Perilous Sea || Homer Series

Chapter Six

"I want to join modeling, too," Crescent stated, her voice steady as she glanced at Aunt Jules.

A heavy silence fell over the table.

Aunt Jules dropped her utensils with a soft clink, her fingers tightening into a fist beside her plate. "You would be joining modeling?" she repeated, her tone laced with disapproval, making it clear that this wasn’t a discussion—it was a rejection.

Crescent’s audacity never failed to leave me breathless. She wasn’t just bold; she was fearless. Even as all eyes turned to her, as the weight of the room pressed down on her shoulders, she simply smiled.

"Crescent—" Uncle Jonathan started, his voice edged with warning.

“There’s nothing wrong with that kind of pageantry, Uncle,” she interjected smoothly, her confidence unwavering. “In fact, I recently found out that…” she trailed off, shifting her gaze to Aunt Jules, who sat rigid, expression unreadable. Crescent let the tension stretch before finally dropping her bombshell.

“Aunt Jules joined modeling when she was our age.”

A sharp intake of breath.

My eyes widened in disbelief. What?

That couldn’t be true. Aunt Jules loathed the industry, despised it with an intensity that was almost irrational. But Crescent’s words didn’t sound like a baseless accusation. They sounded like the truth.

A tense, silent battle erupted between Crescent and Aunt Jules. Their eyes locked—two unshaken forces, exchanging something deeper than words.

"Ija," Uncle Jonathan broke the silence, addressing Crescent with a softer tone, trying to rein her in. "That was a long time ago. And that’s the point—your aunt has experience in that field. She quit for a reason. She knows better than both of you."

Crescent tilted her head, unimpressed. “And what was her reason?”

The air shifted, thick with unspoken things.

“She knew it wouldn’t take her anywhere,” Uncle Jonathan replied. “It’s useless.”

Crescent let out a short, sarcastic chuckle. Like she had just heard the most ridiculous thing ever.

"Crescent, stop," Dad's voice came, sharp and warning. His jaw was tight. I prayed she would listen. Please, stop before this gets worse.

But Crescent? She was just getting started.

"You and Grandpa put an end to her career, Uncle," she said, her voice steady, unwavering. "She didn’t quit. You terminated her dream."

Silence.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Uncle Jonathan’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He did not like that. He did not like being challenged.

"You’re crossing the line, Crescent!" His voice echoed through the dining room, slamming against the walls.

My pulse spiked. Damn it.

"You’re not in the right position to say that," Kuya Cheros interjected, his voice filled with quiet disappointment. He shook his head, as if Crescent had personally let him down.

Crescent turned to him, unfazed. “Is there someone who should be in my position, Kuya? Who?”

Kuya Cheros clenched his jaw, clearly searching for a response.

"That’s exactly it," she continued before he could speak. "No one should be standing in my place. I have the right to speak. You think I’ve crossed the line? Maybe it was never supposed to be there in the first place."

"Crescent, we were raised to respect our elders," Dysthe, Demetra’s twin, chimed in. "Your stand doesn’t matter if you forget your manners."

Crescent scoffed. “Respect?” She leaned back slightly, eyes flashing. “I never disrespected anyone. But if telling the truth is considered disrespectful, then lies must be the standard.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Think about it.”

I shivered.

Crescent’s intellect was terrifying. Her words, sharp as daggers, left no room for counterattacks. She was relentless, powerful, a force of nature.

"If your so-called truth turns you into someone unpleasant," Kuya Nathan said darkly, his voice dropping, "then don’t be surprised if we have to get in your way."

I grabbed Crescent’s arm, my fingers tightening in silent warning. Stop. Please, stop. This isn’t worth it.

She glanced at me briefly before prying my hand off and turning back to them, unfazed.

"Trying to repeat history, Kuya Nathan?" she challenged, her voice a blade slicing through the tension.

"Crescent, you're being too much!" Aunt Cheryl burst out, her patience snapping into anger.

"Shut your mouth now, Crescent," Dad finally said. His voice was low, firm—furious.

I held my breath.

Crescent flicked her tongue against the inside of her cheek, her expression defiant.

“Do we always have to choose silence just to preserve these old-fashioned ethics, Dad?” Her voice was steady, but her words cut through the air like a blade. “I’m so tired of watching my cousin act like a hypocrite, trying to meet this imaginary standard of our family.” She paused, letting her gaze drift across the table, daring them to challenge her.

“I hope one day you’ll realize that we can maintain the family’s reputation without suffocating ourselves. That we can be respected without rejecting who we really are.”

The room turned deathly silent. Even the soft clinking of silverware had stopped.

Then, Uncle Jonathan spoke, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re starting to go against us, Crescent,” he said, his tone dangerously even. “You leave us no choice but to send you to France. Again.”

My breath hitched.

"Kuya Jonathan, not again, please," my mother whispered, her voice trembling. Tears streaked her face, shining against her soft features. She turned to him, pleading, but I knew it was pointless.

I lowered my gaze as my own eyes burned, a lump forming in my throat.

Dad, however, didn’t react. His face remained cold, unmoved by the desperation in my mother’s voice. Crescent turned to him, searching for something—acknowledgment, maybe. A sign that he still saw her. But he gave her nothing.

And still, she didn’t flinch.

She let out a slow breath, turned back to Uncle Jonathan, and shrugged. “Is that your only move, Uncle?” Her voice was laced with something almost amused. “Because I’m telling you now, you can throw me away as many times as you want, but my beliefs will not change.”

My mother’s grip tightened on Crescent’s arm. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “I’m begging you. Stop.”

“Then you’ll stay there forever,” Kuya Nathan said, his voice like ice.

Crescent let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re getting hard-headed and mulish," Uncle Jonathan muttered, reaching for his drink. “I would admire that in a different situation.”

“She’s using her intelligence wisely,” Uncle Danielle cut in, his gaze on Crescent filled with something rare—pride.

Aunt Jules shot him a warning look. “Don’t start, Danielle.”

But Uncle Danielle only chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re so driven by this image, Ate,” he said with a knowing smirk. “I can’t believe Kuya Jonathan managed to brainwash you. You used to be smart.”

The next moment, Uncle Jonathan’s utensils clattered onto his plate with a sharp clang, the sound booming through the dining room.

“She’s smart enough to understand that we should strive to be the best instead of settling for mediocrity, Danielle! Don’t make her your mini version! What a disappointment.”

I swallowed hard.

I hated this. The fighting. The screaming. I was so tired of it.

And yes, this was our family dinner.

“You’re making the same mistakes Dad did to us, Kuya!” Aunt Camille snapped, gripping her husband’s arm as if holding him back. “You’re putting our children through the same hell we went through!”

Uncle Jonathan’s face darkened, his wrinkles deepening with fury.

“You have the nerve to say that, Danielle?” he seethed. “May I remind you that you would’ve been damn useless if Dad hadn’t saved your ass?”

The way he yelled made my stomach twist with unease. Everyone knew how dangerous Uncle Jonathan could be.

Aunt Cheryl finally stood up, her calm voice slicing through the chaos. “Enough. We’re here to have dinner. Stop acting like this in front of the food.”

She was the eldest among them, second only to Uncle Jonathan, and when she spoke, people listened.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my pulse to settle.

My gaze drifted to Ate Kylie, Aunt Jules’ eldest daughter. She was watching me, offering a small, sad smile.

I returned it.

Like me, she was still trapped in this prison of expectations. Still shackled to a family that demanded perfection.

I shifted my gaze to Jari, Aunt Jules’ youngest daughter. She was the same age as me, but completely different—distant, indifferent.

While the rest of us sat in this storm, she simply ate, as if nothing was happening around her.

As if none of this mattered.

We were the same age, while Ate Kylie was four years older than us. Jari, on the other hand, was distant—cold even. She barely spoke, even to her own sister.

“Maybe it’s better if you settle this without us,” Uncle Kevin finally muttered, breaking the tension.

I swallowed hard. This was humiliating.

“You’ll never win an argument with me, Danielle. Just stop,” Uncle Jonathan said with that smug finality that made my stomach turn.

“Why can’t we just let our children chase their dreams?” Uncle Danielle countered, his frustration evident.

“Because I’d rather see them successful than the subject of humiliation. I will never let them settle for less,” Uncle Jonathan snapped.

"Success doesn't validate happiness, Kuya," Uncle Danielle said firmly. "You can reach the top and still feel nothing."

I loved Uncle Danielle. He was the only one who seemed to get it. The only one who saw past this suffocating, outdated idea of what we were supposed to be.

Uncle Jonathan let out a cold chuckle before shifting his sharp gaze to me.

“What do you want to be, Oceanna?” His tone dripped with mockery.

I froze. Why was he dragging me into this?

“I—I wanted to—”

“You want to be a singer, right?” he interrupted impatiently.

I swallowed hard and nodded hesitantly.

He laughed. Laughed.

“See that, Danielle?” He gestured toward me like I was some kind of joke. “Where do you think music will take her? We need to wake her up! She needs to dream higher! She deserves a better future.”

Aunt Jules sighed, as if this entire conversation exhausted her. “Stop arguing with Kuya Jonathan, Danielle. He’s right. Music is useless. It’s impractical. Our family should remain at the top of society—we are calibers.”

Does reaching the top really matter if you feel nothing when you get there? If you sacrifice everything just to maintain an illusion?

All I wanted was freedom. Happiness. Support—something my family would never give.

“Why can’t we just let Cean try? See if she succeeds?” Kuya Dunixi muttered.

My eyes widened in shock.

He was Uncle Danielle’s eldest son—two years older than me. We weren’t close, but he was kind. He was good.

“And if she fails?” Kuya Nathan cut in coldly.

His stare was sharp, full of disappointment. The eldest son of Uncle Jonathan. His perfect heir.

“Why do you always have to be so negative, Nathan?” Kuya Dunixi challenged. “Why can’t you just give her a chance?”

“If we let her, she’ll be a stain on our family. A permanent one.” Dysthe’s voice was laced with irritation as she turned her glare on me. “That would be a loss of face for us.”

I clenched my fists.

I hated how she said that. Her lips must’ve been spicy to be this cruel.

Every talent, every passion, every single dream—it mattered. There was no “less” or “more.” No dream was beneath another. Why couldn’t they see that? Why did they always look down on people who chose a different path?

“Dysthe, stay out of this,” Demetra whispered to her twin sister.

Dysthe rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Dem. I want her to realize that what she’s doing is selfish. If she goes through with this, she’ll drag our family through humiliation.”

Demetra and Dysthe. Uncle Jonathan’s daughters. I was a year older than them, but Dysthe never acted like it. She always spoke like she was above me.

Aunt Danica remained silent, simply observing the argument unfold—unlike her daughters.

“Oceanna,” Dysthe called, her brow raised expectantly. “Do you understand what we’re saying, or are you going to be stubborn?”

A lump formed in my throat.

No matter what I said, no matter how I defended myself, I would always be on the losing side.

“Dysthe,” Aunt Danica finally spoke, a quiet warning in her tone.

But Dysthe ignored her.

“No, Mom. She needs to use her brain—”

“You act like you’re smart enough to use yours,” Crescent cut in, her voice sharp.

Dysthe flinched.

I turned to Crescent, surprised at the venom in her tone.

She wasn’t done.

“You insult my sister like you’ve already proven something,” Crescent sneered, leaning forward. “So tell me, Dysthe—just how much confidence do you have right now before I ruin it?”

The dining room was dead silent.

Crescent’s eyes burned with fury, daring Dysthe to respond.

Dysthe furrowed her brow. “You could never ruin me, Crescent. And please, at least I think wiser than she does—”

“Stop bad-mouthing my sister, Dysthe,” Crescent snapped, her fists clenching under the table.

“Dysthe, enough,” Aunt Jules warned. Then she turned to Crescent. “And you, calm down. She didn’t mean it like that.”

Dysthe scoffed, a smirk playing on her lips. “Truth hurts, huh?”

Crescent let out a sarcastic laugh. “Says the cheater who barely passed her exams.”

Silence.

Dysthe’s smirk faltered, her eyes widening slightly.

Crescent tilted her head, her smirk growing. “Funny, isn’t it? Someone who cheats has the audacity to humiliate others. I wonder what people would think if they found out that the great daughter of Jonathan Homer is nothing but a fraud.”

Uncle Jonathan’s dark gaze snapped toward Dysthe.

“I’d honestly pity the poor clients who end up with you as their lawyer.” Crescent’s words dripped with amusement.

Dysthe visibly stiffened. Fear flashed in her eyes, but she tried to mask it.

“What did you just say, Crescent?” Aunt Cheryl’s voice was sharp, her gaze now locked on Dysthe with something close to disgust.

Aunt Danica shot up from her seat. “Are you accusing my daughter? Are you saying she’s a cheater?”

“Accuse?” Crescent echoed, feigning confusion. She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork and took a slow bite. “Alleged until proven guilty, isn’t that the saying? But I already proved it. Substantial evidence and all.”

Dysthe’s breath hitched. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her lips trembled.

Crescent smirked. “You’re not a very good liar. Maybe my sister can give you some tips.”

I swallowed hard, sneaking a glance at Wyatt and his family.

They just witnessed how messed up our family is. Did they still want to go through with this engagement? God, I hope not.

Wyatt, as usual, looked indifferent, poking at his plate with a bored expression. But Zenos—his brother—was biting his lip, clearly fighting back a smile as he stared at Crescent. This guy is so whipped.

Uncle Kevin and his wife sat quietly, simply observing. They should be rethinking everything by now.

“How could you do this to me, Crescent?!” Dysthe finally snapped, her voice raw with rage.

Uncle Jonathan slammed his hand on the table. “So you really did cheat, Dysthe Jacinda?”

Dysthe shot up from her seat, turning to her father with tear-filled eyes. “Dad, I didn’t! I just—”

“You’ve disappointed me. Big time.” His voice was eerily calm, his expression unreadable.

Aunt Jules paled. “No one should know about this, Kuya,” she whispered, horrified.

“I’ll handle it.” Uncle Jonathan’s tone left no room for argument. He turned to his daughter. “We’ll talk at home.”

Dysthe stifled a sob, glaring at Crescent through her tears.

“Are you happy now?” she spat.

Crescent gave her a slow nod, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips.

“I choose my battles wisely, Dysthe. I only fight the ones I know I’ll win.” She rose from her seat gracefully, adjusting her dress. “I can fight fair. I can also play dirty.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m a Homer, after all. We don’t just play.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving behind nothing but stunned silence and a storm of emotions.

Dysthe sat there, fists trembling, her frustration boiling over.

Demetra placed a hand on her arm, whispering softly. “Calm down.”

But Dysthe couldn’t. Not after this.

"You raised a lioness. Now she’s eating all of you."

Zenos chuckled as he watched Crescent disappear upstairs.

"Zenos," Uncle Kevin warned, his tone laced with disapproval.

Zenos merely shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The room settled into an uneasy silence. The elders swiftly shifted the conversation, as if nothing had happened, but the tension still lingered. Uncle Jonathan’s gaze flickered toward Dysthe from time to time—sharp, furious, repulsed.

Dysthe said nothing. She merely forced herself to eat, her shoulders tense. The rest of us cousins followed suit, chewing in silence while the adults delved into their usual discussions—business, politics, wealth.

"Everything’s fine, especially the investment in Pallas Company. Sales are doing well," Uncle Kevin said, an almost sinister smirk on his lips.

Pallas?

Something about that name nagged at me, but before I could place it, my phone vibrated.

From: Wyatt

I want to rest. Can I take a nap in your room?

My lips parted slightly as I glanced up, only to meet Wyatt’s unwavering gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes looked heavy—tired.

No. No, no, no. Avoid temptation, Oceanna.

If anyone in this family so much as suspected something between us, it would be over for me.

To: Wyatt

You could excuse yourself and go to the guestroom.

I watched as he read my message, his brows pulling together in mild frustration before he started typing.

From: Wyatt

I said your room.

I frowned. Has he lost his mind?

He was the one who told me to cut all contact. He was the one who made it clear we couldn’t be caught. And now this?

To: Wyatt

Guestroom. Do you want them to set us up? Get your s**t together.

I could feel his stare on me, dark and intense. His lips jutted out slightly in frustration, his fingers tapping against the table impatiently.

I forced my attention back to the conversation when my mother spoke.

"They tried to sabotage our company." Her voice was sharp, her gaze locked on Uncle Kevin.

Still talking about Pallas?

"I know about that, Lara." Aunt Zeinab’s tone was laced with amusement. "You don’t have to worry. I’m just using them. They’re failing."

Mom smiled. "Serves them right."

My phone vibrated again.

From: Wyatt

Fine.

I shook my head.

To: Wyatt

Just go and rest in the guestroom.

I adjusted in my seat, glancing around. Everyone was too engaged in their own discussions. Maybe I could slip away and guide him to the guestroom myself—

Another message.

To: Wyatt

Are you going to rest now?

I looked up, only to catch Zenos peering over Wyatt’s phone screen. Nosy bastard.

Wyatt shot him a look. "Don’t be nosy."

Zenos smirked at him before turning to me. His expression was downright mischievous.

"What?" I muttered, narrowing my eyes.

He simply chuckled, shaking his head.

I huffed and turned away, trying to refocus on the conversation at the table. The adults were still discussing Pallas Company.

Something about it didn’t sit right with me.

"Why are you staying with them if you know they're failing?" Uncle Jonathan asked, his gaze fixed on Uncle Kevin.

Uncle Kevin leaned back, smirking. "I'll buy all their shares until they have nothing."

The room filled with low chuckles.

Uncle Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. "You planned this all along, didn’t you, Kevin?" His voice held amusement, but there was something darker beneath it.

Wait... what?

Was it true? Was the Pallas family sinking?

I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze drifting to Zenos. His expression had sharpened, his jaw clenched as he listened.

"I heard their only heir almost failed her exams," Aunt Jules said with an amused glint in her eyes.

"She’s been helping her mother keep the company afloat. That must have affected her studies," Aunt Danica added, her voice softer, almost concerned.

Aunt Jules rolled her eyes. "Crescent and Nathan both manage to help their fathers while staying at the top of their class. Let’s just admit it—Pallas is a family of losers, Danica."

"It’s different. They have a lot to fix," Aunt Cheryl interjected.

Aunt Jules scoffed. "What difference? Besides, Pallas has been a thorn in our side for years. It’s time we pulled them out for good."

The elders murmured in agreement. They were ready to wipe out anyone who dared compete with us.

"Julie is right," Uncle Jonathan mused, a wicked smile on his lips. "I don’t like competitors."

The conversation shifted seamlessly.

"By the way, is there any progress on Damon Amara’s case?" Uncle Brix asked.

I pressed my lips together. I knew where this was going.

"I heard Joepher Xakousti will be Bronze’s lawyer," Uncle Jonathan said, his tone laced with excitement. "This is going to be fun."

I glanced at my father. He hadn’t said a word. He just sat there, eerily silent.

Then, Uncle Kevin spoke again, his voice cutting through the air.

"Rich and I have decided to draft a new agreement."

My heart pounded.

No. No. No.

I already had a bad feeling about this.

Wyatt remained motionless, his expression unreadable. My palms grew clammy. Please don’t announce it now. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

"What is it?" Aunt Jules asked curiously.

Uncle Kevin turned to my father. "Since Zenos and Crescent’s engagement is off, we’d like to propose a new one—between Wyatt and Oceanna."

The room fell into silence.

My stomach twisted.

"This will only happen if Rich loses the case," Uncle Kevin continued. "If he wins, then nothing will proceed."

All eyes turned to Wyatt and me. I looked down, my chest tightening.

I wanted to disappear.

"I don’t think that’s a good idea," Kuya Cheros interjected. His voice carried weight—he was the firstborn of our generation, the first of the barbarous third-gen Homers.

"It would attract too much attention to our family," Kuya Nathan added.

I nodded instinctively. Yes. Exactly. Please, let this die down.

Uncle Jonathan, however, wasn’t done. He turned his gaze to Wyatt.

"What’s your opinion on this?"

Wyatt finally looked up, his cold stare meeting his uncle’s.

"What do you want to hear?" he asked, his tone flat.

Uncle Jonathan let out a quiet laugh. "You have your father’s bluntness, Wyatt." He tilted his head. "But I want to hear your real outlook."

Wyatt exhaled, leaning back. His lips barely parted as he spoke:

"Marriage is a prominent vanity."

And just like that, the room bristled.