Chapter 83: The Family Portrait

The morning air in the grand hall was cold, despite the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Staff were buzzing around, moving heavy furniture and setting up lighting equipment. In the middle of it all stood Arthur, looking at the room like a general preparing for a battle.

"Move that chair three inches to the left," Arthur commanded, not looking at the servant he was speaking to. "And make sure the crest on the wall is perfectly centered in the frame. This isn't just a photo. It’s a statement."

I stood at the top of the stairs, watching him. My throat felt tight. I was wearing a suit that cost more than my old apartment’s rent, and the collar felt like it was choking me.

"You look like you're heading to your own execution," a voice whispered behind me.

I turned to see Ilya. He was already dressed in his formal attire, looking sharp and dangerous. Ivan was right behind him, smoothing out the front of his vest.

"It feels like it," I admitted, lowering my voice. "Does he really need to do this today? After last night?"

Ivan stepped closer, his eyes scanning my face. "Arthur doesn't care about last night, Leo. He cares about the papers tomorrow. He wants the world to see the 'New Era' of the family. The two heirs and the missing piece that completes the puzzle."

"I'm not a puzzle piece," I muttered.

"To him, we all are," Ivan said softly. There was a trace of bitterness in his voice that he usually kept hidden.

We walked down the stairs together. As soon as we reached the floor, Arthur turned his sharp gaze toward us. He didn't say 'good morning.' He didn't ask how we were.

"Finally," Arthur said, checking his watch. "The photographer is ready. Leo, you’re in the center. Ivan on the right, Ilya on the left. I want you all looking strong. No slouching."

The photographer, a thin man who looked terrified of Arthur, beckoned us toward the designated spot. I walked over, feeling the weight of the twins following close behind me.

"Stand here, please," the photographer said, pointing to a mark on the floor.

I took my place. Immediately, I felt Ivan’s arm brush against mine. On the other side, Ilya stepped so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. It was the same tension from the night before, but now it was wrapped in silk and forced smiles.

"Chin up, Leo," Arthur barked from behind the camera. "You look like a victim. Look like you belong there."

I gritted my teeth. I don’t belong here. I belong in a quiet room with a sketchpad, not under these burning lights.

"Ignore him," Ilya whispered, his lips barely moving. "Just look at the lens and think of something else. Think of the garden."

"Or think of me," Ivan added. It wasn't a joke. His voice was intense, almost possessive.

The photographer started clicking away. "Excellent. Now, perhaps a bit closer? Lean into the center."

I felt their bodies press against mine. It was a strange sensation—being held in place by two people who were currently at war with each other. Ivan’s hand found the small of my back, his fingers pressing firmly through the fabric of my jacket. On my other side, Ilya gripped my shoulder, his thumb digging in just enough to let me know he was there.

"Smile, Leo," Arthur shouted. "A real one!"

"I can't just flip a switch, Arthur!" I snapped, finally looking away from the camera. "This whole thing is fake. We’re standing here pretending to be a happy family while you treat us like statues."

The room went dead silent. The photographer lowered his camera, looking like he wanted to bolt for the door.

Arthur walked forward, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He stopped a foot away from me. "This isn't about being happy, Leo. It's about being powerful. You are a part of this name now. That means you give the world the image they demand."

"And what about what I demand?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "I’m a person, not a prop for your history books."

I felt Ivan’s hand on my back shift, a supportive pressure. Ilya’s grip on my shoulder tightened, not to hurt me, but to steady me. For a second, the rivalry between them vanished, replaced by a shared front against their father.

"Leo is tired, Father," Ivan said, his voice cold and steady. "We’ve been at this for an hour. We’ll give you one more shot, and then we’re done."

Arthur looked at Ivan, then at Ilya, then finally back at me. He saw the way they were shielding me. A small, unpleasant smile touched his lips.

"Fine," Arthur said. "One more. Make it count."

We reset. I took a deep breath, trying to push down the urge to scream. I felt the twins lock into place around me. They weren't just standing there anymore; they were holding me up.

This photo will be in the archives forever, I thought as the flash blinded me. People will look at it and see three powerful men. They won’t see the cracks. They won’t see the way my heart is breaking or the way these two are pulling me apart in private.

The flash went off one last time.

"Done," the photographer whispered, sounding relieved.

As soon as the lights dimmed, I stepped forward, breaking the formation. I didn't wait for Arthur’s approval. I didn't wait for the twins. I just headed for the door, needing to get out of that suit and away from the lies.

"Leo!" Ilya called out.

I didn't stop. I couldn't. I had given them the image they wanted. The rest of me—the real me—belonged to myself.

Or at least, I hoped it still did.