breakfast in luxury

< Mike Mansion >

11:30 AM

Dining Hall

Late morning sunlight poured through the tall arched windows of the Mike Mansion dining hall, warming the polished marble floor in long golden streaks. The room was vast enough to host twenty guests comfortably, though only five seats at the massive oak dining table were occupied.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, their light dimmed by the brightness outside. Fresh lilies arranged in silver vases lined the center of the table, their sweet scent mixing with the aroma of buttered toast, grilled vegetables, roasted fish, and hot tea.

Servants moved silently at the edges of the room, trained to become invisible when family tensions surfaced.

And this morning—

Tension sat at the table like an invited guest.

The soft clink of spoon against porcelain broke the silence.

Every eye shifted toward the youngest member of the family.

Mira.

She sat two seats away from her father, dressed in a pale pink indoor dress with lace at the sleeves, her dark hair pinned loosely with ribbons that matched the color. At fifteen, she still carried the softness of youth in her face, but illness had stolen the healthy glow girls her age usually possessed.

Her skin was pale.

Her lips often lacked color.

And even sitting upright too long could tire her.

Yet none of that changed one fact within the household:

She was adored.

Spoiled by her brothers.

Protected by her mother.

Worshipped by servants who had watched her grow.

And feared by no one except doctors.

Her fingers tightened around the silver spoon until her knuckles whitened.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Her father's voice was calm and low, the tone of a man who disliked unnecessary noise. But behind the calmness, his sharp eyes studied her carefully.

Mr. Mike sat at the head of the table, where he always sat.

Even retired, authority clung to him like expensive cologne.

Once one of the most feared businessmen in the city, he had built UB Company from almost nothing into an empire of manufacturing, imports, and technology supply. His investments stretched into hospitals, real estate, and transport. Among them was Parker Hospital, where he held major shares and considerable influence.

But illness had reduced what time could not.

His body was thinner now.

His shoulders not as broad.

His movements slower.

There were mornings his hands shook slightly when lifting tea.

There were nights he disappeared into private pain no one discussed aloud.

Yet at this table, no weakness was acknowledged.

Power still sat in his chair.

Mira swallowed hard.

Her throat felt tight.

Her chest always felt tight lately.

"Why must I go?" she burst out suddenly.

The spoon clattered onto the plate.

Her voice trembled despite the anger inside it.

"I don't want to go under the knife!"

Her eyes glistened instantly.

"What if something goes wrong? What if I die?"

The room went still.

Even the servants froze.

No one touched a plate.

No one breathed too loudly.

The fear in her voice was too real to ignore.

This was not childish dramatics.

This was terror.

Mira's heart condition had ruled her life since childhood. Every staircase was measured. Every school plan canceled. Every friendship limited. Every fever became an emergency.

She had watched other children run.

Watched teenagers gossip outside gates.

Watched the world through windows.

And now the solution everyone celebrated required her chest to be cut open.

Her old heart removed.

A stranger's heart placed inside her.

How could anyone expect courage so easily?

Mike lowered his gaze to his plate before answering, as though this conversation exhausted him before it began.

"We've talked about this."

His voice was quiet.

Final.

No softness.

No reassurance.

Just fact.

Mira stared at him in disbelief.

That was it?

No comfort?

No "you'll be fine"?

No "I'm scared too"?

Her shoulders slowly sagged.

The fight drained out of her.

Defeated, she stabbed uselessly at the eggs on her plate, though appetite had left long ago.

She wanted to cry.

But crying at this table always made her feel younger than she already was.

"Mira."

Bella's voice entered the silence like warm cloth over cold skin.

Gentle.

Firm.

Bella sat elegantly beside her husband, dressed in a cream house gown with pearl earrings and neatly tied hair. Even in private, she carried herself with quiet grace.

Unlike Mike's hard authority, Bella ruled through patience.

"You understand how important this surgery is, don't you?"

Mira didn't look up.

Bella continued carefully.

"After this, you'll finally be able to go to school like other children."

That made Mira's fingers pause.

School.

She had dreamed of classrooms she had never entered.

Friends she had never made.

Ordinary complaints she had never been allowed to have.

Bella's voice softened more.

"You won't be trapped in this house anymore."

Then her gaze moved briefly toward Mike.

"And your father went through so much to secure that heart for you."

That statement changed the atmosphere.

Everyone knew what it meant.

Money.

Influence.

Negotiations.

Pulling strings where ordinary people could not.

A donor match had not come by miracle.

It had been pursued.

Won.

Protected.

"Instead of complaining," Bella said gently, "you should thank him."

Mira's lips pressed into a thin line.

Her large sharp eyes narrowed.

Thank him?

For buying her another chance?

For deciding her fate without asking if she wanted it?

For loving her through control instead of tenderness?

She said nothing.

Because saying it aloud would become war.

Across the table, Mike had already moved on.

"Barnabas. How is the company?"

Barnabas lifted his gaze.

He wore a charcoal tailored suit though it was only morning, his tie perfectly aligned, cuffs immaculate. At twenty-eight, he had inherited not only the company but much of his father's presence.

Where Mike commanded loudly in younger years, Barnabas ruled quietly.

He rarely raised his voice.

Rarely repeated himself.

Rarely lost.

"Everything is proceeding as planned," he said.

His tone was measured and professional.

"We recently secured a contract with a foreign company. They're interested in purchasing our newly developed parts."

Mike nodded once.

Approval.

Small, but valuable.

"Good."

Barnabas returned to his meal, though inwardly he felt nothing.

Another contract.

Another expansion.

Another mountain placed on shoulders already carrying ten.

His life had become meetings, signatures, numbers, expectations.

Even breakfast was a boardroom.

Mike turned to his second son.

Abraham's chair was already moving back.

Bella frowned immediately.

"You haven't finished your food."

Abraham stood, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt.

Unlike Barnabas's composed authority, Abraham carried restless intensity. A respected surgeon with Parker Hospital, he always looked half a second away from leaving.

Because he usually was.

"There's an eye surgery requiring my attention," he said briskly.

"I won't be back today. I'll head straight to the airport afterward."

"Airport?" Bella asked quickly.

"Conference."

He was already walking.

"Eat something later."

"Yes, Mother."

Without waiting for more questions, he left.

The door shut behind him.

Silence returned.

Mira watched enviously.

He could leave.

Everyone could leave.

Only she remained.

"Brother…"

Her voice softened as she turned toward Barnabas.

"Can I come with you?"

He looked up slowly.

She clasped her hands together.

"I promise I won't be a bother."

Her eyes pleaded shamelessly.

She wanted movement.

Cars.

Buildings.

People.

Noise.

Anything but another day breathing luxury like prison air.

Barnabas hesitated.

Instinctively, he glanced toward their father.

Mike waved a hand dismissively.

"Take her."

Barnabas exhaled quietly.

Another responsibility added.

"Fine," he said.

"But you stay close to me at all times. Understood?"

Mira nodded so quickly her ribbons bounced.

"Yes!"

The sadness disappeared from her face in seconds.

Youth was merciful that way.

"I'll go change!"

She rushed from the room.

Barnabas frowned faintly.

He looked after her retreating figure.

"What's wrong with what she's wearing?"

Bella smiled into her tea.

Minutes later, Mira returned.

And somehow looked even more extravagant.

A white flowing gown with layered fabric.

Delicate gloves.

A bunny hat perched on her head.

Small handbag.

And heels entirely unsuitable for walking more than ten steps.

Barnabas stared.

"If that's your idea of looking better…"

Mira huffed dramatically.

"I can't go outside looking like a beggar."

Barnabas said nothing.

But inwardly thought:

If beggars dressed like this, poverty would disappear overnight.

"Let's go."

They turned—

"Barnabas."

He stopped immediately.

He knew that tone.

Family business.

"What do you think about Miss Sonia?"

Mike's voice carried expectation disguised as curiosity.

Barnabas's face remained neutral.

"It went well."

He adjusted his watch.

"She agreed to the marriage."

Bella's head snapped toward him.

"So soon?"

Her concern was immediate.

"You've only just met. Don't you think it's too fast?"

Barnabas met her eyes briefly.

He appreciated her concern.

But concern changed nothing.

As first son, his path had been mapped years ago.

Education.

Responsibility.

Succession.

Marriage.

Love had never been listed.

"Sonia is suitable," he said after a pause.

"She is calm, composed. A fashion designer with her own brand. Easy to talk to."

He did not mention her careful smile.

Her guarded eyes.

The invisible shadow of someone she once loved.

Or the fact he recognized another prisoner when he saw one.

Mike chuckled.

"What's the need to rush getting to know each other?"

He leaned back smugly.

"You have a lifetime for that after marriage."

Bella sighed softly.

Sometimes arguing with her husband felt like arguing with stone.

"After this month," Mike continued, "we'll visit her family and formally ask for her hand."

There it was.

Not suggestion.

Decision.

Barnabas felt the familiar emptiness settle in his chest.

A marriage arranged like a merger.

"…Alright."

"Brother!"

Mira gasped dramatically.

"You're getting married?!"

Her face lit up.

She clapped excitedly.

"Congratulations!"

Barnabas looked at her and, despite himself, smiled faintly.

She was the only one here who could make absurdity feel harmless.

"Come on," he said.

"We're leaving."

She waved cheerfully to everyone.

"Bye, Mommy! Bye, Daddy!"

The doors closed behind them.

And the room quieted again.

Bella slowly turned toward her husband.

"Don't you think this is too rushed?"

Mike leaned back fully, satisfied with himself.

"Sonia is perfect."

He counted on his fingers.

"Beautiful. Well-mannered. Educated."

Then his expression darkened slightly.

"Barnabas is excellent in every way…"

He paused.

"…except one."

Bella raised an eyebrow.

"He's too distant from women."

Rumors had reached him over the years.

Whispers in clubs.

Comments from associates.

Ugly suggestions that his son preferred men.

Mike dismissed them publicly.

But privately?

The thought irritated him deeply.

That was why he arranged the blind date.

A test disguised as matchmaking.

Now hearing Sonia agreed—

He felt victorious.

He snatched up his phone immediately.

One call.

Then another.

Then another.

Announcing the engagement like a man who had just won an election.

Bella rolled her eyes.

Childish.

Ridiculous.

Embarrassingly dramatic.

Yet as she watched him laugh into the phone—

Truly laugh—

Her expression softened.

For the first time in many months…

Her husband looked genuinely happy.

And that, more than anything, made her uneasy.

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️✋♥️♥️♥️♥️

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