Again, I Loved the End.

Episode 4: Inherited Roles

Sunday night settled heavily over Stormvein Manor, the kind of quiet that only happened when the staff had gone home and the lights were dimmed everywhere but the study. The big one, which was almost like a mini library. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and old paper, the walls lined with shelves that held more leather-bound ledgers than actual books.

Kaelen arrived late, again. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, already braced for the look he knew he’d receive for his continuous tardiness. But of course, it wasn’t like the looks bothered him much. He is used to them now. Zina sat near the far end of the table, a tablet in front of her, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her way of showing she meant business. Mr. Stormvein was at the head of the table, a glass of something dark and expensive within reach.

"Sorry," Kaelen muttered, taking his seat.

Zina barely looked up. “We’re used to it by now”

“Yeah? So, are we still not looping Esme in on what we’re doing?” Kaelen asked, more out of habit than hope.

Mr. Stormvein didn’t glance up from his notes. “She wouldn’t have come. And we all know she’s not interested in anything company related.”

Kaelen huffed a quiet laugh in disbelief. Sure, Esme didn’t want anything to do with the family business because she was always lamenting how boring it all was, even though she had her first degree, masters and PhD in fields related to what the company does. But Kaelen thinks that at least for the decision they’ve made, she’d at least want to be kept in the loop.

“Sure, but you could at least pretend she still gets a vote. What is this, the fourth one without her? Fifth?”

“Sixth,” Zina corrected, without missing a beat.

Kaelen’s brow went up. “Six? Damn.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “And has anyone actually told her about the decision yet?”

There was a beat of silence.

Zina exchanged a look with their father. “We are waiting for the right time.”

Kaelen shook his head and gave a humorless grin. So typical of the perfect daughter and her father. Always keeping secrets and communicating with each other with just glances and their bodies. He knows this is something that the two share, and that they’ve always been closer. Sometimes, he thinks he understands, but the middle child in him will forever be resentful. It’s so easy for their father to overlook him. If it wasn’t for his fear of abandonment, which prompted him to hold on tightly to his family, he knew he would have been miles away from all this, and it would have been years before anyone from the family even heard from him.

“Yeah, you’ve been waiting for the right time since last month. If it affects all of us, she deserves to hear it before it’s plastered all over the internet.”

“She’s unpredictable,” Zina said quietly. “You know how she gets. It’s not personal, Kael. It’s practical.” This again. Kaelen knows that if there’s one thing Esme is, it is how predictable she is in her unpredictability.

“Maybe it is,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair, “but leaving her out is still going to blow up in our faces when she finds out. And she will. She always does.”

Mr. Stormvein finally spoke, his voice calm and final. “We’ll deal with Esme when we have to. Until then, this decision stands. It’s better this way.” The decision stands only because he’d been outvoted, as usual. Kaelen thought bitterly.

Kaelen didn’t argue further. Not because he agreed, but because he’d already had this fight twice before, and it always ended the same way.

_______________________________________________________________

Later that night, as Esme lay on her couch, half-asleep with the TV flickering quietly in the background, her phone buzzed against the coffee table. The sibling group chat lit up.

Kaelen: You alive? Haven’t heard a peep outta you all weekend.

Zina: Everything alright? Thought I’d check in.

She stared at them for a moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

She typed "I’m fine" and deleted it.

Then set the phone face-down again and went back to pretending she didn’t care.

All too soon, Monday had rushed in. Esme shoved herself out of bed after silencing her alarm. She had early morning lectures, then she had to go to work for her internship. She went through her morning routine. She made some coffee that could double as paint stripper, drank her morning cup and left the rest to be poured into her tumbler. She selected her clothes for the day: a simple blouse and black slacks with matching pumps. It will be comfortable enough for class, professional enough to walk into Velgrave without getting side-eyed by Vera. She brushed her teeth, had a bath and then dressed in her clothes. She put her hair in a high ponytail, applied some light makeup and grabbed her bag, poured out the rest of her coffee into her tumbler and left.

The sky outside was that greyish white color that meant either rain or just bad lighting. Probably both.

Her current flat was about a twenty minute walk to campus. She likes to walk to her classes most days, and so she gets on with that. She already had her earbuds in and her playlist ready. She pressed play and began the walk to campus.

Esme had Psych 404: Family Dynamics and Pathology. She arrived at class with time to spare and was met with the same half-dead crowd, and the same old projector screen. This time it read: “The Roles We Inherit.” Of course, it did. She snorted under her breath and slumped lower into her seat. A headache was already pressing behind her eyes. She knew her professor has always had a keen interest in old families with roots in human history in their country, especially the Stormvein family. This did not surprise her in the least. On the contrary, the lesson was bound to be interesting, if she could even focus on it.

Two rows ahead, a cluster of girls were whispering.

“Did you guys see that thing about King Sable? That Adora woman was a walking scandal.” One girl commented.

“Total snake. And she got away with it for years.” Another added their input.

“I don’t know though,” one said. “Women back then didn’t have choices. Maybe it was the only way she could survive.”

“Yeah well, sleeping with your sister’s husband isn’t survival, it’s trash behavior.”

Another chimed in. “I heard the baby wasn’t even the husband’s. It was the King’s.”

“Ugh, messy.”

Esme kept her head down. They definitely didn’t have any original opinions about the documentary, that’s for sure. She checked the time on her phone and saw that it was time for class to begin. She pulled out a notebook, to hopefully take some notes, or to write her stray thoughts or doodles. She’ll likely end up doodling, but a girl could always hope.

Professor Lin’s voice cut through the room. “Today we’re diving into how family roles get passed down through generations, consciously and unconsciously.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. No one was really surprised. Esme rolled her eyes. Professor Lin was known to always work any prominent scandals into her lectures. She propped her elbow on the desk and started sketching a rough outline of something. What it was, she had no idea, but she’s bound to find out after she completes it.

A voice beside her murmured, “Subtle, isn’t she?”

Esme glanced sideways. Oh, yes, Mateo. With his scruffy beard, battered denim jacket. Same seat one row over, like always.

“Real subtle,” she muttered. “I’m shocked she didn’t roll out the documentary clips.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Mateo said. “We all know she’s been dying to drag this mess into the syllabus.”

Esme tilted her head. “Yeah, I think everyone here’s aware of that. She really, really, really loves using real-world examples in her class. And I guess that isn’t a bad thing, per se. But every family definitely has skeletons in their closet, that’s for sure.”

Mateo snorted. “Please. You can smell the generational trauma here. All these daddy’s-credit-card babies thinking therapy’s a personality trait.”

That pulled a grin out of her. For someone in a psychology class, you’d think he’d appreciate therapy and the wonders it can do for a person. But on the one hand, she’s got to agree with him. Some of the people here didn’t go to therapy to get better. Instead, they saw it as sort of the latest fad they had to indulge in and, consequently, brag about or show off.

Esme capped her pen. “You staying for review group?”

“Not a chance. I’ve got work. Plus, I hit my quota for psychoanalyzing dead rich people last week.” Esme snorted at that. Mateo probably had something against rich people. Looking at him and having studied him for a bit, she knew he came from money but tried to distance himself from his family because he saw himself as a humble person who could go through life like any ordinary person. His parents were probably neglectful. Mateo didn’t know, but he fit in quite well with the rest of the rich kids in the room with generational trauma passed on from generation to generation within these families. Maybe he’ll figure it out one day. But for now, it definitely wasn’t her place to say anything. They were only passing acquaintances at best.

“Same.” She said in agreement.

He shot her a grin and wiggled his fingers when the blonde girl in front of them turned to glare.

Esme eyed the girl’s designer bag. “Bet she’s got daddy issues and a horse named Sapphire.”

Mateo smothered a laugh. “Guaranteed.”

The screen switched to “Class Dismissed.” Mateo stood. “Later, Stormie.”

She smirked. “Later, Matty.” She looked at what she had ended up sketching. It looked like a blend between a human face and a heart? She wasn’t sure. She stuffed her notebook and pen in her bag and got up to leave the class for her job.