The scent of vanilla pancakes and honey butter was the first thing Mia noticed as she made her way down the stairs.She paused on the last step, heart fluttering in recognition.
Only one person cooked like that.
Her heels clicked gently across the marble floor as she entered the kitchen, dressed in a white blouse tucked into a pleated navy skirt, her favorite nude heels and delicate gold earrings completing the look. Cute. Effortlessly sweet.
She felt good. Confident. Like maybe, today, someone might finally see her.
As she rounded the corner, a familiar voice burst out in laughter.
"¡Dios mío, look at this muñeca!"
Mia lit up. "Rosa!"
Mia rushed over, letting Rosa pull her into a warm, vanilla-scented hug.
"I missed you so much," Mia said, switching easily into Spanish. "You smell like home."
Rosa pulled back, her eyes already watering. "You're going to make me cry before I serve breakfast."
"You're the one who disappeared on me."
I'm back now. Do you think I'd leave you to eat frozen waffles forever?" Rosa scolded, kissing her on the forehead before pulling her into a long, tight hug. "You're skin and bones! Dios mío, I go for three weeks and you disappear like smoke."
Mia giggled into her shoulder. "You always exaggerate."
"Not enough! Sit, sit I made your favorite. Vanilla pancakes, the way you like them thin, soft, with the maple-honey butter. And fresh berries. And tea with a spoonful of honey, not sugar. I remember everything."
Mia's eyes stung a little as she sat down. "I missed you."
"And I missed you, mija. My grandbabies are beautiful, but they don't need me as much as you do."
Rosa had been part of Mia's life for as long as she could remember.
She was the one who held her when she cried for her mother. The one who tucked her into bed, braided her hair for school, and whispered bedtime prayers in Spanish when the house grew too quiet and cold.
She had worked for the Hart family since before Mia was born. But everything changed when Mia was six when her father, Charles, remarried.
Her stepmother arrived like perfume and ice, elegant and unreadable. She didn't like Rosa. Said she was "too familiar," "too sentimental." She brought in her own staff, her own rules, her own presence that slowly pushed everything Mia loved out of her home.
Rosa left a 4 year later. Mia never understood why, not fully not until she was older and realized how quietly cruel her stepmother had been.
Her father had let it happen. He loved Mia, but love from Charles Hart came wrapped in expensive bows. Birthday ponies. Custom dolls. Private tutors. All the things a little girl might dream of everything except his presence.
He substituted affection with gifts. Elena always said he lost himself after her mother died.
And Mia, too sweet to question it, kept smiling and saying thank you.
Even when her half-sister came along.
Pretty. Charming. Always watching.
She clung to Mia like a shadow, calling her "sissy" in front of guests, pretending to adore her. But beneath the hugs and giggles was something colder. Jealousy. A need to outshine. To compete.
Mia never noticed. Not really Or maybe she did, but chose to believe the best anyway. Mia had always been too kind too trusting to see the truth.Even now, she still hoped they could be real sisters one day.
Rosa pulled her out of her thoughts by placing a plate in front of her with a proud flourish. The pancakes were warm, golden, and perfectly stacked. "Eat," she ordered. "Then I'll pack your lunch."
"You really don't have to-"
"Don't start," Rosa cut in. "You may be Mrs. Blackwood now, but you'll always be my baby."
Mia smiled gently, digging in. "Thank you."
Just then, footsteps echoed on the stairs.
The warmth in her chest wavered.
Damian.
He entered the kitchen dressed in a charcoal suit, crisp and immaculate, not a hair out of place. He moved like a shadow quiet, cold, too large for the soft morning light.
"Buenos días, Señor Blackwood," Rosa greeted cheerfully, pouring him a cup of black coffee. "You look tired. You need real breakfast."
"I'm fine," he said, taking his usual seat.
"You need something sweet in the morning," Rosa insisted. "Something made with love. Balance out all that ice in your veins."
Mia stifled a giggle behind her napkin.
Damian shot Rosa a dry look, but said nothing. He accepted the pancakes with silent grace and sipped his coffee while checking something on his phone.
They sat like that Mia at one end, Damian at the other, Rosa bustling between them like a bridge neither of them could build on their own.
He didn't speak to Mia.
But his eyes met hers once.
Just briefly. Just enough to steal her breath.
She dropped her gaze.
She couldn't let herself hope anymore.
By the time Rosa packed her lunch complete with little notes scribbled in her handwriting and kissed her cheek goodbye, Damian had already vanished upstairs to take a call.
She stared after him for a moment.
So close, yet never close enough.
"Patience," Rosa said softly, squeezing her shoulder. "He's made of stone, but even stone cracks under sunshine."
Mia gave her a faint smile.