The dining room of the Lang Mansion looked like a celebration had exploded and politely rearranged the furniture afterward to pretend nothing had happened.d to pretend nothing had happened.

Sunlight poured through tall windows, catching on pastel-colored ribbons Mrs. Lang had personally repositioned at least seven times since five in the morning.

Flowers occupied every horizontal surface—vases of lilies crowded the sideboards, roses spilled off the mantels.

High above the chaos, a banner reading FAMILY hung slightly crooked because Mr. Lang had insisted “crooked is human.”

At the head of the table sat Grandpa Lang, hands folded over his cane, surveying the battlefield with the quiet authority of a retired general who had seen too many wars to be bothered by a rogue ribbon.

Mrs. Lang stood near the buffet like a glowing general in expensive silk, issuing frantic orders to no one and everyone simultaneously.

“Why is this juice jug here? Who put it here?” she demanded, gesturing wildly at a crystal carafe. “It feels emotionally wrong in this corner. It’s blocking the ambient flow of celebration!”

Mr. Lang looked up from a newspaper he had not turned a single page of for twenty minutes. “It’s orange juice, Eleanor. It has no emotional alignment.”

“Harold!” She gasped, clutching her silk lapels as if she had been physically struck. “Everything has emotional alignment on engagement week! It needs to be closer to the pastries to absorb their joyful aura.”

“I’m emotionally aligned with coffee,” he replied completely unfazed and took another sip of his tea.

She ignored him completely.

“I woke up today,” she continued, her voice rising into an operatic swell, “and I just lay there in the dark, thinking—how did we get here? My baby. My little, sweet, innocent Ping. Engaged. Tomorrow.”

She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a napkin that was clearly decorative and absolutely not absorbent. It mostly just poked her in the eyelid, but the theatrical effect was flawless.

Mr. Lang didn’t look up from his unread sports section. “You’ve been saying ‘my baby’ since Nathan was adopted.”

“Because they are all my babies!” she snapped, transitioning from tragic elegance to absolute ferocity in a fraction of a second

From the hallway came the sound of footsteps.

Knight appeared first.

Hair slightly messy. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Expression calm, observant, already awake to the day in a way that made him seem older than he was.

He paused at the entrance, taking in the decorated chaos.

Mrs. Lang spotted him and immediately pressed a hand to her chest. “Look at you! My handsome, brilliant child. Do you see this house? Look at it. It is screaming with love.”

Knight glanced at a lime-green ribbon taped precariously to a chandelier. “It looks like it’s being held hostage by a party supply store.”

Mr. Lang nodded solemnly from behind his paper. “That ribbon blinked at me earlier. I think it’s trying to communicate in Morse code.”

Mrs. Lang pointed an accusing, manicured finger at both of them. “You two will not mock the house spirit today.”

Knight stepped in anyway, grabbing a piece of sourdough toast right off a serving plate like he had ownership rights.

Jenn entered right behind him, walking with her signature quiet composure. Her hair was tied neatly, expression calm and completely unbothered as if she had already observed the entire morning from a distance and filed it away.

She stopped just inside the threshold, her gaze scanning the floral explosion.

“…We’re at maximum volume, I see,” Jenn commented dryly.

Mrs. Lang beamed, turning to her like a desperate director seeking validation. “Jennifer, darling, tell me honestly—does this look like pure, unadulterated joy or does it look like a flower shop lost a fight?”

Jenn tilted her head, her dark eyes evaluating a vase of tulips that looked ready to collapse. “Both.”

“Correct,” Mrs. Lang declared proudly, completely missing the critique.

Before Jenn could take her seat, Paola burst into the room with a dramatic entrance that had clearly been rehearsed in front of a full-length mirror.

She was wearing a sparkly sequined top that did not match the time of day but matched her soul.

“GOOD MORNING, PEASANTS!” she announced, throwing her arms wide.

Mrs. Lang clutched her heart, absolutely delighted. “She’s my daughter. The drama is genetic.”

Paola slid into a chair, pointing a glittering fingernail at herself. “I have accepted my role.”

Knight didn’t even look up from buttering his toast. “You assigned yourself.”

“Yes,” she agreed without hesitation. “Leadership.”

She grabbed a croissant and bit into it with theatrical intensity, eyes already searching the room for the next emotional opportunity.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Then Nathan and Ping appeared together.

Ping still looked half new to the day— hair soft and neatly combed—thanks to Nathan’s meticulous handling earlier, Snowball tucked under one arm out of habit more than necessity.

Nathan walked beside him, calm, steady, the quiet center gravity pulled toward.

Mrs. Lang’s entire body reacted like she might dissolve on the spot.

“My babies,” she whispered, voice trembling with performance-level maternal emotion. “They’re walking together. Harold!! do you see them walking together?”

Mr. Lang lowered his newspaper by two inches. “Yes, Dear. I see them. They have legs, and they are using them perfectly.”

“HAROLD!” Mrs Lang shrieked.

Ping blinked rapidly at the sudden spotlight. He squeezed Snowball tighter. “Did I do something wrong? Is my shirt backward?”

Mrs. Lang rushed forward like a pink tsunami, cupping Ping’s face dramatically in her hands. “You did nothing wrong. You woke up. You breathed. You existed.”

Ping flushed instantly. “Oh.”

Nathan tried to step past but she swiveled and grabbed him too, clamping one firm hand on each of their cheeks

“Look at them,” she commanded to the room like unveiling a masterpiece. “The future.”

Knight watched from across the table, chewing slowly, gaze steady. His eyes met Nathan’s for a split second but he didn’t comment.

Nathan gently extracted himself. “Mom, he hasn’t even eaten yet.”

“FOOD!” she gasped, clapping her hands together as if she had just discovered the concept of human civilization. “Yes! Sit! Eat!”

They all moved toward the table, seats scraping, plates shifting.

Ping sat beside Nathan automatically. Knight shifted his chair to sit across from them, casual, posture loose but eyes attentive in a way that missed nothing.

Jenn sat near the end of the table, calmly pouring herself a cup of black tea.

Paola squeezed into the narrow space right beside Knight like it was destiny, completely ignoring the fact that there were five other empty chairs.

Knight didn’t even flinch; he just adjusted his plate two inches to the left to avoid her sparkling sleeve.

For exactly three seconds, peace existed.

Then—

The heavy oak front door of the mansion slammed open with enough force to rattle the teacups.

Thundering, frantic footsteps echoed down the grand hallway.

“GOOD MORNING, ENGAGEMENT SOCIETY! I’M HERE!”

Chen stormed into the dining room like a Category 5 hurricane.

Hair chaotic. Shirt half tucked. Holding a slice of toast he had absolutely stolen from the kitchen before entering.

He slid into a chair dramatically, nearly knocking over Nathan’s orange juice in the process. “I have arrived to bless this table with my magnificent presence,” he declared.

Knight slowly pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, suffering breath. “We were doing so well.”

Mrs. Lang pointed her fork at him. “Chen Rang, Why you look like you fought the wind.”

“I WON,” Chen declared through a mouthful of carbs while grabbing food from three different plates without checking ownership.

The conversation instantly ignited into a cacophony of overlapping voices.

“So,” Paola said loudly, waving her half-eaten croissant in the air to command attention. “Tomorrow is the big day. The final countdown.”

Ping choked slightly on his juice. His entire face turning a dangerous, bright shade of scarlet.

Mrs. Lang clutched her hands together, practically vibrating in her seat. “YES, tomorrow! Engagement! Rings! Flowers! Symbolism!”

Chen leaned entirely across the table. “Are there fireworks? Because emotionally and spiritually, I require fireworks.

“There will be dignity,” Mr. Lang replied finally folding his newspaper.

Chen’s face fell into an expression of profound disappointment. “Can dignity explode?”

Knight let out a dry, gravelly chuckle, “In this house? Yes.”

“You don’t need fireworks to explode,” Jenn whispered calmly, looking directly at Chen.

“Oh!,” Chen froze instantly for a moment before stabbing a sausage right off Knight’s plate. “You are right.”

Paola pointed at Ping like an interrogator under hot lights. “Are you ready, little brother?”

Ping froze, a piece of melon hovering inches from his mouth, looking exactly like a deer caught in the high beams of a semi-truck. “Ready for… breathing?”

“For being officially, permanently claimed,” Paola murmured wickedly, a dark, theatrical smirk on her face. “You’re about to be locked in the freezer forever.”

Ping turned so red it looked like a medical emergency.

Nathan reached over, casually straightening Ping’s soft blue shirt collar that didn’t need straightening.

“Ignore her,” Nathan murmured softly, his voice cutting through the table’s roar with smooth, icy ease.

Paola gasped so loudly it sounded like a vacuum cleaner turning on. “Did you see that?! He’s fixing his collar! Right in front of my salad! Romance is illegal in this room.”

“Stop talking,” Ping covered his burning face with both hands. “I want to go back to sleep. I want to become a rock.”

“No, you won’t,” Nathan whispered softly.

Mrs. Lang watched it all with shining eyes. “Look at them interacting. Harold! Quickly take a picture in your mind.”

“I am,” Mr. Lang sighed, chewing slowly. “It’s very loud.”

Chen leaned forward suddenly. “Wait, serious question. After engagement, does anything change? Or is it just symbolic and we continue to behave like feral animals?”

Grandpa Lang, who hadn’t spoken a single word since sitting down, finally cleared his throat. He didn’t raise his voice, but the entire table instantly went dead silent to hear him.

“Both,” he stated simply, his hands still resting on his cane.

Chen slapped his open palm against the table, delighted. “Excellent! Feral it is! Pass the bacon, Bro, or I will steal it with my bare hands.”

Jenn sipped her tea quietly, dark eyes moving from one person to another like she was studying a living puzzle.

Knight finally spoke, leaning back and looking directly at Nathan. “You’re not nervous?”

Nathan shrugged lightly. “Should I be?”

Paola answered for him anyway, waving her hands around. “Yes! You should be terrified! Ping will steal your snacks legally.”

“PAOLA!!” Ping shrieked, absolutely horrified, “I will do no such thing.”

A beat.

“…Maybe half the snacks,” Ping muttered too loud to be inside his head.

The table erupted in laughter.

Nathan glanced sideways at him. “You nervous?”

Ping’s voice came out too honest. “A… a little. There are a lot of people coming tomorrow. What if I trip on the carpet?”

Nathan leaned closer, just enough that his shoulder brushed against Ping’s, creating a small, solid barrier between them and the rest of the loud world.

“Then stay right next to me,” Nathan whispered softly, his thumb catching Ping’s hand under the edge of the table, squeezing it firmly.

Ping’s brain completely shut down. His cheeks turning a color that shouldn’t be humanly possible as he stared down at his plate like it held the secrets to the universe.

Chen slammed both hands on the table, nearly bouncing his plate into the air. “WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS IN THE MORNING.”

Mrs. Lang made a sound like she might pass away from happiness.

Mr. Lang whispered, leaning slightly away from his wife, “She’s going to start crying in three… two…”

She burst into highly dramatic tears. “I RAISED THEM FOR THIS MOMENT.”

Knight immediately looked down at his plate, muttering something incoherent under his breath as he tried to pretend he belonged to a different family entirely.

Jenn quietly took another sip of her tea, completely unmoved by the theatrical performance.

Paola kicked Knight lightly under the table, her glittering sequins catching the light. “Say something emotional.”

“No,” Knight replied flatly, not even looking at her.

“Coward! You have no soul! You’re a beautiful, handsome fiery robot!”

Knight took another slow sip, his face an unreadable mask of confident indifference.

Then, the baseline chaos of the Lang family reached its absolute, beautiful peak.

Paola loudly complained about chair placement.

Chen used the distraction to quickly swipe two large pancakes off Knight’s plate, shoving half of one into his mouth before Knight could even lower his glass.

“Engagement tax!” Chen muffled through the stolen food, pointing a sticky fork at Nathan. “He caused this! Blame the groom!”

Jenn quietly moved the maple syrup away from him before he could commit any further crimes against the tablecloth.

Mrs. Lang continued to talk through her tears, her voice carrying over the din of clattering cutlery and stolen breakfast items. “Tomorrow my baby will be engaged. Engaged! Harold, say something.”

Mr. Lang calmly chewed a piece of bacon, evaluating it with deep thought. “I liked the eggs today.”

She pointed at him dramatically, her starched linen napkin fluttering like a flag of war. “This is why I do the emotional work in this house.”

Ping tried to eat but kept glancing at Nathan like he needed confirmation of reality.

Nathan met every single glance with a steady, warm, and completely reassuring gaze.

Grandpa Lang watched the entire table from his seat at the head, the corners of his mouth faintly lifted into a small smile of absolute satisfaction.

The table buzzed with overlapping voices, stray crumbs flying through the air, teasing, and the relentless clatter of expensive silverware.

It wasn’t elegant.

It certainly wasn’t calm.

It was family.

And tomorrow, when the rings will be exchanged, everything would change.

So this morning, under the bright gold light of the dining room, they were being as loud as humanly possible on purpose.

Next Stop in Before The Vows: