Minutes later, Emii descended the stairs. She didn't walk; she glided. Gone was the flour-dusted whirlwind; in her place was a vision in a flowy, ethereal dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves.
Dravin was no stranger to the sight of Emii in the drab, utilitarian lines of a maid's uniform, yet seeing her now—sheathed in elegance—struck a chord of profound dissonance within him. It wasn't merely the transition from cloth to couture that held him captive; it was the meticulous architecture of her presence. From the calculated precision of her hair to the defiant, avant-garde stroke of her makeup, this was a woman who had shed her former skin. This 'new, colorful Emii' didn't just occupy the room; she commanded it with a sophisticated aesthetic that the old Emii never possessed, leaving Dravin to wonder if the girl he once knew had been replaced by a far more dangerous masterpiece.
The dining room was a masterclass in understated luxury, but the scent wafting from the kitchen was something far more visceral.
They took their seats in a heavy, expectant silence. As the butlers began to uncover the dishes, Krish raised a hand, his brow furrowing.
"Mrs. Lynn, take these away. My sister doesn't eat greasy food. Bring her usual salad."
"Master—" Mrs. Lynn started, but Emii interjected with a soft, melodic laugh.
"Brother, please," she said, her eyes shimmering with feigned innocence. "I cooked this specifically for you and Dravin. You're always so focused on my preferences; I thought it was time I learned to appreciate yours."
Krish looked skeptical. "Emii, you don't have to push yourself for us."
"Are you suggesting I wasted all that effort?" she teased, leaning forward. "Or are you just afraid my cooking might actually be better than the Chef's?"
The challenge worked. The men picked up their cutlery, their first bites cautious. Then, the atmosphere shifted. The caution turned to surprise, and the surprise to genuine delight.
"This is… actually incredible, Emii," Krish admitted, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his stern facade.
Dravin nodded, his brown eyes locking onto hers. "I'm impressed. You've hidden this talent well."
Emii beamed, ignoring the flutter in her chest. "Well, if the business world fails me, I can always open a bistro."
As the evening wound down, Emii excused herself with a theatrical yawn, citing the exhaustion of a 'domestic goddess.' But as her footsteps faded, the air in the dining room turned solemn.
"You saw it too," Krish said quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Dravin stared at the empty doorway, his thumb tracing the rim of his crystal glass. "She's different. Softer. More… vibrant. It's as if she's finally come to her senses."
"Or," Krish murmured, his eyes darkening with suspicion, "she's playing a much deeper game."
Before Dravin could respond, the sharp, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of high heels on marble echoed from the staircase. The princess was returning, and the game was far from over.