Chapter 3

                                                               Sera Kaine

I stepped into the Kaine Mansion and immediately wanted to curl up in a corner and sob... or scream. Probably both. The chandelier above me sparkled like it was mocking my life, its crystal droplets catching the golden light and scattering it like a thousand tiny, judgmental paparazzi flashes. The marble floor gleamed, polished enough to reflect my miserable face back at me—an expression somewhere between CEO meltdown and crime scene survivor chic.

My heels clicked on the marble with sharp precision—click, click, click—like an execution countdown. Every echo screamed, Welcome home, Sera. The circus awaits. Because, of course, after being physically assaulted in my office today, life's encore performance was walking into my parents' living room. The second attack of the day—psychological warfare edition.

Dad was the first to spot me. His ridiculous silk slippers squeaked as he practically launched himself off the couch, waving his arms like a man spotting a celebrity or maybe an alien. His robe—yes, a robe, embroidered with "AK" (Alexander Kaine, obviously)—flapped dramatically behind him like some overenthusiastic philosopher-turned-magician.

"Ah! There she is! My hurricane! My tempest! My indomitable Sera Kaine!"

I froze mid-step, blinking at him like he'd just spoken in Morse code. "Hurricane? Dad. Hurricane? Are we seriously calling being attacked a 'hurricane' now?" My voice could have sliced through concrete.

He placed one hand on his chest and leaned back, clearly unbothered. "Well, you do shake things up wherever you go, my tempest. Survived worse than this, haven't you?"

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then groaned—a sound that carried the weight of every bad life decision I'd ever made. "Survived worse? Dad, I could've ended up in the hospital. Someone tried to ruin my life today and you—" I gestured dramatically toward him "—you're giving me a compliment? Inspirational."

Dad grinned like he'd just invented motivation itself. "Exactly! My hurricane survives everything! Fire in the veins, unbreakable spirit—that's Kaine blood, my girl. That's why you're my hurricane."

I tilted my head slowly, sarcasm dripping like molten gold. "Right. Because being attacked at work is totally adorable when you describe it like a weather forecast. Perfect support system, Dad. Truly groundbreaking."

He just beamed, clearly proud of himself.

From the armchair near the fireplace, Mom finally cleared her throat—softly, calmly, the way only Isabella Kaine could, the peacemaker in this wild family symphony. Her cream cashmere sweater matched the delicate pearls at her neck, and her hands were folded with elegance that could make diplomats cry. "Sera, darling," she began, her tone gentle, almost rehearsed, "perhaps we can talk about this calmly?"

I turned to her with wide eyes. "Calmly? Mom. I was attacked. In my office. Calmly is not exactly on the table today. I came home bruised, angry, and ready to commit mild violence. Calmly? Nope. Try again."

Dad chuckled from behind her. "Ah! Words cut sharper than blades, hurricane—but I love it! Keeps life... interesting."

"Interesting?" I echoed incredulously. "Dad, interesting is spilling coffee on your white shirt before a meeting. Interesting is a surprise audit. Interesting is not—" I pointed at myself, "—being physically assaulted!"

I flopped dramatically into the nearest armchair, my heels clicking against the edge as I stretched out like I owned the place (which, technically, I half did). "And you laughing? So helpful."

Dad waved a hand, as if brushing away reality. "Nonsense. Life's a game, hurricane. Sometimes, the board hits back. You just move with the storm!"

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Move with the storm? Dad, the storm nearly broke my ribs. If I move with it any more, I'll end up in a coffin with a sarcastic eulogy written by you."

Mom exhaled quietly, her tone still soft, patient. "Sera, darling... we only want to protect you."

I laughed—loud, incredulous. "Protect me? Protect me by cheering for my survival rate? Or by giving me relationship advice mid-breakdown?"

Dad leaned forward with mock solemnity. "Humor, hurricane. Humor is my superpower. You'll appreciate it one day."

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw the back of time. "Dad, the only thing I'll appreciate is a therapist who specializes in parental absurdity."

Mom tried again, her voice smoothing over the chaos like silk over fire. "Sera... I only meant—"

"Only meant?" I cut her off, my hands flying dramatically. "Only meant that life threw me into a meat grinder today and your solution is—" I pointed accusingly, "—setting me up with a stranger CEO? Perfect. Revolutionary. I'm healed already."

Mom's lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile. "My friend has a son. He's very successful, runs a company, very respectable... perhaps it could be stabilizing."

I froze mid-breath. "Stabilizing? Mom, you think marriage is the cure for workplace assault? Of course! How silly of me not to realize that earlier. Forget therapy—just find a CEO."

Dad clapped his hands like she'd said something genius. "Exactly, hurricane! Fire meets structure. You'll sweep him off his feet with one sentence!"

"Dad." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I am not sweeping anyone. I'm surviving. Preferably with all my limbs attached."

Mom's calm tone never cracked. "We just want you safe, Sera."

"Safe?" I echoed, laughing humorlessly. "Safe is hiring a bodyguard, not marrying one. Safe is security, not arranged alliances. Got it, Mom. Truly groundbreaking parenting."

Dad leaned forward, eyes twinkling mischievously. "See? Courage, sass, fire... unstoppable! That's why we love you."

I stared at both of them, then flopped back dramatically on the couch. "At this point, I'm convinced I'll need a manual just to survive dinner conversations."

The chandelier glimmered mockingly again, as if agreeing. The smell of Mom's lavender candle wafted through the air—calming, soothing, and completely ineffective. Somewhere in the corner, our old Labrador snored on the carpet, blissfully unaware of the melodrama unfolding.

"Alright, world," I muttered under my breath. "Bring it on. And Dad, next time—hire a bodyguard before the marriage broker, yeah?"

Dad laughed. Mom shook her head, trying not to smile. I sighed so deeply it could've powered a wind farm.

______________________

Later that night, as I sat curled up on the couch with an ice pack pressed against my shoulder, the whole attack replayed in my mind like a badly written action film. The man had been arrogant, stupid, and severely underestimating me—as if being a young CEO meant I was made of glass. He'd swung first; I'd ducked; coffee had flown; and my coffee mug had nearly earned MVP status as a defensive weapon. My ribs ached, my arm throbbed, but my ego? Untouched. My dignity? Fully caffeinated.

I imagined telling Dad about the mug incident. His likely response? "Oh, hurricane, thrilling stuff!" Thrilling. That word alone made me want to dunk my head in the koi pond.

I rubbed my temple and muttered, "You know what? I don't need a husband. I need a punching bag. And maybe a lock on my office door."

_____________________

Dad leaned back in his recliner like a talk-show host. "Sera, you're fiery, unstoppable—that's why I adore you! No man, no CEO, no nothing will ever... wait, stop glaring. I mean that positively."

"Dad, if I glare any harder, the chandelier's going to drop out of pure fear," I deadpanned.

Mom sipped her tea, her expression unreadable but her lips twitching at the corners. "You're sharp tonight, darling. But remember—anger burns fast."

"Good," I muttered. "Maybe it'll burn the matchmaking ideas out of this house."

Dad laughed, full and hearty. "Ah, that's my hurricane! Savage, beautiful chaos! Pure Kaine blood!"

"Pure Kaine blood indeed," I sighed. "Because surviving physical assault and parental nonsense in one day? That's Olympic-level endurance."

Mom tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "At least you're never boring."

"Boring?" I scoffed. "Mom, boring sounds like paradise right now. Give me boring. Please."

Dad leaned forward, his grin spreading again. "But then who would we brag about at dinner parties?"

"Try bragging about your sanity, Dad," I shot back.

_____________-

By the time the grandfather clock struck ten, I'd concluded that surviving my parents might be harder than surviving the actual attack. At least the man in my office had a clear goal: destroy. My parents? A mystery wrapped in humor and matchmaking.

Leaning back, I let my head rest on the couch armrest, my mind a whirlwind of bruises, sarcasm, and lavender air freshener. "Alright, world," I whispered to no one in particular. "Bring it on. And maybe send me a therapist. Or a vacation."

Because today I learned something monumental:

Office attackers? I can handle them.

Parents? I might need divine intervention.

And somehow, against all logic, I knew I'd survive both—because if chaos was a language, I was fluent. 💋

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