Chapter 4 The Familial agenda

MARCUS'S POV

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The air in here was heavier than Geneva - thick with heat, dust, and too many memories. I rolled the cuff of my linen shirt up as the driver loaded my suitcase into the trunk.

The car was sleek, navy, and already chilled inside. The second I slid into the back seat, I called my parents.

My father picked up first, voice crisp and efficient. "You've landed."

"Just now. Headed to the apartment."

"Good," he said.

My mother's voice joined in from the speaker.

How was your trip darling?

The trip was smooth, thank you for asking

"Any plans while I'm back?" I asked, already anticipating their answer.

"Yes, actually," she said, voice lifting. "We've arranged dinner with the Lennox family next Friday. Just a casual catch-up."

"Luna's family," I said slowly.

"Of course," my father added. "It's time we reminded the public - and the board - that our families are still aligned."

I stared out the window, watching traffic blur by. I hadn't seen Luna since summer - the charity gala at the Marina Club. She'd looked poised, polished. Distant. As always.

"And Luna?" I asked. "She agreed to it?"

"She'll be there," my mother replied, as if that was all that mattered.

Right.

Of course she would.

Because Luna never said no. Not to them. Not to anything that sounded like duty.

I knew what they wanted - the photo, the whisper of engagement, the idea that we were still the future power couple Roseshire needed.

And maybe... maybe part of me wanted it too.

Because Luna Lennox was the only person who'd ever matched me move for move in this game.

But something in me tightened at the thought. Not hesitation - something else.

Uncertainty.

I pushed it down and adjusted the cuffs of my shirt.

"Next Friday," I said aloud. "I'll be ready."

"Good boy," my father replied.

And just like that, the call ended

AFTER THE BELL

LUNA'S POV

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Roseshire's west lawn was unusually loud that morning.

A cluster of second-years hovered by the sculpture fountain, whispering. I knew why the second I stepped onto campus - Marcus was back.

I spotted him near the admin block, tall and sharp in a navy-blue button-down, laughing with Adrian like he hadn't just ghosted an entire continent for two months.

My stomach flipped.

But I kept walking.

Because today, I had a different problem.

Ezra Blake was leaning against the corridor wall outside Strategic Communication - sleeves rolled, headphones around his neck, notebook open.

Waiting for me

He looked up as I approached. "You're five minutes late, princess."

"Traffic," I replied, brushing past him.

He fell in step beside me, annoyingly calm. "Must've been terrible. Your driver looked pretty relaxed when he dropped you off at the gate."

I blinked. "You were watching?"

"Observing," he corrected. "Big difference."

I turned to him. "Do you always narrate everything you see, or am I just lucky?"

He smiled - faint, but there. "You talk like you're allergic to being seen."

"I talk like someone who values silence."

"Yet here you are. Talking to me."

We stopped at the door of the empty lecture hall. Sunlight spilled through the glass, warming the rows of seats inside.

I turned to face him. "Let's get this over with. We're presenting next week. I don't want you slowing me down."

Ezra shrugged. "Was about to say the same. But fine - lead the way, Your Highness."

We headed to the back row, where the silence between us stretched thin. I pulled out my iPad; he spread out a spiral notebook, pages lined with notes in small, neat handwriting.

I hated how prepared he was.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said eventually, "but you're kind of scary."

I looked up. "Scary?"

"You act like you're auditioning for a role you never wanted." His eyes stayed on mine, calm and unsparing. "Perfect daughter. Perfect student. Perfect... fiancée?"

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"I heard," he said. "Marcus. The dinner. Next Friday."

My pulse stumbled.

I didn't respond. Couldn't.

He leaned in slightly, not gloating - just watching. "You don't look happy about it."

"I don't recall asking for your analysis."

"No," he murmured, "but you're showing it anyway."

Something sharp moved through me. Not anger - not really.

Just the terrifying fact that someone could see through me that easily.

Before I could reply, the door slammed open.

We both turned.

Marcus.

Tall. Composed. Smiling like he owned the goddamn room.

"Luna," he said, voice warm. "Didn't know you had class this early."

His eyes flicked to Ezra, then back to me.

Ezra didn't move. Just slowly closed his notebook.

The air went still.

Three people.

Two histories.

One impossible silence.

And somehow, I knew - whatever happened next would change everything.

EZRA'S POV

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She walked like the world owed her silence.

Not grace - not vanity - just silence.

A quiet that she controlled, weaponized.

So when Luna Lennox sat beside me and began dissecting our project outline with military precision, I didn't interrupt. I just watched her work.

Stylus in hand. Wrist taut. Brows furrowed like she was solving an equation that refused to sit still.

"You're highlighting too much," I said after a while. "You'll drown the key points."

She looked at me. Not rude. Not cold. Just... measured. "I know what I'm doing."

I leaned back. "That's what worries me."

Something flickered behind her expression. Annoyance? Maybe. But also curiosity.

And beneath that - exhaustion.

Not the kind you get from lack of sleep, but the kind that comes from performing. Constantly. Like she was trying to pass an invisible test no one else could see.

I should've stopped talking.

But I didn't.

"Do you even want to do that dinner?"

Her hand froze mid-note.

"What dinner?"

"Next Friday. You and Marcus. Your families." I met her eyes. "Word travels."

She blinked slowly, then lowered her stylus. "That's none of your business."

"Didn't say it was."

"Then why bring it up?"

Because I wanted to know if I was wrong about her.

Because I saw the way her shoulders tightened when his name came up.

Because part of me hoped I wasn't the only one in this room pretending to be okay.

She didn't answer. Just turned away, lips pressed thin.

That silence - her weapon - now aimed at me.

And then, right on cue, it shattered.

The door slammed open.

I didn't need to look to know who it was.

Marcus.

You could feel it - the shift in the air. The slight tilt of the room to accommodate his presence.

I closed my notebook slowly and stood.

He looked me up and down like I was background noise that had gotten too loud.

"Luna," he said, smiling just enough. "Didn't know you had class this early."

His voice was smooth, but his eyes? Calculating.

She didn't move. Didn't rise. Just looked between us like we were two sides of a coin she hated flipping.

I nodded at Marcus, short and unbothered. "We're just working. Strategic Comm. Project."

"Of course," he said, tone dipped in velvet and warning.

The silence stretched again - tighter this time.

And for the first time since I met her, Luna looked like she wasn't sure which version of herself she needed to be.

I didn't envy her.

But I felt it.

And in that moment, I knew something was changing.