Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 62: Home is Where the Chaos Is

[Capital City of Solre—Thorenvald Estate—Later —Night]

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Thorenvald estate—elegant stone walls, golden lanterns, and that faint air of "old money ets ancient drama."

Alvar had already peeled off toward his own mansion.

I slumped back in the seat, stretching my arms above my head until my joints popped. "Haaaah... finally. That was the longest journey of my life. My spine has officially filed for divorce."

Zephyy, perched on my shoulder, flicked his tail and peered out the carriage window with a huff. ’Master... I was expecting a grand welco. Trumpets. Rose petals. Maybe a chorus singing your praises. Why is there no one here?’

I stifled a yawn and pushed the door open as one of the estate knights hurried forward, bowing as he held it for . ’Because, Zephyy, I’m not so prince who expects fireworks when I co ho.’

’But you could be,’ Zephyy argued, ears twitching. ’You have the charm, the power, and the posterior of—’

’Finish that sentence,’ I warned, ’and you’ll be sleeping in the pantry with the brooms.’

He huffed, tail swishing like an offended diva. ’I’m rely saying, a little dramatic entrance never hurt anyone.’

I smirked, walking toward the manor’s doors as the faint glow of chandeliers flickered inside. ’Maybe for you, but for ? Ho should be warm, not grand.’

’Hmmph. Spoken like soone who’s never had a red carpet rolled out for them.’

I sighed just as the heavy oak doors creaked open and the ever-faithful butler of House Thorenvald appeared. Butler Godfrey—as polished and proper as the silver trays he worships.

He bowed low, voice as smooth and crisp as a freshly ironed napkin. "Welco back, my lord."

I squinted at him. "Godfrey... why is your na God—"

He cut off imdiately, smiling with the weariness of a man who’s had this argunt a hundred tis. "My lord, not again, please."

. . .

. . .

"Fine, fine. But one day I’m getting to the bottom of this divine mystery."

He rely sighed through his nose, the butler’s equivalent of I regret my life choices.

I stepped inside, stretching my aching shoulders. "So, where is everyone? The place feels too quiet—"

And then I heard it. A faint, shrill sound. A sound that foretold doom. Tiny footsteps thundered down the hallway.

"What... what is that?" I muttered.

Before Godfrey could answer, a small tornado of maroon hair and determination collided with my stomach at full speed.

"BROTHHHHHHHERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!"

. . .

I wheezed, staggering back as the air left my body. "I— guess this is— what it feels like when— a rocket— hits your vital organs!"

Zephyy moved nervously on my shoulder. ’Master, you alive?’

"Barely," I croaked, looking down at the pint-sized nace clinging to like a baby koala.

There she was. Alina Thorenvald. Short maroon hair, golden eyes sparkling with mischief—an exact copy of , if I’d been created in a smaller, louder, and infinitely more dangerous version.

"Alina," I gasped, "you shouldn’t—launch yourself directly at your brother’s stomach! Your brother is a fragile flower!!!"

She looked up at , big eyes brimming dramatically. "BUT YOU WERE GONE FOR SOOOO LONG!"

"I was gone Six months—not six years!"

"I DON’T CARE!" she declared, tightening her grip until my ribs re-evaluated their life decisions. "I AM NEVER LETTING YOU GO AGAINNNNNNNNN!!!"

I sighed, eyes crossing slightly from lack of oxygen. "Wow. She’s louder than . The world’s not ready for this level of chaos."

I had just started recovering from the first tornado attack—breathing again, seeing colors again—when the air suddenly shifted. A shriek echoed down the hallway.

"MY DEAREST SOOOOOOON!!!"

Oh no.

I barely had ti to register the approaching storm before the bigger tornado—dressed in a flurry of silk, lace, and maternal dramatics—ca barreling straight at .

"Wait—MOTHER—NO—"

Too late. The second impact hit with the power of a divine spell and an emotional opera combined. My spine folded like a letter.

"Welco back, Leif!" Countess Liora Thorenvald cried, squeezing within an inch of my afterlife. "Mother missed you to death!"

"Ahaha—yes—very—touching reunion—can’t—feel—lungs—" I wheezed, flailing helplessly between two generations of affectionate destruction.

Now, I—Leif Thorenvald—the once-proud heir of a noble house and the ruler of Frojnholm, reduced to a limp ragdoll in the loving chokehold of his seven-year-old sister and his overly dramatic mother.

Zephyy blinked from my shoulder, tail flicking. ’Now I see where you get it from, master.’

"SHUT UP," I gasped ntally.

"Leif, you look so pale! Have you been eating properly? Sleeping properly? You’ve gotten thinner!" Mother fussed, cupping my face with both hands—while still hugging , mind you, because apparently personal space is not hereditary.

"Mother, you’re—cutting off—my oxygen," I croaked.

Alina piped up, her tiny arms wrapped around my neck like a baby monkey, squeaking, "He’s fine, Mama! He’s just pretending!"

Mother scanned from head to toe, back to front, her hands fluttering like she was asuring my life force with her eyes alone. anwhile, Alina swung from like so miniature, maroon-haired monkey, kicking her legs in delight.

Then—Mother froze.

Her sharp gaze locked onto my neck.

"Godfrey! Call the physician! Soone—SOONE BIT MY SON!!!"

I froze mid-groan. Oh no.

"Oh, Mom—it’s nothing, really; you’re overreacting—" I started, hand weakly pointing to the offending mark given by Alvar.

But she wasn’t listening. Her eyes widened like saucers, voice dropping into a trembling whisper, "Frojnholm... is filled with mosquitoes... but I never—never—heard of a frozen place having mosquitoes... they should—should... freeze in midair..."

I swallowed, glancing down at Alina dangling from . "Mom... please—"

Mother’s hand shot to her cheeks. Her breath hitched. Her eyes bulged like she’d just discovered the Apocalypse.

"IS IT... FROJNHOLM SPECIALIZED MOSQUITOES?!"

Alina squealed, gripping tighter. "Brother, what are specialized mosquitoes?"

"Do I even want to explain?" I muttered under my breath, weakly waving my arms.

Zephyy on my shoulder gave a slow, dramatic blink. ’Humans... never normal, never.’

And then... very casually, soone plucked both Alina and Mother off as if I were an overstuffed backpack.

"You... both! Didn’t I tell you to act normal?!"

Ah. Yes. That voice. That presence. That impossible level of calm authority that sohow made feel simultaneously relieved and utterly mortified. My father, Viktor Thorenvald, had arrived.

I sagged with relief. "Thank you, Father. Truly. You just saved what’s left of my fragile soul."

Father smiled—just a little, like the sun peeking through storm clouds—and said, "Welco back, my son."

Zephyy blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. ’So... I guess you do have at least one sane person in this madhouse—’

"Now...We are hosting a grand celebration in honor of your return...and for becoming the ruler of frojnholm, leif!"

DA-DA-DUM!!!!!!!

I froze. Heart thudding. Brain short-circuiting.

’He... he proved wrong,’ Zephyy whispered, disbelief dripping from every word.

And ? I trembled. Weakly. Pathetically. Spectacularly.

I really... really... cannot take a break, can I?

***

[ThorenVald Estate—Leif’s Chamber—Later]

I plopped onto my bed with a dramatic groan, letting my body sink into the mattress like a deflating balloon. Zephyy lazily licked one of his legs, tail swishing, clearly judging my theatrics. Nick was ticulously unpacking my things nearby.

"I shall prepare your bath, my lord," he said smoothly, glancing at . "The Count wishes to see you in ten minutes."

I groaned, face-planting into the pillow. "Yes, Nick... I rember. Just... a little rest first."

Nick nodded, serene as always. "Until then, I shall ready your bath."

I waved a lazy hand, closing my eyes. Peace... for a glorious five seconds. Then, the door creaked open. A tiny, excited voice squeaked, "Brother... can I co in?"

I cracked an eye open. "Yes, Alina, co in."

She practically launched herself into the room, scuttling onto the bed like a small, maroon-haired tornado. Arms flung around , she giggled.

I ruffled her hair, smiling. "Are you happy, little one?"

Her golden eyes sparkled. "Very much!" she said, hugging tighter, her little legs kicking under the blanket.

I chuckled softly, thinking how much she must have missed . For a six-year-old, being separated from her only brother for so long had been an injustice of monuntal proportions.

Then she squinted at , curiosity practically vibrating off her. "Brother... I heard you tad a big dog!"

I blinked. "Dog?"

Wait... she ant the Crimson Pack.

"Yes! But... um... they’re not dogs, Alina. They’re wolves."

Her eyes went wide, sparkling with awe. "Wolves?! Brother... you’re... AMAZING!"

I puffed out my chest, half-proud, half-exhausted. "Am I?"

She nodded so vigorously I thought her head might spin off. Then, a small frown creased her forehead. "But... why didn’t you bring one? I wanted to play!"

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling warmly. "Alina... they would attract too much attention. People would get scared."

Her frown lted into a sly little grin, eyes glittering with mischief. "Then... I should co live with you, brother! This way... you’ll never leave again!"

I laughed, lifting her slightly to hug her tightly. "Alright, little whirlwind. Next ti... you’re coming with . No more separations."

She giggled, snuggling closer, tiny arms squeezing around like a warm, persistent hug.

And just like that, the capital city didn’t feel so big, so intimidating, or so lonely. With Alina clinging to and Zephyy glaring judgntally, I realized... maybe ho wasn’t about grandeur at all.

Maybe ho was just... this.