The midday sun filtered through the frost-laced windows of the Smith estate, throwing glimmering patterns across the ancient marble floors. The warmth of celebration clashed gently with the crisp winter air that lingered on the coats of arriving guests. Michelle stood at the arched entrance of the grand dining hall, the aroma of cinnamon-glazed roast and freshly baked flatbread weaving its way through the corridors like an invisible invitation.
The Reinhardt car arrived right on time, gliding up the long cobblestone driveway. Leina pressed her face lightly against the window, watching as the towering trees of the Smith estate swayed with grace. She turned to her brothers, who were already arguing about whether the food would be fancier than last time.
"I bet they've got those mini cakes again," Louis whispered, nudging Liam.
"They're called petit fours," Levy corrected, adjusting his coat collar with an air of confidence. "And I'm here for the roast."
Giselle chuckled softly, her hand resting protectively on Leina's back as they stepped out. "Behave," she murmured, her voice a gentle warning lined with amusement.
Inside the dining hall, Michelle moved with a kind of hurried grace, her hair tied into an elegant twist, an apron still clinging to her waist despite the festive dress underneath. "They're here!" she whispered excitedly to Samantha, who beamed and ran to the front, waving at the approaching Reinhardts.
"Leina!" Samantha called out, hugging her friend tightly. Leina stumbled slightly at the force but hugged her back with a small laugh.
Alexander leaned casually against a nearby pillar, trying not to look like he'd been waiting, but his eyes lifted the second Leina entered the room. He waved once, subtly, and she gave a small nod in return before being ushered in by her mother.
As the family stepped inside, warmth engulfed them—not just from the roaring fireplace, but from the fluttering of staff and cheerful energy that filled the space.
"I told you it would smell good," Louis whispered triumphantly to Liam.
"And I told you not to wear two pairs of socks," Liam retorted.
At the head of the table, Michelle clapped her hands. "Welcome! Reinhardts, you honor us. Logan is still out handling a few things, but please, sit, eat, celebrate!"
The maids hurried past with large trays. One paused beside the twins.
"Don't touch yet," she said firmly, before her face softened into a smile. "But I saved the chocolate tarts just for you two."
"Legend," Louis murmured under his breath.
Leina found herself beside Alexander, who had somehow "coincidentally" pulled out the chair next to him.
"I didn't know you liked chicken pie," he said, trying not to sound like he'd memorized everything she'd taken at lunch in school.
"I don't," Leina said simply. "I just like the crust."
"Oh," he said, then smiled. "That's the best part anyway."
As the room buzzed around them—Lester trading sarcastic barbs with Samantha, Giselle catching up with Michelle in quiet tones, and Levy deep in discussion about culinary herbs with one of the sous-chefs—Leina watched as Alexander subtly pushed his plate closer to hers.
"Here," he said, "you can have the corner. That one's always got the most crust."
She blinked. "You're giving me food?"
"I mean… you looked at it like you wanted it."
She considered, then took the piece with a small nod. "Thanks."
Michelle looked out at the table, the chatter of children and clinking of dishes filling the hall, and felt tears well again—not from stress or pain, but something else. Joy. Gratitude. The ache of hope returning after a long wait.
"Can you believe it?" she whispered to Giselle. "The biggest catering contract of my life. And all because of her." She looked to Samantha, who was now poking fun at Lester with surprising boldness.
"She has your spirit," Giselle replied with a smile. "And your ambition."
Michelle wiped a tear before it could fall. "I used to think all I had was bad luck. But maybe things can turn. Maybe they already are."