Chapter 69
Arianne might be his elder sister, but Gio was aware others wouldn’t see them that way. She was the legitimate daughter of the Summers and Conway families—quiet, capable, expected. He was the mistake no one corrected.
Gio accompanied Arianne at the Conway estate not as her brother, but as her capable assistant. When the Conway family moved to the dining area, Gio excused himself without a word, stepping out of the corridor’s center and positioning himself near the tall window that overlooked the side garden, away from the direct path of the family’s movement.
He didn’t want to cause any more trouble to Arianne than he already had.
The garden of the Conway estate was filled with different kinds of flowers. White and pale pink blossoms clustered along the stone paths, their petals damp from the morning mist. There were also trees that Gio assumed to be older than him and Arianne, their thick trunks splitting the light into uneven patches across the gravel below.
A few servants glanced his way and murmured to each other. Gio pretended not to notice as he was already used to the judgmental gaze and words directed at him.
“The unwanted child,” they said.
Gio kept his gaze on the fountain ahead. He had heard worse when he was younger.
When he was younger, Gio didn’t understand why his elder brothers hated him. He was constantly forced to do household chores inappropriate for his age. There were even nights he was forced to sleep with an empty stomach, only to be violently woken up the next morning by one of his brothers. He remembered the rough pull at his shoulder, the blanket dragged away before dawn.
Gio learned early that remaining quiet did not guarantee safety. Silence only drew attention; it did not remove resentment. In the Summers household, he was neither acknowledged nor denied outright. He was simply present in a way that irritated those who considered lineage a hierarchy rather than circumstance.
The first time he understood the meaning of “illegitimate,” he had been ten. One of his brothers had used the word casually, almost academically, as if explaining a defect in documentation rather than addressing a child.
Gio had not reacted then. He had only memorized the tone. It was the same tone servants used when discussing misplaced items.
He did not resent the word. He resented the classification.
In the early years, he tried to adapt. He volunteered for tasks before being ordered. He avoided shared spaces when tempers were high. He learned which doors to close softly and which hallways to avoid. But compliance did not erase hierarchy. It reinforced it.
The Conways had never directly disciplined him. They had done something quieter.
They ignored him.
When he accompanied Arianne to the estate for the first time as a child, he had been instructed to remain outside formal rooms. Staff had referred to him as “the boy” even in his presence.
If Arianne entered the dining hall, he waited in the corridor until she returned. No one told him he was unwelcome. They simply never set a place for him. He stood near the wall beneath framed portraits, hands folded behind his back, careful not to lean against anything.
He had understood.
What he did not expect was Arianne’s refusal to accept it.
The first time it happened, she was thirteen; he was ten. Arianne had just taken him under her wing after their father’s death. The dining table had been prepared for a family luncheon. Silverware aligned—seats assigned. Gio had remained near the doorway, prepared to step back before anyone needed to gesture. The chandelier light reflected sharply against the polished wood, leaving no space unnoticed.
Arianne had paused before taking her seat.
Then she had asked, in a voice steady enough to avoid confrontation yet clear enough to carry across the table, why there were not enough settings.
An aunt replied that additional arrangements were unnecessary.
Arianne had not raised her voice. She had not argued. She had simply instructed the staff to bring another setting.
The staff hesitated.
Her grandmother had watched.
The plate was set down. The chair was adjusted.
No one acknowledged the adjustment. The conversation resumed as if nothing had changed.
But Gio had been seated.
He had not touched the food at first. He had been aware of the weight of every glance. Arianne had not looked at him. She had not offered reassurance. She had simply eaten, as though his presence required no justification.
After that, the pattern repeated. Not every time. But enough.
When relatives chose to “forget,” Arianne remembered.
When servants failed to include him, Arianne addressed it without commentary. She did not call it kindness. She did not call it anything at all.
Gio was unsure when his loyalty changed from gratitude to certainty. Maybe it was never really gratitude. It was more about recognition. Even when he made mistakes, she treated him as if he were always dependable. She handed him documents without hesitation, expecting him to keep up.
A breeze moved through the garden, carrying the faint scent of trimmed hedges. From inside the estate, the sound of distant cutlery signaled the beginning of lunch.
Gio remained where he stood, hands clasped behind his back. A younger servant passed him and hesitated briefly before offering a shallow bow, uncertain whether courtesy applied.
He returned the gesture with equal precision.
He no longer felt anger when labeled unwanted. He felt calculation. Those who dismissed him did so under the assumption that he lacked position. They did not understand that a position could be defined differently.
Arianne had never introduced him as an obligation. She introduced him by name, as though the distinction required no explanation.
Inside the estate, voices rose faintly in controlled conversation. He knew she was navigating them without visible strain. She had always been capable of enduring coldness without absorbing it.
Years ago, when the Summers household had grown increasingly hostile after her public confrontation, it had been Gio who found her alone in the study late at night, reviewing documents stacked high across the desk.
The desk lamp had cast a narrow circle of light, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. She had not cried. She had not vented. She had asked him to cross-reference dates, sliding a folder toward him without pause.
He had been twelve.
She had been fifteen.
That night, he had understood something: she did not protect him through affection. She protected him through structure.
The garden path curved toward a fountain whose stone edges had weathered over decades. Gio traced the outline of the carving with his eyes but did not touch it. Touching implied ownership. He had learned restraint early. A thin crack ran along the rim where water collected before spilling back into the basin.
Footsteps approached from behind.
A servant stopped several paces away. “You are expected inside,” he said carefully, avoiding eye contact.
Gio inclined his head. “I will join shortly p>
The servant hesitated, then added, “Madam has not specified seating p>
Gio allowed himself the smallest pause.
“Understood,” he replied.
The implication was clear.
He walked back without hurry. The marble floors reflected his figure as he passed through the foyer. No one intercepted him. No one guided him either.
As he reached the dining hall, he stopped just before entering. Through the partially opened doors, he could see the table arranged in symmetry. Arianne sat upright along one side, her posture unchanged. Evelyn occupied the head.
There was one seat unassigned.
Gio did not move immediately.
He waited.
Inside the room, Arianne lifted her gaze briefly toward the doorway. She did not signal. She did not speak.
She only looked at the empty chair positioned two seats away from her.
The room noticed.
The seat was not decorative.
It was intentional.
Gio stepped inside.
He did not thank anyone.
He did not apologize for entering.
He walked toward the unclaimed place and sat. The chair legs brushed softly against the carpet border before settling.
No one objected.
Cutlery resumed its quiet rhythm.
For the Conway estate, it was a minor adjustment to the arrangement: one more seat at the long table.
For Gio, it was confirmation that he had never stood alone in this house—not because he was accepted, but because she had decided he would not be excluded.
And in this estate, Arianne’s decisions now carried weight.