After Dinner – In the Living Room
After the meal, the family moved to the living room for a discussion. Raphael sat in his favorite chair, his expression thoughtful as he cleared his throat.
"The main reason I called for this meeting is that I want to celebrate my birthday, which is coming up soon."
Brian, who had been leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed, gave a disinterested look. "Do you need to celebrate your birthday every year?"
Raphael scoffed. "It's my birthday, my money—why do you care?"
Brian simply responded with a "Whatever."
Ignoring him, Raphael continued. "Brian, Richard, your mother's death anniversary is also coming up. I want us all to gather and bless her this year." His voice held a rare seriousness.
Both sons remained silent. The mention of their late mother was always a sensitive subject.
Raphael's tone shifted as he looked directly at Brian. "And you—don't you think it's time to bring home a woman to marry?"
Brian's expression remained unreadable. "When I'm ready, I'll do the needful."
Raphael clicked his tongue in frustration. "And when will you be ready? At your age, I was already married with kids."
"Dad, come on…" Richard tried to step in, sensing the conversation heading toward dangerous territory.
But Raphael wasn't done. "Can't you two be more like your brother Edward? He never gives me a reason to complain."
Monica, who had been listening quietly, finally sighed. "Can you stop it?" She turned to Raphael with a firm look. "Stop comparing them. They are not kids anymore; they are grown men."
"Stop spoiling them so much, Monica."
Edward, sitting comfortably and feeling proud of himself, smirked. Meanwhile, Brian, who had long lost interest in the conversation, picked up his phone from the chair and stood up. "I don't care what you say, but I'm not interested in marriage right now." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, heading for his room.
Raphael's eyes darkened as he turned to Monica. "Find ways to set him up on blind dates. I don't care how you do it."
Monica, though hesitant, nodded in agreement.
Richard, who had been holding back his frustration, finally spoke. "Dad, you know you can't force Brian to do something he doesn't want to do, right?"
Raphael's patience snapped. "Get out of my sight. You and your brother are birds of the same feather."
Richard let out a dry chuckle. "Of course we are—we were born from the same mother." His words were sharp with sarcasm as he, too, turned and left for his room.
Eddie, seizing the moment to earn favor, moved closer to his father with a bright smile. "Dad, calm down. I'm here for you."
Raphael's frown softened slightly as he looked at his youngest son. "Thanks, Eddie." But his gaze lingered toward the direction his other sons had disappeared to, frustration still evident in his eyes.
—
Bzzz! Bzzz!
The sharp ringing of the alarm shattered the peaceful silence, dragging Irene from her sleep. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow.
"What the heck? Who the hell still sets alarms in this day and age?" she grumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
Irritated, she reached out, grabbed the alarm clock, and hurled it to the floor. The loud crash echoed through the room as the clock shattered into useless pieces. Satisfied, she was about to drift back into slumber when her father's voice called from outside her door.
"Irene, darling. Good morning. Can I talk to you?"
She stiffened under the covers, her annoyance spiking.
"Is this man kidding me?" she muttered before throwing off the blanket and stomping toward the door.
With an exasperated sigh, she yanked it open and stepped out, making sure to shut it behind her before Roland could enter. Her glare was ice-cold.
"What do you want, Mr. Roland?"
Her father blinked at her, clearly taken aback. "Mr. Roland? Sweetheart, I'm your father. How can you call me that?"
Irene folded her arms. "Then what do you want, Roland?"
Roland sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as if gathering patience. "Okay, let me into your room so we can talk."
"But I have nothing to talk to you about." Her tone was flat, dismissive.
His expression softened. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry for everything. Please, let me explain."
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "If you want to be sorry, then go meet my mother in hell and apologize to her instead."
Roland paled. "What do you mean? What happened to your mother?"
Irene's gaze was unreadable, her voice devoid of emotion. "My mother is dead. Is that clear enough for you? And trust me,a woman who died for a man like you, heaven isn't an option for them. If you want answers, go to hell and ask her yourself."
Roland's face twisted in disbelief. "How can she be dead? That's impossible."
Irene smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You want to know how she died?"
"Yes! I need to know."
She tilted her head mockingly. "Then go to hell and find out."
With that, she slammed the door in his face.
Roland stood frozen for a moment before pulling out his phone. His voice was low and firm when he spoke.
"Hello. Help me investigate."
"Who?" the person on the other end asked.
Roland's jaw clenched. "Hazel Queen. I want to know everything that has happened to her recently."
"Understood, sir."
The Dining Room at the Brown's
Everyone sat in their designated seats for breakfast, the clinking of cutlery filling the tense silence. Suddenly, the sharp click-clack of heels echoed down the hallway, each step firm and deliberate, like a queen marching to war.
Heads turned just as Irene made her entrance, exuding an air of authority that demanded attention.
"Good morning," she greeted casually.
"Good morning," Victor responded.
Irene's lips curled into a smirk. "Later, some people will say someone has no manners, yet here they are, lacking even the most basic courtesy."
Though her words weren't directed at anyone in particular, they were aimed at everyone at the table.
Victor frowned. "But I replied."
Irene scoffed. "Who cares about your reply?"
Across the table, Rosalyn's face twisted in frustration. "Is this what you expect me to live with?" she fumed.
"Irene, can you stop this?" Roland pleaded, his tone weary.
Irene simply shrugged, completely unfazed, and picked up her fork, digging into her food without a care.
Victoria, who had been watching with narrowed eyes, finally spoke. "Do you even know the basic etiquette of wearing heels?"
Irene raised a brow. "Do I have to?"
Victoria let out an exasperated huff. "Any normal person wouldn't make so much noise just by walking."
Irene leaned forward slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But I'm not a normal person. You can ask your father."
Not that she can't use a heel properly she's just want them to talk
"Enough, both of you," Daniel cut in, his voice sharp. He set down his utensils and fixed Irene with a cold stare. "Miss, once you're done eating, pack your luggage and leave this house. Dad will compensate you for everything—he owes you that much. But we can't live as a family."
Irene didn't even flinch. Instead, she let out a low chuckle. "I'm not here for 'family stuff,' bro. I'm here for something far more important." To ruin your father she said the last part as a whisper but everyone heard it before she gave an innocent smile.
She turned her attention to Roland, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Mr. Brown," she began, then paused as if contemplating her next words. Her smile widened. "I'm still deciding whether to sue you for toying with my mother and me… or to leave you to fate."
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
She leaned back, her tone mockingly thoughtful. "I heard the re-election campaign is around the corner. Would a lawsuit ruin that for you? Maybe I should call my lawyer and ask how many charges I can file against you."
A slow, devilish smile spread across her face.
Roland's expression darkened. "Why are you doing this?"
Irene tilted her head, feigning innocence. "My mother died from heartbreak. What do you expect from a good daughter like me?" She placed a hand over her chest, pretending to hold back tears, though her smirk never wavered.
Roland exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "What do you want?"
Irene leaned back in her chair, her expression effortlessly smug. "Simple. Just tell your family members to stay out of my way while I'm here. I'll leave when I feel like it."
Victoria shot up from her seat, her face burning with anger. "That's impossible! Dad, if she's staying, I'm leaving this house."
Irene smirked, her voice laced with mockery. "No one's stopping you from leaving." She let the words sink in before adding, "In fact, even without your little threat, your father would still choose me over you. Right, Dad?"