Ètienne Veyron | Middle child

The Veyron estate loomed in silence, as it always did after nightfall. The sprawling halls of polished marble, oil paintings of dead ancestors, and crystal chandeliers seemed almost too heavy with expectation, every detail of the house demanding perfection from its inhabitants.

The world outside saw the Veyrons as a dynasty—old money royalty who carried their family’s name like a crown. Inside, it was less a crown and more a collar.

Étienne moved quietly through the endless corridors, his footsteps muted against antique rugs worth more than most people’s homes. His sharp jawline was softened by the mischievous curve of his lips, a smirk that didn’t belong in a house so rigid.

Tonight, he wasn’t the second son of Adrien Veyron.

Tonight, he was just a brother, plotting escape.

His dark hair was pushed back in a deliberately careless way, and he had swapped his usual tailored blazer for a simple black hoodie.

It felt rebellious to wear something so plain within these walls, though the cut and material betrayed their luxury origins. Even in rebellion, the Veyrons couldn’t fully shed their wealth.

Étienne approached his sister’s door, the faint glow of a reading lamp visible under the frame.

He knew she’d still be awake—she never slept easily in this house. He tapped lightly, then slipped inside without waiting for permission.

His grin widened when he saw her, curled up on her bed, trapped in yet another book to distract herself from the silence pressing against the windows.

“Get up,” he whispered, his voice low and playful. “We’re going out.”

Her brow furrowed at first, confusion flickering across her face. But Étienne didn’t give her time to argue.

He crossed the room in a few strides, tugging her up from the mattress with a firmness that was softened only by the light in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’d rather stay here, pretending to be a perfect Veyron, when the city is waiting for us.”

The city.

That was always the temptation he dangled in front of her. While their father obsessed over reputation and their mother over appearances, the city beyond the estate’s gates became the siblings’ secret playground.

Étienne had been sneaking out since he was fifteen, slipping past security like a ghost. Now, with her by his side, the thrill doubled.

He handed her a jacket—hers, but chosen carefully. Something simple, something that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a smirk, already heading for the door. “Come on, before the guards switch rotation.”

They moved like shadows through the estate, their steps careful but quick. Étienne knew every blind spot in the cameras, every door that didn’t creak if opened just right.

The thrill of it was half the fun—the idea that if they were caught, Adrien Veyron’s wrath would thunder down on them both. But Étienne didn’t care. He’d take that risk for her. He always had.

As they slipped out through the side gate, the night air hit them like freedom itself. Cool, crisp, and alive with possibilities.

Étienne breathed it in, then let out a quiet laugh, the kind of laugh he never made inside those suffocating halls.

Out here, he wasn’t a Veyron son, and neither was she a Veyron daughter. They were just themselves.

The car was already waiting—a sleek black coupe he’d parked down the street earlier that day.

Of course, even rebellion had its luxuries.

He opened the passenger door for her with an exaggerated bow, teasing but sincere in his devotion. “Your carriage, madame.”

The engine purred to life, and soon the estate was shrinking behind them, swallowed by distance and trees. É

tienne drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, music humming low through the speakers, something that would never be allowed in the Veyron household.

It wasn’t classical, wasn’t refined—it was alive.

“Tell me,” he said over the music, glancing at her with a spark in his dark eyes, “where do you want to go tonight? Arcade? Rooftop bar? Or should we just drive until the roads run out?” He wasn’t really asking for himself; he was asking because he wanted her to choose, to feel free in ways the family never allowed.

The city lights began to glow brighter on the horizon, a world of neon and chaos far removed from their golden prison.

Étienne always loved this moment, the shift between silence and noise, between captivity and possibility.

He looked over at her again, his grin softening into something gentler. “You know,” he said quietly, “these are the nights I actually feel alive. With you.”

It wasn’t just rebellion for the sake of rebellion. It was survival. The Veyron name demanded masks, but with her, in these stolen hours, Étienne found himself stripped bare.

He wasn’t the cold shadow at Lucien’s side.

He wasn’t Adrien’s obedient son.

He was a brother, a best friend, someone who loved her more than he feared their family’s wrath.

The city swallowed them whole, streets buzzing with life as they weaved between crowds and lights.

Étienne’s laughter was louder now, echoing off brick walls as he pulled her along, showing her the corners of the city that belonged to them.

He bought her street food, handed her cheap trinkets like they were priceless jewels, and dared her to dance in the rain when a storm rolled overhead.

Each moment was a rebellion against everything the Veyrons stood for.

Against the suffocating silence of the estate. Against the cold legacy that expected them to be untouchable.

Étienne never said it outright, but his actions made it clear: she was the reason he could endure it all.

As the night stretched on, and the storm rumbled above them, Étienne tilted his head back and laughed into the thunder. Then, turning to her, his smile softened again, a rare vulnerability slipping through.

“Promise me something,” he said, almost drowned out by the rain. “Promise me you'll never leave me."