldest sister. Vice President of the family business and Father's top business diplomat. Smart, firm, and… really hates chaos," David explained.
Next, he gestured to the second woman—standing slightly behind the others. Softer in appearance, yet clearly distant.
Sarah Virellano, 24, a well-known singer from the capital. She wore a flowy pastel dress that moved gracefully. Her wavy hair and soft bangs enhanced her sweet, almost doll-like charm. Beauty level A, close to A+. Calm and artistic, like a living painting.
"This is Sarah, our second sister. Famous singer. Her voice is known internationally. She's gentle... probably the least uptight in this house. Hehe."
Then he pointed to the third—wearing a white lab coat draped over her shoulders, round glasses resting on her nose. She looked busy reading notifications on a high-tech device in her hand.
Clarista Virellano, 22, a young medical researcher and biochemist. Beauty level A. Cold, brilliant, and eccentric—her beauty was like a luxury lab: cold, but expensive.
"And this is Clarista. Our fourth sister. A genius in medical research who just patented a wound-healing serum that works in seconds. She's... well, more interested in molecules than people," David added.
He nodded proudly, then gave Al a light pat on the shoulder—offering a fake sympathetic expression.
"Unfortunately, our other three sisters couldn't make it today," he added casually, though it was clearly intentional.
"Vianna, our third sister, is competing in the Inter-Asian Martial Arts Championship in Japania. Elena, the fifth, is in Zuriaska, attending the International Fashion Festival. And Lysha, the sixth, is at UI University attending a research seminar. She's a bit naïve, but her mind never stops."
David looked back at Al with a smile.
But it wasn't a welcoming one.
It was the smile of someone showing off a territory long conquered.
"Glad you're finally here," he said quietly. "Though… yeah, it might take time to adjust."
But in his heart, the words were different:
Look at you, Al. You arrived wearing plain clothes and a lost expression. This house isn't your place. They might call you family—but I'm the one they raised. I'm the one they trust. And I'm the one they'll always choose.
Suddenly, one of the girls spoke sharply and pointed at Al.
"Seriously? So this is the village boy they've been talking about?" her voice rang through the room, face filled with open hostility. "Sorry, but I can't accept this. I only have one brother—and it's David. Not you."
Their mother, Sandra, turned in shock, about to say something. But before she could speak, Aurielle shot Sarah a sharp glance.
"Sarah. Enough," Aurielle said firmly.
Sarah just raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.
"What? I'm just being honest. This isn't some soap opera where we pretend to hug a stranger. He may be blood, but family isn't just about DNA."
Al looked down for a moment—not out of shame, but confusion.
A small ember flared inside him…
But was quickly smothered by his deeply rooted laziness.
Hah… this is a mess already. I just want to lie down and rest.
After the tension, Aurielle—clearly the most senior and dominant—checked her luxury watch and nodded at her mother.
"Mom, I've got a strategy meeting at two at Indocorp Tower. The investors from Merlion Country have been waiting. I'm sure Al can find his way."
Sarah got a phone notification. She glanced at the screen, frowned, and said, "Sorry, I've got to take this." She left without looking at anyone.
Clarista quietly packed her bag.
"I need to get back to the lab too. My lead researcher will kill me if I'm late." She paused briefly, then glanced at Al. "Well... nice meeting you, Al."
A few seconds after Clarista left, their mother spoke softly, almost hesitantly.
"Actually… your other sisters really did want to come. But… please forgive them, Al."
Al just gave a faint nod.
Good. The fewer people, the less trouble. They're better off busy somewhere else. He thought, slumping back lazily against the sofa.