The Weight of Small Things

As Elias guided me off the dance floor, the applause still lingered faintly in my ears. His father stood at the edge of the hall, his expression sharp and unreadable, though the smugness of having a successful evening wasn’t lost on me. Elias, however, looked as calm as ever.

“The dance is over,” Elias said smoothly, motioning toward his father. “There’s nothing more to do here. The deals have been signed, and I would like to take my leave.”

Before his father could reply, a voice cut through the tension—sharper, colder.

“You insolent brat,” his father’s wife hissed, her glare practically burning holes through him.

Elias didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, completely unaffected, like he’d already prepared for this exact moment. His father, on the other hand, simply raised a hand to silence her.

“You may go,” his father said, his tone clipped. It was as if dismissing Elias had become second nature to him.

Elias gave a small nod, unfazed, and turned to me. “Shall we?”