The atmosphere in Grant Estate's dining room had grown noticeably quieter.
Moments earlier, Bianca Grant had been passionately lecturing her eldest son about marriage, her voice animated with maternal concern and barely concealed exasperation.
Now her attention had shifted elsewhere.
To Ethan.
The boy sat beside Lucas, small and quiet in his chair, almost swallowed by the ornate dining furniture that seemed designed for adults twice his size.
His plate remained almost untouched, the carefully prepared meal growing cold. And in his small hands, he held Lucas's phone like it was the most precious object in the world, his fingers curled protectively around its edges.
Bianca frowned, a crease forming between her brows.
"Ethan."
No response.
She tried again, softening her tone to the gentle lilt she reserved for the boy.
"Sweetheart?"
Still nothing.
The boy didn't even look up, didn't acknowledge her presence with so much as a flicker of his eyes.
