Feathers still floated in the air when the gang finally collapsed on the couch, breathless with laughter. Pillows lay torn open like snowdrifts across the Harrison farmhouse living room floor.
"Okay, okay," Julian groaned dramatically, brushing a feather from his hair. "I surrender. I can't feel my arms anymore."
Bella giggled, clutching her stomach. "You deserved that last hit!"
Navya pointed a finger at her, laughing. "You started the war, Senorita."
Mia yawned, still smiling. "I'm starving. Can we please eat before I faint?"
Jake stretched his arms overhead. "Finally, something sensible."
Abby smirked. "You faint every time there's food involved, Mia."
"Whatever," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
The laughter echoed through the hallways, spilling warmth into every corner. It was one of those rare mornings that felt like forever — full of youth, chaos, and love.
Upstairs, Sebastian Whitmore heard the sound of their laughter drifting up through the stairwell. He paused mid-conversation with his father, his heart tightening strangely at the sound of her voice — that light, melodic laugh that could make any morning brighter.
"Excuse me, I need to take a quick call," he lied smoothly.
Alexander gave him a short nod, already lost in a discussion with Richard about upcoming business meetings.
Sebastian took the stairs two at a time, moving silently, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile. He wasn't sure what he was doing — maybe just needing to see her again, to convince himself she was real.
Down the hallway, Bella Harrison was walking toward her room, still laughing quietly to herself, plucking stray feathers from her messy hair. Her pajamas were disheveled, and a few downy white feathers were tangled in the strands of her hair like tiny snowflakes.
Her reflection in a mirror caught her eye — she looked like a walking pillow disaster. She giggled, shaking her head.
But that smile froze when she sensed someone behind her.
The air shifted — heavier, closer.
Her laughter died instantly. Slowly, she turned.
Sebastian.
Her breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. The memory of last night — his voice, his warning, that kiss — hit her like a thunderstorm. Everything she had buried beneath laughter came rushing back all at once.
Her throat tightened. She clutched her pajama top nervously and turned away, quickening her steps toward her room.
Her hands trembled as she pushed open the door. She was halfway through when a strong hand pressed against it, stopping it from closing.
The door creaked open again, and Sebastian's tall frame filled the doorway.
She spun around, anger flashing in her eyes. "What is your problem?" Her voice trembled between anger and unease. "Look, I'm in no mood to fight, so you better go."
Sebastian's chuckle was low, rich, and dangerous. "Who said I came here to fight, my girl?"
Her jaw tightened. "I'm not your girl," she snapped. "Whatever this is, make it quick. I need to change."
He took a slow step closer, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Then let me in."
Bella blinked, startled. "No… no way."
"Why not?" he teased, leaning slightly against the doorframe. "Don't tell me you're scared of me."
Her chin lifted instantly, fire flashing in her brown eyes. "Scared of you? Hah. Never. Fine — come in then."
He smiled faintly, stepping inside. The quiet click of the door closing behind him made her heart skip again.
Her voice trembled slightly, though she masked it with anger. "Why did you close the door?"
He smirked. "You'd rather someone walk in while we're… doing something adult?"
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "Mr. Whitmore—"
"Sebastian," he corrected softly.
Her pulse raced. "Whatever! Just leave."
But he didn't. He took a single, deliberate step toward her. The sunlight from the window caught on his eyes — sharp and gleaming like melted amber.
Bella looked around, searching for a way out. Her mind screamed run.
And she did.
Before he could reach her, she darted toward the ensuite bathroom and slammed the door shut.
For a second, silence. Then she yelled from the other side, her voice shaking with fury. "Listen, Mr. Whitmore! You better leave. And you have no right to touch me!"
On the other side of the door, Sebastian blinked — then started laughing. A deep, amused laugh that rolled through the quiet room.
"Bella," he called teasingly, "you're like a little kitten — all claws and panic."
"Shut up!" came her muffled response.
He grinned. "About rights…" His voice dropped lower, smooth as velvet. "Wait and watch, Senorita. I'm heading downstairs now. Come soon, my girl."
Bella frowned from behind the door, heat rising to her cheeks in a mix of anger and confusion. She stayed silent, listening until his footsteps faded away.
Then she exhaled sharply, gripping the sink counter. "God, that man is infuriating."
She took a quick shower, scrubbing away every trace of last night — or trying to. But her heart refused to settle, still replaying his voice, his smirk, that maddening confidence.
Downstairs, the breakfast table was filled with chatter. The smell of pancakes and coffee filled the air as the parents laughed over shared memories of the weekend.
Soon, one by one, the gang joined them — fresh, hungry, still teasing each other about the feather explosion upstairs.
Bella walked in last, her hair tied up neatly now, wearing a soft lilac dress and a forced calm smile. Her eyes briefly met Sebastian's across the table. His lips curved faintly — a look that said I remember everything.
She quickly looked away.
After breakfast, the cheerful chaos of packing began. Suitcases rolled, car doors clicked shut, and laughter echoed one last time through the halls of the Harrison farmhouse.
The weekend was over. The holiday had ended.
It was time to return to the world where responsibilities waited — where the Whitmores returned to their empire and the Harrisons to their own calm rhythm.
Yet as the cars pulled away, Bella found herself staring out the window, her reflection pale against the glass. The laughter from the morning still lingered, but something else hummed quietly beneath it — confusion, defiance, and a question she didn't want to admit even to herself.
Why did one man's presence still make her heart race — with anger, fear… and something she refuse to name?