TRACKS

family

The Therapanyukul mansion had not sounded this alive in months. Laughter spilled across the dining hall, where the wives  Porsche, Porchay, Tankhun, Babe, and Sky  were busy teasing each other over guest lists and centerpiece colors. Swatches of fabric lay scattered across the table, alongside sketches of floral arches and cake tiers.

Every so often, a squeal of excitement rose, and the room would dissolve into chatter again. Babe kept rubbing his belly absentmindedly as Porsche fussed over the order of the bridesmaids, while Sky shyly blushed every time his name was mentioned in connection to the big day.

From the outside, the mansion looked like a palace brimming with joy.

But in the background, shadows were building.

At the far end of the table, the husbands sat quietly  Vegas, Kinn, Kim, and Pete. Their plates were mostly untouched, their smiles polite but strained. They were there, but not really there. Each one carried a storm in his chest, unseen by the wives  who laughed just a few steps away.

Vegas pushed his glass back and forth, his jaw tight. The issues at the company weighed heavy on him  leaked information, betrayal somewhere deep in their circle. He couldn’t stop replaying the possibility of a mole in their midst. And on top of that, his fight with Pete still lingered like an open wound, his husband’s silence cutting sharper than any blade.

Pete, seated beside him, kept his eyes lowered, cutting his food into tiny pieces he never ate. The celebratory noise felt far away, muffled by the emptiness inside him. He should’ve been sharing the joy with his family, but instead, he was trapped in a cage of his own grief and stubborn silence.

Across from them, Kinn wore his leader’s mask  calm, collected, almost amused at the wives’ antics. But underneath, he was burning with fury. Someone was leaking intel, and every piece of wrong information put their empire at risk. He was trying to protect everyone, but the stress clung to his shoulders like chains.

Beside him, Kim sat stiffly. Porchay had barely acknowledged him that evening, laughing freely with Porsche and Tankhun but not glancing once in his direction. Their relationship had been rocky for months, and Kim was too proud, too sharp-edged to bend. Yet watching Porchay glow under the mansion lights soft, bright, untouchable only deepened the ache he would never admit.

No one at the table dared bring up the truth  that their empire was being chipped away, that their unity was cracking at the seams, that the weddings being planned with so much excitement might be marred by blood if the leaks continued.

Instead, they let the women laugh, let the house glow with joy, let the illusion remain untouched.

The husbands exchanged quick glances  silent agreements, unspoken warnings.

Vegas, his eyes lingering on Pete.
Kinn, watching the room with the mind of a king calculating every move.
Kim, silently fighting his war of love and pride.
Pete, drowning in his own quiet misery.

And so the night carried on — a mansion of light, sitting atop shadows none of the wives could see.
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The laughter of the wives still echoed faintly through the grand halls of the Therapanyukul mansion when Kinn gave the subtle nod. It was time.

One by one, the husbands slipped out of the dining room, leaving behind the warmth of chandeliers and wedding chatter. Their footsteps were heavy, silent, the air thickening the deeper they walked into the private wing of the house  the one reserved for family business.

The room they entered was small, dimly lit, the table at its center bare save for a bottle of whiskey and a single folder marked with red.

Kinn: Another shipment rerouted. Another deal sabotaged. Someone is feeding our enemies information from inside these walls.