A Way to Quadruple a Trouble_Totcf

Chapter {3}

"Cale" -----> Talking
'Cale' -----> Thinking
"CALE" -----> Shouting

**Cale -----> og Cale
Keith -----> og Roksoo
GOD -------> God of Death

Ps. The picture on the top doesn't belong to me

_______________________________________________________________

The silver cat on Keith’s lap blinked slowly and rolled her eyes with all the sass of a queen unimpressed by peasants. Her golden eyes practically screamed ‘really?.’

Roksoo, still leaning against the armrest beside Keith noticed the silver cat's gaze and snickered silently.

_______________________________________________________________

At some point, the atmosphere shifted, and the four finally calmed down enough to actually listen to their father’s words.

“This year’s going to be more chaotic,” Calix stated, his tone calm as his green eyes flickered with something unreadable.
“Word has reached me that the Crown Prince and the Heroes are actively investigating us—specifically, the Thames household.”

Keith cried internally 'Must be that bastard's fault, F*ck you' Keith cursed in his mind while a certain god cried in misery.

Kim’s brows furrowed slightly at the mention, while Barrow scoffed in clear disdain.

“They must’ve come up empty,” he muttered under his breath.

“They did,” Calix replied smoothly, resting his head against his clenched fist, “I ensured there wasn’t enough substantial evidence left for them to draw any worthwhile conclusion.”

“Is there anything else we should be aware of?” Keith asked, his tone as composed as ever, though his body said otherwise. His condition had been worsening lately—his frail health taking its toll more often now—but, as always, he hid it well.

But obviously, the others noticed. They always did. The subtle silence in his voice, the faint tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes occasionally drifted to nothingness—all signs they’d become painfully familiar with.

Before Calix could respond, the door creaked open and the family butler stepped in with practiced grace.

“Young master, you appear a little pale. Please take this—it should help alleviate the symptoms,” Ron said with his usual benign smile, extending a cup of lemon tea toward Keith.

Keith let out a soft, almost defeated exhale, a weak scowl pulling at his lips. The other three brothers, however, carefully masked their expressions. Experience had taught them well—anyone who dared laugh at Keith for receiving the dreaded lemon tea would find themselves drinking their own punishment.

Keith glanced at them sideways, only to find them all suddenly absorbed in everything except him and Ron. Even their father, who had just been speaking, seemed engrossed in a completely blank sheet of paper.

“Bastards,” Keith muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes in betrayal as he took the cup and braved a sip. His face contorted instantly at the sharp sourness.

“Is it to your liking, young master?” Ron asked, his innocent smile unwavering.

Keith nodded forcefully. “Yeah, Ron. Absolutely delicious,” he whispered, looking away. Once Ron had exited the office with a satisfied grin, Keith turned slowly to Kim, who was barely holding back a snicker—then promptly poured the rest of the tea into his twin’s open mouth.

Kim gagged at the sourness of the tea, and glared at him with watery eyes.

While Keith calmly picked up a napkin and dabbed at his lips with practiced elegance, as if he had not done a thing.