Limone hailed a cab back to the Lane family estate.

As she stepped into the grand hall, the sound of Sophie’s voice drifted toward her—light, animated, almost annoyingly harmonious. But the moment Limone appeared, the atmosphere thickened, as though someone had yanked the needle off a record.

Her face unreadable, she crossed the hall without pausing, her sole thought to retreat to her room.

“Limone!” Norton’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. “Stop right there! Is this what it’s come to? You walk into this house, see your elders, and don’t even bother to say hello? Is this the attitude you have now?”

She stood motionless, not looking back.

“Don’t think for a second that some school nurse backing you up or your little threats to call the police mean you’ve suddenly got a safety net. Without us, without the Lane family, you’re nobody. Nothing!” Norton’s voice grew louder, angrier, as he rose from his seat. “You think we favor Sophie? Have you even considered the things you’ve put her through? Her father saved your life—do you hear me? Saved your life. What we’ve done for her is paying a debt, your debt!”

Limone’s body felt leaden, her patience frayed to its last strand.

She drew a slow breath before turning and looking toward the couch where Norton and Sutton sat. “Sutton. Norton. I’m home.” Her tone was flat, neutral, devoid of the warmth they seemed to demand.

There. That should do.

Sutton, ever terse, responded, “Dinner’s ready.”

“You eat,” she replied calmly. “I’m not hungry.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed upstairs.

Behind her, Norton’s voice rose again, sputtering indignation. “Sutton, did you see that? Did you hear her? The attitude—she’s out of control!”

Softly, Sophie chimed in, her voice trembling with practiced meekness. “Norton, please don’t be upset. This is all my fault. Maybe... maybe if I left the family, Limone wouldn’t... wouldn’t feel this way anymore.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! If anyone’s leaving, it’s going to be her. Why the hell should you go anywhere?”

Their voices carried up the staircase, but Limone didn’t care to hear more. She climbed faster, crossing the threshold of her room and locking the door behind her. There, against the cool wood, she sank down. For a long while, she just sat, her breathing uneven, her hands pressed to her temples. Her eyes stung, warmth pooling despite her best efforts.

She tilted her head back, fixing her gaze on the ceiling. No. No tears. Not this time. She swallowed hard, forcing them down. Whatever she had once hoped for, those brother-sister bonds, that so-called family... she was done trying. Done.

*****

The next morning, she went to school as usual, showing no sign of the tumult inside her.

Sophie rode in the same car with her. Limone felt Sophie’s nervous gaze flitting in her direction, until at last the girl broke the silence.

“Limone... are you still mad?” Sophie’s voice was tentative, careful, like someone testing thin ice.

Limone turned her head slightly, leaning back against the seat. Her words came sharp and low. “Sophie, aren’t you exhausted? Acting all the time, everywhere you go. Doesn’t it tire you out?”

She closed her eyes, effectively cutting off the conversation.

Sophie’s expression faltered, darkening briefly before she caught herself. But the driver was watching in the rearview mirror, and Sophie quickly slipped on that pitiful, wounded look she wore like second skin. She even managed a faint, brave smile for the man.

The driver frowned, his sympathies clearly won. Poor Sophie, forced to endure the cruelty of her elder sister. His mind was already ticking—he’d be sure to tell Norton about this later.

At school, Limone kept her head down, immersing herself in her classes. She took careful notes, catching up on the material she’d let slide before. Whatever chatter Sophie’s hangers-on directed her way, whatever nonsense Sophie's loyal sycophants whispered in earshot, she let it all wash over her. There were more important things on her list than wasting energy on these petty distractions.

*****

That evening, when she returned home, a familiar sight greeted her. Her sixth brother, Sixon, sat sprawled on the couch, his expression distinctly sour.

Sophie bounded over to him, her movements light and practiced, her face lit with that delicate charm she wielded so well. “Sixon! You’re back! I missed you so much!”

Despite his foul mood, the corners of Sixon’s mouth twitched. Sophie knew how to sweeten even the bitterest moments, and soon enough, his scowl eased.

Limone, observing quietly, turned away and headed upstairs. Before she could escape, Sixon’s voice pinned her in place.

“Limone,” he called, his tone edged with reproach. “Norton’s been telling me you’re more and more unruly these days. At first, I didn’t buy it, but now? You can’t even greet me properly. Not even a ‘hi, Sixon’? What’s become of you?”

She sighed inwardly. Not this again.

Resigned, she turned back, forcing herself to say it. “Sixon.”

“That’s better.” He leaned back, visibly satisfied. “By the way, I’ve decided to reform my old squad. Sutton and Norton are on board. You should join us too.”

Her fingers tightened around the straps of her bag. Hard.

Here it was. Just like the last lifetime.

Back then, when he’d asked, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d jumped at the chance to help, desperate for his approval, desperate to feel seen. She’d poured everything into it—training relentlessly, sacrificing her studies, even missing college entrance exams.

And what had it gotten her?

She saw it as if it were yesterday. Sixon handing down his decision with clinical detachment. “Limone, you’ve proven yourself. Now step aside and let Sophie take your place. She deserves a taste of championship glory too.”

He hadn’t even asked. Just declared it, cold and final: “I’m the team captain. If I say we’re switching players, we’re switching players.”

She’d given everything, fought tooth and nail to push the team to the finals. And in the end, they’d benched her. Stripped her of the chance to hold that trophy in her hands, only to hand it to Sophie on a silver platter.

Her sacrifice had meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Not this time.

This time, she wouldn’t be their pawn. Not again.

Limone's gaze was clear and unyielding. "Sixon, I want to focus fully on my exams. I won't let video games distract me."

The refusal fell stark and absolute, leaving no room for discussion. No, to be precise—she wasn’t rejecting a proposition. She was defying an order.

Sixon’s earlier words hadn’t come across as a suggestion. They were more a declaration of fact, an announcement of what was going to happen.

“Limone,” Sixon said slowly, his voice sharpening as his expression clouded. “I must’ve misheard. Did you just refuse my invitation?”

He looked thunderstruck. The idea that Limone would say no had never even crossed his mind when he offered her a position on the team. For years, she’d obeyed him without question, never defying his authority—never even sparking a crack in his control.

But now, Limone looked him square in the eye, her voice even and unshaken. “Since it’s an invitation, I have the right to turn it down.”

She didn’t look away, even as his face darkened, taking on shades of embarrassment and disbelief.

But his bruised pride wasn’t her concern anymore. She stood her ground, unyielding.

Sixon’s temper kindled. “Limone, you’d better think about your answer carefully before spouting nonsense. Don’t make a rash decision just to throw a tantrum. When you’re begging for a second chance, you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

He was still seething over what Norton had let slip—the story of her gambling away the golden trophy he’d given her in some vain attempt to appease Sophie.

That trophy meant everything to him. It was the symbol of his first professional championship win, a milestone that had defined him. And Limone had simply handed it over—passed it on as if it were nothing.

How could she have dared?

Softly, Sophie tugged at the hem of Sixon’s shirt. “Sixon, don’t be angry. Honestly, joining your team would be a dream come true for me. Don’t worry! Limone just needs time to think. She’ll come around.”

If Sophie had hoped to pour oil on troubled waters, she’d miscalculated. Her words only stirred Sixon’s fury.

He clenched his jaw. How dare Limone? She didn’t know how good she had it. To refuse him?

His voice lashed the air. “This is your only chance, Limone. Right here, right now. Decide—will you or will you not join the family team?”

What startled Limone wasn’t the anger in his voice, but the sudden absurdity of it all. Sixon wasn’t a lion, she realized—he was a paper tiger, manipulated and pacified in Sophie’s hand. A tug here, a flattering word there, and he roared on cue.

Sophie, basking in her feigned concern, leaned toward Limone with a simpering smile. “Come on, Limone. Just say yes already. You don’t want to upset Sixon anymore, do you?”

Calmly, Limone let her gaze settle on her. “Since you’re so desperate to join, Sophie, I’ll give my spot to you.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, shutting the door on any more of their games.

Returning to her room, she unpacked her books and situated herself by the window. The material was daunting, familiar concepts now murky with neglect, but she pressed on. She had no time to waste if she wanted to catch up.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A voice filtered through. “Miss Limone, dinner is ready.”

“Bring it to me here,” she replied without hesitation.

The servant hesitated. “But the Second Young Master and the others are waiting for you in the dining room. They’d prefer if you joined them.”

Limone exhaled. This wasn’t a request, she understood. It was a subtle but firm dictate—a reminder that she was still tied to the Lane family’s orbit.

Abandoning her books, she rose reluctantly and made her way downstairs.

The dining room stretched before her, its great hall lit warmly against the evening. At the far end of the long dining table sat Sutton, Norton, Sixon, and Sophie, murmuring among themselves like a tableau staged for her arrival. She picked a seat at the very edge, as far from the others as the table allowed, and wordlessly began her meal.

Conversation faltered, leaving the room cloaked in an uneasy silence. But soon Sophie’s tinkling laugh filled the air; deliberate, practiced, calculated to smooth away tension.

Sixon glanced down the table, his voice pitched just loud enough for her to hear. “Soph, after dinner, I’ll personally teach you the game mechanics. With your smarts, you'll pick it up in no time. You’ll be better than some people, I’m sure.”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled with mock humility. “Really, you think so? Thank you, Sixon! I’ll work hard! I won’t let you down!”

Limone didn’t so much as flinch. Let Sophie take the spot—let her revel in it. When the redemption matches ended in failure, when the family team collapsed for good, Sixon would have no one left to drag down but himself.

Quietly, deliberately, she continued eating, not sparing those at the other end a glance, not giving them a flicker of the reactions they once thrived upon. She didn’t pout or scowl or needle them the way she might have before.

Because now? She no longer cared.

When she finished her meal, she rose and cast them a quick, measured look. “I’m done. Take your time.”

Even that—offering a perfunctory courtesy—wasn’t worth the hassle of ignoring. Someone would only lecture her otherwise. Backlash for the smallest affront seemed inevitable in this household.

She turned to leave, but out of the corner of her eye, Sutton raised his head. He studied her for a lingering moment, registering something foreign in her demeanor: ice in place of fire, distance where heat might once have lingered.

He cleared his throat, his tone almost uncharacteristically soft. “Limone, are you really sure you don’t want to join the family team? Your talent in gaming… it’s remarkable. If we all worked together, a championship would be within our reach. A victory for us all.”

This path, Sutton seemed to say, was hers for the taking.

He offered her one last branch to climb down. The question floated, the moment hung. All eyes turned her way.

Would she take it?