The Upper East Side of Manhattan glistened beneath the late-morning sun, its rows of elegant townhouses and stately mansions radiating an air of wealth and history. It was a neighborhood known for its exclusivity, a place where every street whispered of old money, powerful connections, and social prestige. Black cars lined the curbs, doormen stood at attention, and the air carried a quiet sophistication only the elite could afford.
Nestled at the heart of this neighborhood stood the Collins estate, a grand mansion surrounded by meticulously trimmed hedges and wrought-iron gates that gleamed under the sunlight. The house itself was an architectural marvel—cream-colored stone, tall windows framed with black shutters, and a sprawling staircase that led up to the wide double doors. Inside, the high ceilings and intricate chandeliers spoke of generations of influence, while modern art pieces hung elegantly alongside oil portraits of family ancestors.
The dining hall was no less magnificent. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, polished until it shone like glass, while silver cutlery gleamed under the crystal chandelier above. Large windows bathed the room in soft golden light, giving the breakfast table a glow that felt both warm and commanding.
At the table sat Mia Collins, her delicate frame wrapped in a silk robe, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, occupied the seats at the head and side of the table, dressed impeccably even at breakfast. Their family was well known among New York's elite—not just wealthy, but influential, with ties to politics, philanthropy, and business.
The maid, dressed crisply in black and white, moved with quiet precision as she laid out the morning meal—fluffy scrambled eggs, warm croissants, smoked salmon, and freshly squeezed orange juice. The scent of roasted coffee lingered in the air as plates were set before them.
Mia broke the silence first, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I met someone yesterday at the shore," she said, her fork hovering over her plate. "A beautiful Black lady. She was… so lovely."
Her parents exchanged a look—subtle, but telling. Mrs. Collins tilted her head slightly, curiosity mingling with surprise. "You? Meeting someone so soon?" she asked, her voice calm but with a trace of disbelief. "Mia, you've always found it hard to make friends. You barely trust people at first sight."
"I know," Mia admitted with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But she was different. There was something about her—warm, genuine. I just… liked her instantly."
Her father, Mr. Collins, leaned back in his chair, studying his daughter carefully. His presence was commanding, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "That's unusual," he said slowly. "You've always been cautious. What changed?"
Mia shrugged, a dreamy smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe I'm changing too. Maybe it's time I let myself connect with people."
Mrs. Collins offered a soft smile, but her tone carried a note of warning. "Be careful, darling. Not everyone who smiles at you means well. Friendships—especially new ones—must be handled with care."
The maid returned, serving them each their plates before stepping back respectfully. The family began to eat, the clinking of silverware the only sound for a brief moment.
Midway through the meal, Mr. Collins set down his fork and turned his attention back to his daughter. "Mia," he said, his tone shifting slightly, "have you been hearing from your brother?"
"Yes," Mia replied brightly, sipping her juice. "He's been busy, as always. But I'm even planning to visit him at his hostel soon."
Her mother raised her brows. "At his hostel? Isn't it rather… unlike you to drop by unannounced?"
Mia chuckled softly. "I think it'll be fun. Besides, I miss him. And he'll be surprised to see me."
Her father studied her again, a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. "Just make sure you don't get too entangled, Mia. New friends, surprise visits—these are small things, yes. But they can change the flow of everything."
Mia tilted her head, her smile faltering just slightly. "You make it sound so serious, Father. It's just breakfast… and a visit to my brother."
"Nothing is ever just anything in this city," Mr. Collins replied, his voice deep and measured.
The words lingered in the air, casting a quiet weight over the otherwise elegant breakfast table.
Mia lowered her gaze to her plate, still smiling faintly, but a thought pressed at the back of her mind. Why did her father always make things feel heavier than they were?