Again, I Loved the End.

Episode 6: Showtime

The quiet hum of early morning at Velgrave Industries didn’t last long. The first ripple started when the front desk phone lit up and security radioed upstairs. A single word passed through the staff like static: Tareth.

Tareth Velgrave strolled through the glass front doors like he owned the place, which, technically, he partly did. Crisp tailored jacket, no tie, sunglasses he didn’t bother taking off indoors. The receptionist stood so fast she nearly knocked over her coffee.

"Mr. Velgrave, welcome. We weren’t expecting you so early."

Tareth offered a lazy smile. "I wasn’t expecting me either. Guess it’s that kind of day."

By the time he made it to the elevators, the office buzz had started. Phones picked up slower. Conversations dropped to whispers. People rubbernecked from behind monitors. Tareth relished it.

He didn’t head straight to the top floor conference room. Not yet. First, he took his time strolling through the executive wing, tossing a nod to people he remembered, flashing grins at the ones who clearly didn’t know what to do with him.

Inside the conference room, Riven Velgrave was already at the table, adjusting the seating arrangements and going over digital files on the wall display. His suit was flawless, every hair in place. The room smelled like polished wood and filtered air.

When Tareth walked in, Riven didn’t look up immediately.

"Still playing hall monitor, little brother?" Tareth said, leaning against the doorframe.

Riven's jaw tightened. "It’s called being prepared. You should try it sometime."

"Too busy enjoying my freedom. But hey, good for you. You always did love Dad’s approval."

The air between them cooled another degree.

Before either could throw the next casual barb, the door opened again.

"Gentlemen," came a voice smooth and sharp as glass.

Elsie Velgrave stepped inside, a vision in tailored ivory, hair swept into a perfect twist. The Matriarch of the Velgrave family never raised her voice, never rushed. She didn’t need to.

Riven straightened immediately. Tareth, to his credit, offered a crooked grin.

"Morning, Mother," Tareth said.

"You’re late," she replied, without missing a beat. Then to Riven, "Is everything in order?"

"Yes, Mother. All preparations are complete. The Stormveins are expected shortly."

"Good. Let’s keep it dignified today. No surprises."

As if summoned by irony, the door swung open one last time.

"Hope I didn’t miss anything important," Ivy Velgrave announced, sweeping in with designer sunglasses perched on her head, phone in hand, a burst of expensive perfume trailing her.

Tareth smirked. "Always a pleasure, Ivy."

"I’m sure it is," she said sweetly, sliding into a chair far from both her brothers.

Elsie gave her a look that made grown men rethink their choices. "Your hair’s too casual."

"It’s called effortless chic, Mother. You should try it."

Tareth chuckled. Riven sighed.

"Children," Arden Velgrave’s voice cut in from the head of the table where he’d been quietly sipping coffee, having let the theatrics play out. "Let’s keep this civil. We have company arriving."

The tension simmered down, but only just.

The office was already buzzing after the Velgraves assembled, but when word reached the floor that the Stormvein family had arrived downstairs, the energy shifted entirely. Phones were set down mid-call. Screens minimized. Conversations halted.

It wasn’t every day both empires shared a room.

A junior associate from acquisitions sprinted back from the lobby and breathlessly reported, “They’re here. All three of them. And Mr. Stormvein himself.”

Near the main elevators, security subtly doubled up. Receptionist stations tidied themselves without being asked. A few interns casually repositioned themselves near the hallway just to catch a glimpse.

Kaelen Stormvein appeared first. Tall, sharp-featured, with the kind of easy confidence that came from money, reputation, and the full knowledge, he looked good in a suit. Conversations stuttered as he passed. He offered a polite, unreadable nod to anyone who made eye contact.

Zina Stormvein followed, composed and striking, dark hair perfectly pinned, a pale silk blouse paired with tailored navy slacks. She radiated the kind of effortless grace that made people straighten their posture without realizing it.

And then Mr. Stormvein himself: Thane Stormvein, silver hair, expression unreadable. An aura of quiet authority settled in his wake, the kind that didn’t demand attention but drew it anyway.

Employees weren’t used to seeing them in the building. Everyone knew the families occupied similar circles—charity galas, board memberships, discreet financial dealings—but publicly, their companies kept to their own corners.

People were starstruck. A few of the younger staff exchanged giddy looks, one girl audibly gasping when Kaelen nodded in her direction. Rumors flew faster than emails.

"Maybe it’s a merger."

"Or a joint acquisition. They’ve never been in the same room, right?"

"Bet it’s about the minerals contract."

Vera, standing near the conference room entrance, practically vibrated with tension. She checked her tablet for the fifth time in three minutes. Everything needed to be perfect.

Inside the room, Arden Velgrave finished his coffee and murmured to Riven, "Showtime."

Riven tapped a command on the display, setting the agenda up on-screen. Tareth leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Bet half the staff out there is having heart attacks," Tareth drawled.

"They should," Elsie said crisply. "It’s not every day true power walks through these doors. Act accordingly."

Across town, Esme stood in a line that hadn’t moved in seven minutes. The lighting in Brew & Crumb made everything look very bright and artificial, and the low whir of the espresso machines did nothing for her already thin patience.

She checked the time on her phone. She’d been gone for thirty-six minutes. Vera was going to murder her.

“Next!”

Esme shuffled forward. The employee at the register was new, judging by the tentative way he punched buttons on the screen.

“Name for the order?” he asked.

“Velgrave Industries,” she said, enunciating carefully. “It’s a pre-order. Should be under Vera Martin.”

He tapped at the tablet, frowning. “Uh… I see something here, but it looks like… half the pastries aren’t in the bag?”

Esme resisted the urge to bang her head against the counter. “Seriously?”

“I’m really sorry,” the kid stammered, already waving over a frazzled barista.

The barista looked exhausted. “We had a system glitch this morning. We’re fixing it. I’ll remake them right now.”

Esme crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.

"Because of course this happens today," she muttered under her breath.

A woman standing nearby with a yoga mat slung over her shoulder turned to her. "Rough morning?"

"You have no idea," Esme replied, flashing a tight smile.

While she waited, she scrolled through her phone, ignoring another message in the sibling group chat. Kaelen had sent a meme, and Zina left a thumbs-up. Who replied to a meme with a thumbs up? She didn't bother responding.

Her order finally arrived, the barista mumbling another apology.

"Got it," Esme said, grabbing the carrier trays. She was already mentally preparing for the fallout when she got back.

It had been forty-nine minutes since she left.

Esme pushed through the lobby doors, the carrier trays balanced carefully in both hands. The guard barely glanced at her as she passed—standard intern invisibility. She jabbed the elevator button and waited, feeling the telltale buzz of her phone again. Probably Vera. Or Kaelen sending another dumb meme.

When she reached the thirty-second floor, Vera was standing outside the conference room like a general bracing for battle. Her expression lightened only slightly when she saw Esme.

"Took you long enough," Vera muttered, snatching one of the trays from Esme’s hands.

"You try wrangling that place on a Monday," Esme shot back, already annoyed and not in the mood to be blamed for a late pastry delivery.

Vera gave her a look, sharp enough to silence any follow-up. "Listen. It’s a mess in there. Elsie’s scowling, Ivy’s throwing side-eyes, and I swear Arden’s about to throw a chair just to clear the air. You’re taking these in."

Esme blinked. "Wait, what? Why me?"

"Because they’re already pissed off and I’m not losing my job today. You’re an intern. They won’t eat you alive. Probably."

"Comforting."

Vera shoved the remaining tray into her hands. "Put on your best neutral face and get in there. Place the stuff down, don’t make eye contact, and get out."

"I should get hazard pay for this," Esme grumbled, straightening the drink carriers.

Vera snorted. "Get moving."

Esme took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and turned toward the conference room door.