That evening, the Draven mansion was filled with a rare kind of warmth — the kind that came from laughter, the faint sound of music playing from the kitchen speakers, and the soft clatter of utensils.
For once, Lea had insisted on cooking.
Hugo had been skeptical at first — not because he didn't trust her, but because it had been his thing lately to do the heavy lifting when it came to dinner. But when Lea gave him that firm look — the one that told him resistance was useless — he could only grin and step back.
"Alright, Chef Lea," Hugo said, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. "The kitchen is yours. But if something burns, I'm calling for backup."
Lea narrowed her eyes. "Don't jinx it, Brother Hugo."
That earned her a chuckle. "You only call me that when you're being bossy."
"Exactly," she replied, tying her apron and turning her attention to the ingredients on the counter.
