The Life of Aurelius Valemont: The Replica (Part 2)
Aurelius: Age 15
Every morning, without fail, at exactly 4:55 a.m., Matthew knocks twice on my door. Sharp. Steady. I don't need to ask who it is anymore. I rise, dress, and follow him without a word.
At exactly 5:00 a.m.—not a second late—Father lunges at me.
No greetings. No warnings. Just bloodlust and blades.
It's been a year since he first threw a dagger at my throat, and now I'm no longer the boy who stumbled in a suit. I perfected daggers. I mastered swords, short blades, twin knives, even hidden weapons strapped beneath sleeves. I bled for every lesson.
Now, today begins a new chapter: firearms.
The training room has been transformed. Ammunition crates line the walls. On the table are several guns—Glocks, revolvers, rifles, even a long-range sniper. Matthew hands me a standard pistol first. Cold. Heavy. Different.
Father steps beside me, arms crossed.
"Guns are for cowards," he begins, "but sometimes, cowards live longer. You'll learn both. You'll become both."
I don't flinch. Not anymore.
We begin with the basics—stance, grip, recoil. Then he fires without warning, the bullet grazing just past my ear, making my heart stutter.
"You flinched," he says. "Next time, you die."
I grit my teeth and reload.
We train for two straight hours. Sweat pours down my back, my arms ache, and my hands burn from the recoil. But I don't stop. I shoot. I reload. I dodge. I fire again. This is my life now—until 7:00 a.m. sharp.
Back in the mansion, life has its… lighter side. If you could call it that.
Luciana's already waiting in the library when I arrive—her face lights up when she sees me, her lips curling into that smile she always saves just for me.
"My little knight," she sings, rushing over to fix the slightly crooked collar of my shirt. "You're sweating again. Did he shoot at you this time?"
"Just grazed," I shrug.
She gasps like a mother hen, frowning. "That man is insane."
Peter, seated by the window with a steaming cup of tea, snorts without looking up from his book. "Took you long enough to realize that."
Philip is on the couch with his laptop, furiously typing away—until Luciana sits beside me, holding my hand to check for bruises. His fingers freeze over the keys.
"Do you have to call him that every five seconds?" he mutters.
Luciana tilts her head sweetly. "What? My little knight?"
Philip groans, slamming the laptop shut. "There it is again! Every. Five. Seconds."
"Oh, come on," I smirk, nudging him. "Jealous, Philip?"
He turns beet red. "I am not! I'm just—ugh, forget it!"
Peter chuckles. "It's nice to be young again," he mumbles, turning another page.
Across the room, Matthew is seated beside Yumi on the far end of the couch. They're pretending not to be close, but their pinkies are very much linked.
Philip, eagle-eyed as always, grins like a devil. "Yumi, are you and Matthew holding hands~?"
Yumi squeaks, pulling her hand away. "N-No! I mean—I—That's none of your business!"
Matthew simply adjusts his tie, clearing his throat. "I was merely providing support."
"Support?" Philip echoes, raising a brow. "Pretty sure it looked like affection."
Yumi turns red as a tomato. "Young Master Aurelius, say something!"
I raise my hands in mock innocence. "I just told her once that you like her cookies."
"Young Master!" she squeals, hiding her face.
Matthew smiles faintly beside her, his usual calm demeanor cracking just slightly.
"Alright, alright," Peter calls out. "Children, behave."
We all laugh. Even Luciana.
For a brief moment, the world doesn't feel so cold.
I don't know much about Matthew, even after all these years. He's like a walking mystery wrapped in a tailored suit. Cold. Silent. Efficient. The kind of man who used to speak only when Father demanded it—and even then, it was no more than a nod or a quiet "Yes, sir."
But something's changed.
Lately, he's been…talkative. Not by much, but enough to make all of us notice. Especially Philip. The guy actually tried to hack into Matthew's records a few weeks back. Pulled all-nighters, tapped into the estate's deepest servers—and still came up with nothing.
"Who is this guy?" Philip whispered one night, his screen filled with error codes. "Even Father's files have gaps when it comes to him. He's a damn ghost."
The change began after that night—Chapter 46, in case I ever write this down. Yumi, drunk off the rare bottle of wine we (actually, just Philip. He said for "celebrations" or something) found, stumbled into Matthew's path and accidentally kissed him. Just a peck on the lips. That was all it took.
Ever since then, he's been… different.
He talks now. In a voice so deep and smooth it makes the maids drop trays. Every time he says "Good morning," the estate practically sighs. Yumi especially.
One time, during breakfast:
"Yumi," he said simply, handing her a folded napkin.
She dropped the teapot.
"Th-thank you, Matthew!" she stammered, red from her collar to her ears.
Even Peter, who never gets involved, muttered, "I think that was her fifth cup she spilled this week."
Philip couldn't stop grinning. "You guys realize we're living with a real-life otome game character, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "More like an idol. You should see the maids when he walks down the hall."
But while the estate buzzes with whispers of Matthew's unexpected charm, life in the Valemont household remains…complicated.
Especially when it comes to Father's wives.
Out of all of us, I pity Leonard the most. Beatrice—Father's second wife after Mama died—is constantly pressuring him. Always comparing him to me. Always pushing him to "be more like your brother."
He's just a kid. Five, maybe six.
Last week, I caught her scolding him harshly in the garden.
"Stand up straight! You're a Valemont! You must carry yourself like your brother Aurelius!"
Leonard looked like he was about to cry.
I knelt down after she stormed off and handed him one of the sweet buns I'd swiped from the kitchen earlier.
"Hey," I said. "You don't have to be like me. Just be Leonard, okay?"
He blinked up at me, wide-eyed. "But… Mama says you're perfect."
I snorted. "That's because she doesn't know me well enough."
He giggled. Just a little.
Laurel—Father's third wife—handles her children well, I'll give her that. She raises them properly, with structure and etiquette. But I've overheard things… whispering behind closed doors, subtle jabs.
"Don't associate with him too closely," I once heard her say. "He's… different."
Yeah. I'm different. And proud of it.
Theresa and Anne are quiet. Too quiet. They stay in their own wings, raising their children away from the chaos, perhaps hoping Father forgets they exist. Maybe that's the smartest approach.
And then… there's Luciana.
The last wife. The secret bride. Royal blood runs in her veins, but she's more fragile than anyone I've ever met.
She's 18 now. Legal, I guess. But her marriage to Father is still under wraps—hidden behind titles, political deals, and silence.
She reminds me so much of Mama it hurts.
The way she speaks, soft and deliberate. The way she tries to smile, even when she's clearly on the verge of tears. She's all lace and porcelain. Too delicate for this house.
Too kind for Victor Valemont.
I don't say it aloud, but I keep watch over her.
Even if it means being her little knight forever.
I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. sharp.
I needed the head start.
I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of catching me off guard again—not this time. Every day, it's the same. Father lunges at me at exactly 5:00 a.m., as if he's been counting the seconds in his head. No hesitation. No warning. Just violence. Precision. Brutality.
But I'm not the same boy I was weeks ago. I've grown faster, sharper. Stronger. I want to beat him—no, crush him. Not just because I want to prove myself, but because of what he did to Mama. Her smile still haunts me. Her voice. Her warmth. And he... he destroyed all of it.
He's a demon in human skin.
With that thought buried deep in my chest, I slowly lay back on my bed. My muscles ached from the prior sessions, but I was used to the pain now. Pain meant progress. Pain meant I was still alive.
Yumi, my personal maid, moved quietly around the room, finishing my nightly preparations as always. She didn't say much—she never does when she senses my mood. But before she left, she gently stroked my hair, like Mama used to. It almost made me feel... human again.
"Goodnight, Young Master," she whispered.
And then she was gone.
The next morning, my alarm buzzed.
4:30 a.m.
I blinked once, sat up, and got ready in silence. Dressed in black combat wear. Hair tied back. Dagger and sidearm strapped to my thigh. My breaths were slow and focused. My mind already calculating angles, escape routes, weak points. If he wanted war, he was going to get it.
4:55 a.m.
Knock. Knock.
Matthew. Right on time.
I opened the door before he could speak. He blinked in surprise at my appearance.
"You're early," he noted.
"I'm ready," I said coldly, walking past him.
We headed to the training hall. And as expected, exactly at 5:00 a.m., Father was already there—standing at the far end of the room, handgun in hand.
"Begin," he barked.
No warning.
The first shot rang out.
I dove behind a reinforced barrier, rolling and drawing my own weapon. I returned fire. We exchanged rounds like some sort of deadly dance. Bullets whizzed past, striking walls, slicing through the air. But I was faster now—more alert, more aggressive.
I fired a round that grazed his shoulder, the closest I've ever come to landing a hit.
And then, to my shock—he stood up.
Holstered his gun.
Raised both hands in a mock surrender.
"Well done," he said, his voice calm but unreadable. "You've improved."
I didn't lower my weapon immediately. I didn't trust him. But he didn't retaliate.
"We're done with this lesson," he said, turning his back. "It's time you learned the next step."
I narrowed my eyes. "Which is?"
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Sniping," he said simply. "The art of eliminating your target before they even realize they've been marked."
He walked out of the room, and Matthew stepped forward silently, already carrying the custom-built sniper rifle in its case.
I exhaled, finally lowering my weapon.
It wasn't over. This was only the beginning.
And one day, I will beat him.
We began the sniping lessons right after that. The training grounds had shifted from the harsh concrete of the sparring hall to a colder, more isolated section of the estate—an open rooftop, long and wide, with reinforced barriers, targets mounted on trees hundreds of meters away, and high-tech surveillance drones hovering silently above. The wind was still, the air biting cold at dawn.
Father stood beside me as Matthew laid down the sniper rifle on a black velvet cloth. It gleamed under the faint orange hue of sunrise.
"This isn't just about pulling a trigger," Father said, his voice low. "Sniping is patience. Discipline. Breath control. Your enemy won't even know you're watching them. And by the time they realize it..." He tapped his temple with two fingers, "It's already over."
He gestured toward the rifle.
"Pick it up."
I did. The weight of it was different from the handguns—heavier, steadier, demanding precision. Matthew adjusted my posture from behind, correcting my grip, angling my shoulders.
"Control your heartbeat," he said calmly. "Inhale... hold... exhale... then fire."
I followed. My eye lined up with the scope. The crosshair swayed with every subtle movement of my body, every breath, every pulse in my veins.
I could see the target. A red dot in the middle of a mannequin's head, over 300 meters away.
Crack.
The sound echoed, sharp and clean.
Direct hit.
Father raised a brow, arms crossed. "Beginner's luck," he muttered.
We continued for the next two hours. Different rifles. Moving targets. Wind calculations. Night scope accuracy. Matthew would quietly reload for me, and Father—he never once gave praise, but I could feel it. In the silence between shots. In the way he didn't correct me as often anymore.
By the time the clock struck 7:00 a.m., my muscles ached from holding still, but I didn't complain.
"That's enough for today," Father said, turning his back. "Tomorrow, you learn how to vanish after the kill."
He walked away again, leaving Matthew and me on the rooftop.
Matthew offered me a cloth to wipe the sweat from my face.
"Not bad," he said.
I gave him a tired smirk. "You talk a lot more now."
He didn't respond. But I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Matthew guided me through the corridor toward the library. It had become our sanctuary—a place not only for books, but for coding, quiet meals, and even the occasional sparring session between him and me. The early morning silence was calming, almost sacred. Then, unexpectedly, Matthew broke it.
"You're taller now," he said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. "Almost six foot?"
I blinked, surprised. That was the longest sentence I'd ever heard him say without being ordered to. I smirked. "Yeah… 5'8, actually. Pretty good for fifteen, right?" I nudged him with my elbow. "And look at you, stringing together sentences now. Must be the aftereffect of your first kiss—with Yumi, no less."
He didn't say a word, but the red creeping up his ears gave him away. Classic Matthew. Stoic as ever, but absolutely see-through when it came to Yumi.
By the time we arrived at the library, Yumi was already there, preparing tea and setting up a tray of morning snacks on the long table. When her eyes met Matthew's, she nearly dropped a teacup. "O-oh, good morning, Matthew," she stammered, clearly trying to sound calm but her hands betrayed her.
Matthew gave her a small nod, then adjusted his gloves. "Morning."
She beamed at the single word like it was a love letter. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. These two were hilarious.
"Matthew, help her carry the tray next time," I teased as I sat down. "She might drop it if you keep showing up like some mysterious prince."
"Y-Young Master Aurelius!" Yumi's voice hit a higher pitch than usual, cheeks flushing bright pink.
Matthew simply took the tray from her hands and carried it to the table with his usual elegance. Yumi watched him, flustered but smiling. I caught that smile.
Just then, Luciana entered. She wore a soft cream dress that gently flowed around her ankles. Her presence still carried that dignified, royal grace, yet her eyes always softened the moment they landed on me.
"My little knight," she said sweetly, walking over. I stood up and offered her a hand, still a head taller than her even without trying. At 5'4, Luciana was elegant but petite—and somehow, always fragile-looking despite her noble blood.
"You should stop calling me that," I muttered, ears warm.
"But you are," she replied, unfazed. "You promised."
I pulled out a chair for her and she sat with a grateful smile. Philip groaned in the background. "If I hear 'my little knight' one more time, I'm going to gag."
Peter, who had just entered, muttered as he passed us, "Ah, to be young again…"
Yumi glanced at Matthew, and without a word, he pulled out the chair beside her. She sat down quickly, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
Philip elbowed me under the table. "You think those two will kiss again?"
I smirked. "I think it's just a matter of time."
And for once, even Matthew didn't deny it.
We gathered around the long oak table in the heart of the library, where the scent of parchment mingled with freshly brewed tea and warm pastries. Yumi poured tea into delicate porcelain cups, her fingers trembling slightly each time she handed one to Matthew. He accepted it without comment, as usual, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary.
Luciana sat beside me, delicately cutting a piece of buttered bread. "Eat more," she said, placing another croissant on my plate. "You'll need the strength to protect me, my little knight."
"Again with that," I muttered, cheeks warm. "I'm already stronger than you. Besides, you're my stepmom."
She laughed, light and melodic. "Of course you are. But strength needs fuel."
Across the table, Philip poked at his eggs with a fork. "Do we have to witness your love story every meal?" he grumbled.
Peter chuckled, sipping his tea. "It's the only soap opera I get to watch anymore. Let me enjoy it."
Matthew, seated silently next to Yumi, handed her the sugar pot when she glanced at it without asking. Their hands brushed, and she fumbled the spoon with a squeak. "T-thank you," she whispered, blushing hard.
He nodded once. "You're welcome."
Philip nearly spat out his drink. "He spoke again!"
I leaned back in my chair with a grin. "See? I told you. He's evolving."
After breakfast, we moved to the open carpeted space near the shelves—a spot we'd unofficially claimed as our training corner, even if it was inside a library. Matthew and I both removed our outer coats, revealing lightweight black training gear beneath. He tossed me a dagger.
I caught it midair and spun it once between my fingers, meeting his cold gaze. "Let's go."
Luciana took her seat on the lounge near the window, hands folded politely on her lap. "Be careful," she said, voice soft but steady.
"I'll be fine," I called back.
Beside her, Philip crossed his arms. "I hope you trip," he muttered under his breath.
Peter calmly stacked a few books, glanced over at us, and sighed. "Try not to slash the encyclopedias this time, gentlemen. This is still a library."
I lunged forward first, and Matthew sidestepped with inhuman reflexes, countering with a blade aimed at my ribs. I blocked it with the flat of my dagger, twisting and narrowly avoiding his next strike. Metal rang out, echoing through the aisles of books.
Yumi watched with shining eyes, sitting on a cushioned bench nearby, completely enraptured. Every move Matthew made—every shift of his stance, every controlled breath—seemed to pull her further in. Her lips parted slightly, admiration practically radiating off her.
Luciana, meanwhile, never took her eyes off me. "So graceful…" she murmured.
"Do you mean Matthew?" Philip asked hopefully.
She blinked. "No. Aurelius, of course."
Philip's soul visibly withered.
We moved faster—daggers clashing, footsteps gliding across the wooden floor. One of Matthew's strikes grazed my arm, just enough to sting. I didn't back off. Instead, I grinned.
"I almost got you that time," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "No. I let you."
Peter sighed again. "One day, someone is going to mistake this place for a dojo."
"Wouldn't be the worst mistake," Philip muttered, still sulking beside Luciana.
With one final twist, I disarmed Matthew—barely—and pinned him for half a second before he reversed the momentum and sent me sprawling on the couch beside Yumi.
She let out a startled gasp. "A-Are you okay, Young Master?"
I coughed. "I'm fine. Just… crushed pride."
Luciana giggled and reached over to pat my head. "My knight always gets back up."
Matthew offered me a hand to stand, expression unreadable. "You improved."
I took his hand and stood, brushing off my shirt. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself, Romeo."
His brow twitched slightly. And just for a second—I swear—I saw Yumi smile wider than I've ever seen her before.
After Matthew helped me to my feet, I dusted myself off and walked back toward the others. My eyes accidentally drifted to Luciana, who had returned to her chair with her usual poise, sipping tea with both elegance and innocence.
"I'm okay, Mama," I said instinctively.
The room froze.
Luciana blinked at me in surprise, one hand still holding the teacup near her lips.
Peter paused mid-shelving, eyebrows raised. Yumi stopped cleaning my scraped arm. Matthew turned to me with his usual unreadable stare, but I swear his mouth twitched.
It hit me a second too late.
"I—I mean Luciana," I coughed, looking away as heat crept to my ears. "Not Mama. Obviously."
Luciana's cheeks turned bright pink, but she laughed softly, brushing her long hair behind her ear. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Philip, of course, couldn't let it go. He leaned forward with a smirk and muttered under his breath, loud enough for everyone to hear, "You're not the daddy here, you know."
I grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it at him. "Shut up."
He caught it with one hand and tossed it back with a grin. "Just saying. It's a little Freudian in here."
Peter cleared his throat pointedly. "Please don't psychoanalyze your trauma over tea and textbooks. This is still a library."
Luciana giggled again, her laughter soft and clear. "Don't worry, Philip. He's not trying to be your father either."
Philip made a gagging sound. "Ugh. I'd rather take another dagger to the ribs than imagine that."
Yumi whispered near Matthew, trying to hide her giggle behind her hand. "They're impossible."
Matthew only gave the faintest of nods but murmured under his breath, "Agreed."
I ran a hand down my face, both embarrassed and secretly amused. "Can we not turn this into a therapy session? I get enough bruises from training—I don't need emotional ones too."
Luciana smiled sweetly. "You called me Mama. That means I must be nurturing you well."
Philip muttered, "He probably just needs more sleep."
Peter glanced between us all and finally shook his head, muttering as he continued sorting through a pile of ancient manuscripts, "This estate has more drama than a royal court."
And honestly? He wasn't wrong.
Luciana gently placed her teacup down, her gaze lingering on me with quiet curiosity.
"Aurelius," she asked softly, "do I remind you of someone? You sometimes look at me like… you're remembering someone else."
Her question caught me off guard. Philip raised an eyebrow, clearly unaware of where this was going. Yumi, on the other hand, paused mid-fold with a cloth in her hand, already sensing the shift in atmosphere.
I took a breath. "You do. You remind me of her… of my mother. Anastasia Valemont."
Luciana's eyes widened a little, her lips parting slightly. Philip stiffened beside me, clearly taken aback—he had arrived long after my mother's death and knew very little of her.
I continued, my voice lower now. "You have the same softness in your voice, the way you smile gently even when things are heavy… and your presence. You carry yourself with the kind of grace only royalty could have, but your heart—it's kind. Just like hers."
Luciana looked down, visibly moved. Yumi, standing nearby, placed the folded cloth aside and stepped forward quietly.
"I was there," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Since the day young master was born. I served Lady Anastasia… She was the gentlest soul I've ever known."
Yumi's hands began to tremble slightly. "I still remember her begging on her knees, crawling toward Master Victor—pleading with everything she had to spare Aurelius from punishment. Her voice was weak… her body already bruised, bloodied. But she kept whispering, 'Please… not him… take me instead…'"
Luciana gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth.
"She had no strength left," Yumi continued, tears welling in her eyes. "But your father... he kicked her. He punched her until her face was unrecognizable. He spat on her, called her disgusting. Then he stabbed her. Not once. Not twice. But again and again. And still... she tried to reach for Aurelius."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
My fists were clenched tightly in my lap, nails digging into my skin. I didn't even realize how hard I was gripping until Philip gently placed a hand on my shoulder and lowered himself beside me.
"I… I didn't know," he said quietly, guilt etched across his face. "I didn't understand… why you were so protective of Luciana. Why you said you'd be her knight."
He looked at Luciana, then back at me. "I get it now. You couldn't save your mother. But you'll protect Luciana with everything you have."
Luciana reached out and touched my hand. "You don't have to protect me out of guilt, Aurelius."
"I'm not," I replied, my voice steady. "I'm doing it because I want to. Because I couldn't protect Mama, but I can protect you."
She smiled sadly, tears brimming in her eyes. "Then I'll do my best to honor your mother's memory… and yours."
Peter, who had been quietly listening from the shelves nearby, sighed and murmured, "The past lives in all of us. But the choice to carry it forward with strength—that's what defines us."
Yumi gently dabbed at her eyes. "Lady Anastasia would be proud."
And in that still moment, I knew she would be.
I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "Anyways…" I muttered, looking anywhere but at Luciana, "just… forget I ever called you mama, alright?"
Luciana blinked, her expression unreadable.
"It's just…" I ran a hand through my hair. "The resemblance is too much sometimes. The way you speak, your kindness… even the way you walk. It messes with my head. I know you're not her, but…"
I looked down, voice growing quieter.
"You're officially my stepmother now. Legal and all. You're eighteen. Still too young to be tied to someone like him."
She looked at me, her lips parting like she wanted to speak, but I kept going.
"Just…" My jaw tightened. "Please stay away from Father. As much as you can. Don't be alone with him. Don't let your guard down."
Luciana frowned. "Aurelius—"
"Because of how much you look like her," I said, cutting in softly. "You might get the same treatment. And I—" My throat tightened. "I don't want that."
I finally met her eyes, the weight of my words settling between us.
"I couldn't protect Mama. But I will protect you. As your knight. Always."
Luciana reached across the table, placing her hand gently over mine. "Then I'll trust you, my knight," she whispered. "And I'll be careful. I promise."
She smiled sadly, the kind that knew pain but chose kindness anyway.
Philip stood behind her, arms crossed. "You're not the daddy here," he muttered under his breath.
I glared at him.
Luciana stifled a laugh and wiped a tear from her eye. "Maybe not… but he's the only one who's ever treated me like I'm worth protecting."
And just like that, the vow I made in silence—to protect her at all costs—burned a little brighter in my chest.
"Besides," I added, trying to lighten the mood, "Philip and I also think of you more like an older sister, right Philip?"
I nudged him with my elbow, smirking.
Philip, who had been quietly sipping his tea, gave me a dry look. "Don't drag me into your weird stepmom complex."
Luciana chuckled, but I kept pushing.
"You can't take my stepmom, right? She's my mommy," I teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulder like a possessive little brother.
Luciana burst out laughing, her cheeks pink. "Mommy? Really?"
"I mean, emotionally, yeah," I grinned. "Legally? Technically. But spiritually? You're like Mama 2.0."
Philip groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why am I even here…"
Luciana smiled warmly and leaned her head gently against my shoulder. "Then I'll be your big sister-mommy, deal?"
"Deal," I said, holding out a pinky.
She linked hers with mine like it was a sacred oath, and in a way, it was. One I wouldn't break.
I leaned in toward Philip, grinning mischievously. "And also, Lucy, I hate to break it to you, but Philip likes you. He's had a crush on you this whole time since you were 17."
Philip's face immediately flushed a deep crimson as he shot me a glare that could kill. "Aurelius…"
I ignored him, grinning even more. "Dude, she's married to my father officially. You can't take her, too much forbidden love, eh?"
Luciana blinked, unsure whether to laugh or look concerned.
"Seriously, man," I continued, nudging Philip with my elbow. "I noticed you always get, like, a wet dream and mumble her name all the time. Duuuudddeee, she's my freaking stepmom, in papers! But still!"
Philip froze, his face burning. "I do not!" he protested weakly, but his stammer was all the proof I needed.
Luciana, looking a little startled, started laughing, her shoulders shaking. "Aurelius, you're a menace."
I grinned widely, giving her a playful shrug. "Hey, just tell him the truth, Lucy! You can't help it if you're a catch."
"I'm starting to feel like I'm caught in the middle of some teenage drama," Luciana said, trying to hold back her laughter.
Philip was now redder than a tomato. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, clearly embarrassed.
"Hey, you're the one who has to explain your little... fantasies to Lucy here, not me," I teased.
"Cut it out, Aurelius!" Philip growled, looking as though he might strangle me.
"Well, you're lucky she's so understanding," I said, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. "But remember, she's mine in the sibling way. Just... stay away from the mommy side of things."
End of Chapter 48.