Morning light spilt into the Donovan kitchen, warm and golden, chasing away the storm's heaviness.
When I entered, Sophia was already there, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. She grinned as I slipped in with her messy bun tilted, threatened to loose.
"You look like you barely slept," she teased, sliding a mug with half coffee my way.
I forced a laugh, hoping it sounded light. "Neither did you, apparently. Your eye bags are showing through," I laugh.
"Ellie! My skin is dying on me," she admitted, plopping into the chair across from me. "But we used to have late nights all the time at campus cramming for our finals."
I smiled, grateful for the distraction. "We are still surviving, Soph, and do you remember the instant noodles? Mrs Donovan nearly banned me from the kitchen."
Both of us laugh at our antics. "Well, I'm just glad that you're here. It feels like old times, doesn't it?"
Her words wrapped around me with familiar comfort, but behind my smile, the memory of last night burned hot.
Tristan's nearness, his eyes, steady on mine and the way silence had nearly broken between us.
I tightened my grip on the mug, praying for Sophia couldn't read the storm inside me.
Later that afternoon, I packed my bag. Sophia was pouting dramatically at the door. "Are you sure you want to leave?"
"You'll see me soon, Soph," I promised.
"Besides, Mom's probably been waiting for me. I've been gone long enough for her to miss me," I joked.
She chuckled and hugged me tight. "Next time, no distractions. Just us, like old times. Promise?"
I nodded, but the guilt kept pressing against my ribs.
—
Back home, when I opened the door, I saw my Mom at the dining table, grading a stack of papers with glasses perched on her nose.
She looked up the moment she heard I walked in, her face brightening.
"Ellie." She rose, pulling and wrapping me around her arms, that familiar warmth easing something in me. "I missed you, darling."
"I missed you too, Mom."
For a little while, I let myself breathe in the simplicity of home, the faint smell of her lavender hand cream, the quiet steadiness that she carried. But when she asked how my stay was, I felt the guilt rising inside me again, manage to only give her half of the truth.
—
Meanwhile, across the Donovan estate, Tristan was sitting opposite his father in the private study. Edward Donovan's who had been absences recently, is back from his long business trip.
He, who was once a commanding presence, had softened, but his sharp eyes missed nothing.
"You're restless, Tristan," Edward observed while sipping his tea. "It's written all over you," he continued.
Tristan leaned back in the leather chair with a tight jaw. "It's just the business. There are many loose ends I need to manage."
Edward nodded slowly.
"When my grandfather built this empire, they built it for the stability of our family. But of course, not all of this is clean, Tristan. You know it better than anyone."
The silence between us was heavy. Tristan's eyes flickered, shadows lurking there.
"I believe you're ready to take more than the weight I carried," Edward continued, voice firm. "But this will cost you more than you could realize."
Tristan exhaled slowly, the image of Ellie flickering unbidden in his mind.
For the first time in years, the thought of what it might cost him truly unsettled within him.