The gentle clatter of silverware and the steady hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen, as it mingled with the faint scent of warm bread and coffee.
Morning sunlight spilled through the wide window, and washed everything in that soft, golden light that made even pain look a little forgiving.
Alexa stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in flour as she kneaded dough beside Claudia.
The housekeeper's hands were steady and practiced, her movements almost rhythmic, like she'd been doing this her whole life — which, knowing Claudia, she probably had.
After a quiet moment, Alexa broke the silence. "Claudia… where's Winona? I haven't seen her around lately."
Claudia didn't look up right away, rather she kept shaping the dough, and pressing into it gently before replying. "Ah, Winona. Poor thing caught a fever last week — bad one too. Marcus told her to take a break and rest with her sister in the countryside."
Alexa frowned slightly, and her tone was still casual. "I see. I was starting to think she'd quit without saying goodbye."
Claudia gave a small chuckle, shaking her head. "That one? Never. She's loyal to this house… loyal to the Delacroix."
Alexa nodded, forcing a small smile as she brushed flour off her fingers. "That's good to hear."
The quiet returned for a beat — comfortable, but layered with unspoken thoughts. Then, out of nowhere, Claudia said, "You remind me a little of her."
Alexa blinked. "Of Winona?"
"No," Claudia said, her tone softer now. "Of Rosalina."
The name hit the air like a whisper from a ghost. Alexa froze for just a second — she had heard it before, murmured by servants, sometimes by Marcus when he thought no one was listening. The name of his late wife.
"I… I don't really see how," Alexa said carefully, though her curiosity was piqued. "She must've been very different from me."
Claudia smiled, it was faint and nostalgic. "Different, yes. But not in the way you think. Rosalina was gentle — the kind of gentle that made people listen without her saying much. And she had that same fire you do… that stubbornness to protect what she cared for, even if it cost her everything."
Alexa turned to pour water into a bowl, masking the sudden tightness in her chest. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Claudia sighed, as she rested both hands on the counter as if she was trying to steady herself. "Because, dear… no one has made Aaron laugh like that since she passed. Not once."
The weight of those words hung between them. Alexa swallowed hard, remembering Aaron's giggles when they built his fortress, the way he'd looked at her — with trust, with warmth. A warmth she hadn't realized had been missing for years in this house.
Claudia glanced at her, eyes kind but heavy with meaning. "Marcus may act like the world carved him out of stone, but he's a man carrying far too many ghosts. You've brought light into this house again, Alexa. Even if you don't see it."
Alexa said nothing for a moment, staring at her flour-dusted hands. "Sometimes I wonder if he even notices. Lately, I can't tell if he sees me… or someone else when he looks my way."
Claudia's eyes softened further. "He sees you, child. He's just afraid of what that means."
Alexa blinked, caught off guard by the quiet truth in those words. She tried to say something — to ask what Claudia really meant — but the older woman simply went back to kneading, her expression distant, almost wistful.
Finally, Claudia broke the silence again, her voice a low murmur. "I hope you mend his heart, child. It's been broken far too long."
The spoon slipped from Alexa's hand, clattering softly against the counter — not loud enough to startle, but enough to mark the end of something tender and the beginning of something deeper.
Scene 2
The kitchen had gone still.
The kind of still that seeps into your bones. After Claudia left, Alexa just stood there for a long time, as the smell of dough and cinnamon clinged to the air while her thoughts tangled tighter and tighter.
She wiped her hands on a towel, though they were already clean. Anything to keep busy. Anything to stop thinking about him.
"Rosalina…" she murmured under her breath. The name rolled uneasily off her tongue. It felt wrong — too soft, too sacred — and yet it lingered, echoing around her like a whisper she couldn't shake.
Claudia's words replayed again and again, looping like an old record: No one has made Aaron laugh like that since she passed.
Alexa pressed a hand to her chest. She shouldn't care. She wasn't supposed to care. But something inside her — something she'd buried years ago, under scars and missions and blood — stirred uncomfortably.
She walked out onto the veranda, needing air.
The mansion grounds stretched before her, manicured and beautiful in a way that almost mocked her unease. The breeze toyed with her hair, cool and familiar. She leaned on the railing and stared at the distant treeline.
"Why do I feel like this?" she whispered.
Marcus had been cold, distant… almost cruel these past few days.
Every clipped tone, every sidelong glance — they cut more than she'd ever admit. And yet, even after all of it, even after he'd shoved her away — both literally and emotionally — her chest still tightened at the thought of him.
"I shouldn't be affected," she said aloud, though her voice wavered, betraying her. "I've faced worse. I've watched men die without blinking. So why does a look from him make me feel like I'm the one bleeding?"
Her reflection in the glass door stared back. It was calm, composed, unreadable. The perfect mask. And yet, behind it… confusion brewed.
She thought back to Aaron's laugh. That pure, unfiltered joy. It wasn't calculated. It wasn't forced. It was real — something this house hadn't seen in years, if Claudia was right.
"Rosalina…" she whispered again, quieter this time. "How did you do it? How did you love a man like him?"
Her eyes drifted toward the study window — she could see its faint outline from here. That was his world: structured, cold, safe. A fortress of paperwork and secrets.
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Maybe I'm not supposed to be here. Maybe Nina's right."
But even as she said it, the thought burned. Leaving wasn't an option — not when she'd sworn to protect Aaron, not when her mission was still unfinished.
And yet… a quiet, treacherous part of her whispered that maybe — just maybe — it wasn't only duty keeping her there anymore.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. A message from the Administrator blinked across the screen, short and coded:
"Eyes on the inside. your target is the father, not just the child."
Her breath caught. The father. Marcus.
She pocketed the phone slowly, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears.
As she turned to head back inside, her reflection in the glass caught her once more — this time, she barely recognized herself. The agent's mask was cracking, and beneath it stood someone she hadn't been in a long time — someone who could feel.