The Cullen house sat like a painting in the trees—sleek lines, glass everywhere, nature pressing in from all sides like it wanted to reclaim it.
Aiden parked his borrowed ride down the long gravel drive, staring up at the mansion for a long second. No one else was around. Just the wet hush of forest and the whisper of wind through fir trees.
He stepped out.
The front door opened before he even reached it.
Rosalie.
She leaned against the frame in black jeans and a deep charcoal blouse that fit like it was tailored just for her. Hair pinned up like she couldn't be bothered to try, and still looked untouchable.
"You came," she said simply.
"Yeah. Figured if I ghosted, you'd track me down."
Her lips tugged into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Smart assumption."
She held the door open wider.
Inside, it was brighter than he expected—airy, spacious, quiet. Not the haunted mansion vibe he had in mind. More like some modern art sanctuary. Every surface is clean. Every scent muted, except the faint aroma of rosemary and garlic wafting from the kitchen.
"Is that… actual food?" Aiden asked, arching a brow.
Rosalie shot him a look over her shoulder. "Contrary to popular belief, we do know how to cook."
Aiden had faced worse.
Chicago courts. Foster homes. Blood on concrete. But stepping into the Cullen house was something else. The moment he crossed the threshold, it hit him—this house was too clean. Too still. The kind of stillness you only find in paintings, or memories of something you're sure never really happened.
And everyone in it?
Too perfect.
He recognized Esme first, who moved toward him like a memory of warmth. "You must be Aiden," she said, smiling with grace that didn't feel forced, just impossibly steady. "We're so glad you could join us."
"Thanks," Aiden replied, nodding, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. "Smells better than I expected."
Carlisle chuckled lightly. "We try."
Then came Emmett—built like a boulder in a t-shirt—offering a hand that could probably crush steel but was surprisingly gentle when it closed around Aiden's.
"Emmett," he grinned. "And that's Elise."
Aiden turned slightly as a quiet presence stepped up beside Emmett.
Elise was striking in a different way. Ethereal, but grounded. She didn't offer a hand—just gave him a calm, almost knowing nod. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too," Aiden said, sensing something… measured in her tone. Like she already knew a few things about him.
A giggle fluttered in from the stairs. Alice danced down, practically glowing. "I told you he'd come," she sang. Behind her trailed Jasper, who didn't say a word but gave Aiden a long, unsettling look. Like he was reading his temperature without a thermometer.
The Cullen house was unusually full—for a place that echoed more often than it buzzed. Tonight, it buzzed.
Steam curled from pots that no one in the family would touch. A full Italian spread covered the counter—roasted vegetables, garlic bread, pasta in red sauce, and a giant bowl of handmade salad balanced delicately in Rosalie's hands.
She stood near the table, posture perfect, face unreadable. But the salad tongs were clenched a little too tight.
Aiden hovered nearby, casually leaning against the island, catching her glances like signals no one else noticed.Aiden leaned on the edge of the island, watching it all with narrowed eyes.
"You do realize you don't have to help," he said.
Rosalie didn't look up. "I like to keep my hands busy."
"For a dinner you don't even want to have."
She paused—just briefly—before sliding the tomatoes into a bowl. "It's not about what I want."
Esme shot them both a quick glance from the stove, hiding a small smile.
Aiden looked around the spotless space, a place that smelled too good for a family that didn't eat. The absurdity made him grin. "So, this is what being part of a vampire coven looks like. Stirring sauce and slicing veggies for a girl you don't like."
Rosalie's eyes cut to him, sharp and amused. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not doing this for her."
He tilted his head. "Then who?"
Silence stretched between them for a second—quiet, but not empty.
"You know," he said, grabbing a clean dish towel and tossing it over his shoulder like a chef, "you're terrifying when you're in domestic mode. Like a Bond villain pretending to play house."
Rosalie smirked without smiling. "If I were a villain, you wouldn't be standing here."
"Maybe I like danger."
"You don't know what danger is."
Aiden stepped a little closer, just enough to feel the chill off her skin even with the heat from the stove nearby. "Try me."
The front door creaked open.
They all froze.
Then footsteps.
Voices.
Edward and Bella had arrived.
Esme straightened immediately, giving her hands a quick wash. "Everyone—positions."
Aiden arched his brow. "You all rehearse this or something?"
Rosalie didn't answer. She just handed him a towel and whispered, "Try not to look like you're enjoying yourself."
He watched her walk out of the kitchen, hips swaying just slightly, her posture tense but flawless.
Aiden ran a hand through his hair and muttered to himself, "Too late."