Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 110

Chapter 110: Operation Plan B

Miexha sat stiffly at the marble dining table, still processing everything.

The clatter of plates, the clinking of utensils, the loud chatter of children—this place roared with life. But not a single voice acknowledged her.

Everyone was too busy bickering, laughing, and tossing food between animated vines like it was some kind of breakfast circus.

Shellie adjusted a sparkly hair clip using the reflection of her spoon, scolding Xiejay without even looking at him.

"Stop kicking the table. It's uncivilized."

"I am civilized," Xiejay shot back, kicking harder—then grinning as he drew syrup smiley faces across his pancake.

Ariel clung to Zatariel's side, half on his lap, reaching dramatically for the red-haired boy's fried chicken.

"Mine..."

"No, mine," the boy snapped, pulling it back.

Between them, Zatariel moved like a referee.

One hand holding Ariel steady.

A vine gently redirects the boy's arm. Another vine catches a falling spoon mid-air.

Effortless.

Used to it.

Across from them, the twins—Leon and Liana—ate in silence, side by side, with the grim composure of war survivors.

Miexha cleared her throat. She looked down at her plate.

"...So this is motherhood," she whispered to her rice.

"Zazaaa—hug please!"

Ariel stretched her arms dramatically.

Zatariel sighed.

"Weren't you supposed to be independent now?"

But he gave in instantly. He wiped his hands and scooped her up.

"Fine. Come here, emotional parasite."

Ariel giggled, burying her face into his neck.

"Me too, Dada!" the red-haired boy demanded, climbing onto him without permission.

Zatariel barely blinked as he adjusted both of them with ease.

"Didn't you promise your mother you'd act independently?" he muttered.
"Or was that just a strategy to get more money? Why are you so obsessed with cash, huh?"

The boy only laughed.

Miexha watched them.

They don't call me Mom...

Just Zaza. Zaza. Zaza.

Her gaze lingered on the red-haired boy.

"...I thought I only had three kids," she said quietly.

Zatariel glanced at her, still carrying both children.

"Oh—right. My mistake. I didn't introduce you properly."

He nodded toward the twins. "My twins—Liana and Leon."

"Adopted," Liana corrected flatly, not even looking up. "You don't own us."

Zatariel grinned. "Adopted or not, I still raised you."

Then he patted the red-haired boy's head.

"And this—this is my son."