Episode 3: The Family Dinner Incident

Family dinners are structured events.

Not emotionally.

Logistically.

Seating charts. Temperature-controlled courses. Noise levels managed to within acceptable thresholds. Exit routes clear.

Contingencies accounted for.

“Relax,” Diana murmurs, adjusting my collar.

“I am relaxed.”

“You checked the cutlery alignment three times.”

“Four,” I correct.

She smiles faintly. “Adorable.”

That word should not apply to me.

And yet.

They arrive in waves.

Perfume. Expensive fabric. Quiet confidence.

My sisters first—Mira and Lena—already mid-conversation about something deeply scientific and completely incomprehensible to anyone else.

“Beckett,” Mira says, hugging me before I can prepare.

I freeze.

Then—slowly—return it.

“…Hello.”

Lena smiles. “You look less like you want to disappear.”

“Progress,” I say.

“Diana’s influence,” she replies.

Diana inclines her head. “I refine. I don’t transform.”

More arrive.

Cousins. In-laws. Children.

Controlled chaos.

Then—

The mistake.

A guest.

Unfamiliar. Loud.

“I’ve heard so much about this family,” he says, already smiling too wide. “You’re all very… successful.”

No one responds immediately.

We let him continue.

“I’m in business myself,” he adds. “High-level stuff. Investments, strategy, you know how it is.”

I do not.

Viktor does.

“So you manage portfolios?” Viktor asks calmly.

“Yes,” the man says. “Large ones.”

“Define large.”

A pause.

“Well—substantial.”

I sip my drink.

Ah.

Dinner progresses.

The guest talks.

And talks.

And talks.

Each statement slightly inconsistent with the last.

Each claim a little more exaggerated.

Diana leans toward me.

“Seven contradictions,” she whispers.

“I counted nine.”

“Mm. You’re getting faster.”

Then Terry speaks.

Softly.

“What firms have you worked with?”

The man names one.

Claire tilts her head. “They closed two years ago.”

Silence.

“Oh—well, I meant—affiliates—”

“Which ones?” Tina asks.

He laughs.

Too loudly.

The children are watching now.

Persephone rests her chin on her hand.

Hades blinks slowly.

Predatory.

It collapses quickly after that.

Details unravel.

Timelines don’t match.

Claims contradict public record.

No one raises their voice.

No one accuses.

We simply… ask.

And he answers.

Poorly.

Eventually, he stops talking.

Which is the only correct decision he’s made all evening.

“I should be going,” he says.

“Yes,” Diana replies pleasantly. “You should.”

He leaves.

The door closes.

Silence.

Then—

Hades: “That was inefficient.”

Persephone: “No. Educational.”

I nod.

“Self-inflicted,” I say.

Diana rests her hand over mine.

“Always the most satisfying kind.”