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CHAPTER — Homecoming Under Gold Light
The black iron gates groaned open, parting like slow theatre curtains. Rain from earlier still clung to the driveway's canopy of oak leaves, scattering droplets in the glow of the security lamps. The beams stretched over the gravel, turning each stone into a pale spark.
Rayyan's car rolled forward, tires crunching before finding the smooth stone path. His chest was already tight — not from the hours behind the wheel, but from the unease that had coiled there since the plane touched down.
The mansion rose ahead like something carved from a single piece of pale stone, its walls glowing faintly under a cloud-thick night sky. Every window was dark, each frame a black square against the cream façade. The place looked… still. Too still.
He cut the engine. Silence roared in the absence of its hum. The smell of wet earth and rain lingered in the air, sharp and clean. His fingers lingered on the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary, knuckles whitening. Instinct had him moving fast once he stepped out, ignoring the chill in the wind and the ache in his legs from the long drive.
Something was wrong.
"Mom!" His voice cut through the stillness, deep and edged with urgency. He took the steps two at a time and shoved the heavy mahogany doors open. The hinges groaned, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the cavernous space inside.
The vast front hall lay in darkness, swallowing the echo of his footsteps on the marble tiles. Shadows stretched long from the base of the sweeping staircase. The air felt cool and undisturbed.
"Mom?!" Louder now.
Still no answer.
He was halfway to the grand staircase when—
Click.
Light exploded across the room.
"WELCOME HOME!"
Confetti burst from above in a shimmering gold shower, catching the chandelier light like falling coins. For half a second, Rayyan froze, brain refusing to adjust to the sudden shift from dread to absurdity.
In the center of the hall stood his parents, each armed with a party popper and ridiculous cone hats perched on their heads — one slightly crooked on his father's, as though he'd protested wearing it until the last second. A huge white-and-gold banner draped across the stair railing read in looping script:
WELCOME BACK, RAYYAN!
Black and gold balloons drifted lazily along the marble floor, some bumping gently into the legs of the console table. Fairy lights spiraled up the columns, and the scent of something warm and sweet — vanilla cake, maybe with a hint of cinnamon — curled through the air.
His mother's grin was positively unrepentant. "Surprise."
"Mom…" His voice cracked, half-relief, half-exasperation. The tension in his shoulders broke, and he closed the distance in a few long strides, pulling her into a fierce hug that nearly lifted her off the floor.
She laughed, smoothing a hand over his hair. "Nothing happened to me, sweetheart. I just missed you. I wanted you home."
He pulled back sharply, eyes searching hers. "You—" The words came fast, edged with the leftover adrenaline from the scare. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I came straight from Vienna. No stops. No sleep. I thought something happened to you."
Her hand cupped his cheek, calm as ever, like she was taming a storm. "You're here now. That's what matters."
His jaw worked. He wanted to argue, to unload the days of tension he'd carried, but her gaze was steady enough to quiet him — for the moment.
Then her eyes flicked past him, softening. "And who is this?"
Rayyan turned. Dee stood just inside the doorway, the strap of her bag still over one shoulder. Her eyes darted over the gold streamers, the balloons, the chandelier's glow — taking it in like she wasn't entirely sure she belonged here.
"This," Rayyan said, walking back to her, "is Dee." His tone shifted, gentler. "But before I tell you anything else — her memory's… gone. She doesn't remember much from before Vienna."
His mother's face changed instantly, the teasing melting into compassion. "Oh, sweetheart…" She stepped forward and took Dee's hands in hers, warm and firm. "Any friend of Rayyan's is family here. And if you can handle his moods in your condition, you're practically a saint."
"Hey!" Rayyan objected, half-offended, half-resigned.
Dee's lips curved faintly. "Oh, I can handle them just fine."
Robert, standing behind Haley with his arms crossed, chuckled. "We'll see how long that lasts."
Dee smirked, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Challenge accepted."
Rayyan muttered under his breath, "Why does everyone think I'm the problem?"
"Because you are," Robert said without looking at him.
"Mom, Dad — Dee." Rayyan's tone held just enough emphasis to drag the introductions back on track. "Dee, these are my parents, Haley and Robert Zyphrose."
Before he could add more, Haley tilted her head with the subtle curiosity of a woman who had raised a son who didn't bring people home lightly. "Is there something going on between you two?"
Dee blinked, caught off guard, but her answer was quick. "No, we're just friends."
She beat Rayyan to it, and that — more than the answer itself — earned her a sidelong look from him. He said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than any correction.
Haley's smile was faintly knowing. "Mhm. Friends."
They moved toward the lounge, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of their steps. A cake waited on the low glass table — three tiers of white frosting swirled with gold, sparklers fizzing cheerfully on top. Plates and a tea set were already laid out, steam curling from the spout of the pot.
"Make a wish!" Haley beamed.
Rayyan leaned in toward the sparklers, but before he could blow them out, Dee murmured just loud enough for him to hear, "Make sure it's not as dramatic as your Vienna entrance."
He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
He blew out the sparklers, the smoke curling upward like fading magic.
"My wish," he said flatly, "was for you to stop talking for five seconds."
"Too late," she shot back without missing a beat.
Haley laughed. "You two are trouble."
Later, with tea poured into delicate porcelain cups and cake slices on plates, the lounge filled with the clink of cutlery and the warm hum of conversation. The fire crackled softly in the marble hearth, chasing away the damp chill that had clung to their clothes.
"So, Dee," Haley began, "how was Vienna?"
Dee hesitated, glancing at Rayyan before answering. "It was… complicated. But beautiful."
Robert leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. "Complicated how?"
Rayyan, already pulling out his phone, answered for her. "Here. Pictures."
He scrolled through the gallery until cobblestone streets and night-lit bridges filled the screen. They passed the phone between them, pausing at the Danube under a sheet of silver light, and a square bustling with vendors.
"Why aren't you in any of these?" Haley asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I was busy capturing the beautiful moment in front of me," he said, eyes sliding deliberately to Dee.
Her cheeks warmed instantly. "You sound like a bad romance novel."
"Better than a crime report," he countered without missing a beat.
Haley kept scrolling until she found one picture where Rayyan was off to the side, gaze fixed not on the view, but on Dee. Her lips curved in a slow, knowing grin. "Look at that. Just friends, huh?"
Dee groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. "Can we not?"
"No," Rayyan said with infuriating calm, "we absolutely can."
The evening softened into easier chatter. They traded stories about a street performer with a temper, a shopkeeper who refused to sell Rayyan a scarf because he "looked like trouble," and the bakery that gave them free pastries "for good luck" after a sudden downpour.
Dee laughed more than she expected, the sound loosening something in her chest. The gold light, the low fire, and the gentle teasing made it feel — for the first time in a long time — like she wasn't an outsider.
At one point, Robert slid her another slice of cake. "Eat. You'll need the energy if you're sticking with him."
Rayyan glanced up from his tea. "I'm right here."
"Yes," Robert said, "and you're still trouble."
Haley caught the way Rayyan's gaze kept drifting toward Dee, the faintest shadow of worry softening whenever she laughed. She hid her smile behind the rim of her teacup.
For the first time since Vienna, the tightness in his chest eased. Here — with the light in Dee's eyes, the scent of cake in the air, and the low murmur of his parents in the background — maybe, just maybe, he could believe things would be okay.
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