The next morning dawned early, the house unusually alive with activity. As Amara finished dressing, she heard footsteps and hurried voices outside her door.
A frown crossed her face.
It was barely morning, and yet the place was alive with an energy she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She stepped out, closing her bedroom door gently behind her so as not to disturb Vaughn.
Standing in the hallway, she noticed servants darting from one end to another, their faces tense yet focused.
Some carried linen and others polished silverware with quick, practiced hands, murmuring among themselves.
She stood, watching for a moment, a sense of unease growing as she tried to make sense of the commotion.
Finally, she spotted Chira, an older woman who had worked for the family for decades, her movements steady despite the urgency in her expression.
“Chira,” Amara called softly.
The old woman turned, a warm, if slightly frazzled, smile tugging at her lips as she moved toward Amara, bowing her head respectfully. “Miss Amara, good morning,” Chira said, her voice carrying a hint of breathlessness.
Amara returned the smile, albeit briefly. “Good morning, Chira. What’s happening? Why is everyone so busy this early?”
Chira’s eyes lit up, a faint glimmer of excitement sparking in their depths. “Miss, the young master is coming today, along with young mistress.”
Amara’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Leo and Emery. “Leo and Emery?” she repeated, surprise coloring her tone.
It had been months since she’d last seen them, ever since they had moved to Russia, Emery’s homeland.
The news of their sudden return brought a thrill of anticipation.
“Yes, miss. The young master called the master earlier,” Chira explained, nodding with enthusiasm.
Amara nodded, digesting the news, though her mind was already spinning.
She murmured her thanks to Chira and turned, her thoughts pulling her in several directions. She hadn’t been in close contact with Leo since he left.
Walking down the familiar halls, she headed toward the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Vaughn.
As she stepped inside, she saw her mother, Isabelle, busily moving between the counters, focused on preparing a spread of dishes she only ever made for special occasions.
Amara stood quietly for a moment, watching her mother’s slender hands as they worked, carefully slicing, stirring, and arranging various ingredients.
There was an intensity in her movements that spoke of the emotions she kept hidden beneath her calm facade.
Isabelle looked up as she sensed her daughter’s presence, offering a faint, weary smile. “Good morning, baby,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a warmth that Amara knew well. “Is Vaughn awake yet?”
Amara nodded, her gaze lingering on her mother. “Good morning mom, he woke up just a few minutes ago.”
Isabelle’s expression softened, and she reached for a bowl, carefully scooping some nutritious oats and berries, which she then poured onto a plate.
She held it out to Amara, her eyes filled with unspoken worry. “Take this to him. It’s good for him; he needs something that’ll help him regain his strength.”
Amara accepted the plate, her fingers brushing against her mother’s for a brief moment.
She could feel the tension humming through Isabelle’s touch, as if the weight of recent events had settled in her bones, making her movements slower, heavier.
There was so much that her mother kept hidden, emotions she masked for the sake of keeping her family steady.
But in that fleeting touch, Amara sensed everything.. the fear, the anger, the helplessness.
“Mom…” Amara began, her voice hesitant, wanting to say something comforting, something to ease the burden she knew her mother was carrying alone.
Isabelle shook her head slightly, her smile wavering. “Just… take care of Vaughn,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.
There was a finality in her words, an unspoken plea for Amara to focus on what truly mattered right now.
She gave her mother’s hand a brief squeeze before turning away, carrying the plate up the stairs and back toward her room.
She entered her room, where the soft morning light had begun to creep through the window, casting gentle shadows on the walls.
Vaughn was awake, though still curled under the blankets, his gaze distant and unfocused.
She approached quietly, setting the plate down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Vaughn,” she murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His gaze drifted toward her, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of recognition, a hint of the old Vaughn beneath the layers of fear and pain.
“I brought you some breakfast,” she said, picking up the plate and holding it out to him. “Mom made it just for you.”
He stared at the plate, his brow furrowing slightly as if the sight of food felt foreign to him. But after a moment, he took it, his small hands clutching the edges of the plate with a fragile determination.
Amara watched him, her heart twisting at the sight of him trying to be brave, to hold himself together despite everything he’d been through.
She could see the toll the past few days had taken on him, the haunted look in his eyes that no child should ever have to bear.
Yet, he was trying. He was fighting, even if only a little.
As he ate slowly, in silence, she stayed by his side, her presence a quiet reassurance.
The atmosphere in the room was somber, heavy with all the things they couldn’t say, but in that moment, words weren’t necessary.
They sat together, the silence binding them, offering a brief respite from the storm that raged outside.
After a while, as Vaughn finished his breakfast, Amara felt a sense of hope..
She knew that she couldn’t change what had happened, couldn’t erase the horrors that had befallen her family, but she could be there for Vaughn.
She could be his strength when he had none left.
The sound of car engines outside drew her attention, and she glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of several sleek black cars pulling up the driveway. Leo and Emery had arrived.