A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs-Chapter 35: Little Banters Between Brothers

{Elira}

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I was still cradling the letter in my hands, the edges warm from my palms, when Lennon ruffled my hair, saying we were going shopping, and Rennon gently urged me to go get my list ready.

My cheeks still burned faintly from their kisses, my heart hammering louder each time I replayed the moment in my head.

I barely remembered what I’d scrawled on the notepad the other day, but after taking a few calming breaths, I gathered my thoughts and rewrote a neater list, adding the ones from ESA’s letter: Notebooks, stationery, shoes, toiletries, a new schoolbag.

Rennon had said to write down anything, even the little things, so I dared to add two hair clips and a soft scarf, just in case.

By the time I returned to the hallway, Lennon and Rennon were waiting. Lennon’s excitement was almost infectious; he practically bounced on his feet, while Rennon stood calmly beside him, keys in hand.

We headed outside to Rennon’s sleek black car. Rennon took the driver’s seat, Lennon slid into the passenger seat, and I settled into the back and secured my seatbelt.

The leather was cool beneath my fingertips, and the faint scent of Rennon’s perfume—jasmine, citrus, mint—still lingered inside.

As soon as Rennon started the car, Lennon fiddled impatiently with the dashboard screen.

"Lennon, don’t you dare," Rennon warned in a quiet voice that still held authority, but Lennon grinned like a mischievous wolf and cranked up a pop song loud enough that the bass vibrated through the seats.

"Oh, come on," Lennon drawled, glancing back at me, his golden eyes glinting. "Elira, do you know this one?"

"I—I don’t," I admitted, my voice half-drowned by the music. I knew nothing about music and fun.

"No worries! Just watch and learn!" Lennon said, snapping his fingers to the beat and rolling his shoulders.

He turned forward, rapping along to a few lyrics, then twisted back again to wink at me.

Rennon, meanwhile, sighed deeply, his eyes never leaving the road. "You’re going to make everyone think Elira and I are as uncultured as you," he muttered.

"And isn’t that just perfect?" Lennon shot back with a laugh, rolling down the window a crack and drumming his fingers against the door.

Their banter made me giggle softly.

Sitting there in the backseat, I realized something: Lennon seemed to thrive on teasing, turning everything into a small victory, while Rennon always spoke few words, measured, steady, like water over stones.

Rennon would rather be silent than argue.

For a brief, silly moment, I wondered what Zenon would do if he were here.

I pictured him seated beside Lennon, his cold stare sharp as a blade, brow twitching as he glared intimidating daggers until Lennon reluctantly turned the volume down.

The image was so vivid that a soft chuckle escaped my lips before I caught myself.

I tucked a strand of red hair behind my ear and kept watching Lennon dance to the beat.

"You’re driving like a snail, Rennon!" Lennon teased, leaning back against his seat.

Without even glancing his brother’s way, Rennon replied in that mild, dry tone, "When you finally trade your precious bike for a proper car, you can drive however you please."

"Ha! You sound like Father," Lennon shot back, and then grumbled, "Faster, man. We will get old before we reach the mall."

"And you," Rennon added, still unbothered, "can stop distracting me unless you’d like to walk all the way there."

I smiled wider. That last statement sounded so much like something Zenon would say, cold and blunt—but fair.

And before I could stop it, my thoughts returned to Zenon again: how he had looked earlier, standing silently in the hallway, his eyes unreadable.

Why did my mind keep drifting to him, even when he wasn’t here?

But Lennon’s laughter pulled me back. The car swayed gently as Rennon turned into a wider road, and sunlight spilt through the windows, catching on Lennon’s black hair and the edges of Rennon’s calm profile.

In that small, rolling moment, surrounded by music and quiet laughter, I felt something I hadn’t dared to feel for a long time.

A fragile but real sense of belonging.

The music still hummed low in the background when, out of nowhere, Lennon twisted halfway around in his seat.

"By the way, Elira," he said, his gold-flecked gaze playful but sharp, "hand me that list of yours."

I hesitated. "Now?"

"Yes," he insisted, wiggling his fingers at me. "I need to see you what you wrote."

I fished the folded notepad from my small purse and passed it forward, my heart fluttering a little.

Lennon flicked it open with a practiced sweep of his thumb and scanned my handwriting, his lips curving into something between amusement and mock disapproval.

"This is it? Seriously?" he scoffed. "Elira, this list isn’t complete. Where’s everything else you will need?"

My brows knitted. "But... I think I wrote down everything important," I murmured, heat rising in my cheeks.

Lennon tsked softly. "You think. But you missed a lot."

Beside him, Rennon kept his gaze steady on the road. "Don’t worry," he said in that calm, sure tone that always felt like a balm, "we will get everything you missed."

The quiet certainty in his voice eased my embarrassment.

Almost an hour later, the car finally turned off the main road. Outside the window, a sleek, glass-and-marble building stretched up like it wanted to scrape the clouds.

Wide steps led to grand revolving doors, and everywhere people bustled in and out—some laughing, some staring into phones, some dressed in the kind of expensive clothes I’d only seen on posters.

My breath caught. I had never stepped foot inside a place like this.

For a second, my heart whispered that I didn’t belong here. But before that whisper could grow teeth, Lennon opened his door and flashed me a grin.

"Ready to go blow some money?" he teased.

I swallowed and nodded, carefully stepping out of the back seat. Rennon locked the car, his expression mild but warm, and together we walked toward the glass doors that shimmered with morning light.

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