Chapter 23: A Warm Homecoming

Melanie arrived home just as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, casting golden light across the marble floors of Westwood Manor. The scent of freshly polished wood and lavender lingered in the air. She slipped out of her shoes and walked into the foyer, stretching lightly.

"Welcome back, ma'am," one of the maids greeted her warmly. "Would you like something special for dinner?"

Melanie paused, her eyes lighting up with a sudden idea. "Actually, yes. But I want to cook it myself. For all of us."

The maid blinked, surprised. "You want to cook... for everyone?"

Melanie nodded with a smile. "Just this once. I've had a good day, and I'd love to do something with my hands. Please?"

The maid hesitated, looking torn between duty and politeness. "You're not expected to, ma'am. But... if you insist. We'll assist as needed."

"Thank you," Melanie said gratefully.

In no time, Melanie had changed into comfortable loungewear headed to the kitchen, tying her hair back into a ponytail as she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. Soon, she was completely immersed in the rhythm of cooking. Her hands moved deftly over the ingredients—seasoning chicken, sauteing vegetables, boiling pasta, baking a simple honey cake for dessert. The staff stood by, unsure whether to hover or give her space, but Melanie waved them off gently.

"It won't be fancy," she said. "But it'll be made with heart."

She set to work—boiling pasta, searing garlic butter chicken, slicing vegetables for a crisp garden salad. The warmth of the stove, the rhythm of chopping, the hum of the kitchen—it grounded her. It reminded her of the girl she used to be before heartbreak and contracts, before diamonds and designer halls.

Soon, the kitchen filled with rich, savory aromas. The maids peeked in now and then, offering to help, but Melanie insisted they relax.

When the food was ready, she arranged it neatly on the long dining table. The maids, hesitant at first, eventually joined and tasted it.

They nodded and dug in. Compliments echoed through the room:

"This is amazing."

"The seasoning is perfect."

"I didn't know you could cook like this, ma'am."

Melanie blushed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

"This is delicious, ma'am," one said with wide eyes.

"Better than the chef's special," another added with a grin.

Melanie laughed, brushing flour off her cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

She poured herself a glass of water but didn't touch her plate. Her gaze drifted toward the clock.

It was already past 9 p.m.

Still no sign of Leonard.

The staff began retreating one by one, thanking her again for the meal. But Melanie remained seated at the head of the table, her plate untouched, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass.

Around 10:30, the sound of a car door echoed through the quiet evening.

She sat up straighter, heart suddenly thudding.

The main door opened, and Leonard stepped inside, looking tired but still sharp in his dark gray suit. His tie was loosened slightly, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone.

He froze when he saw her.

"You're still awake?"

Melanie nodded slowly, rising to her feet. "I was waiting."

His eyes softened. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

Leonard stepped into the dining room and stopped short at the sight of the table—the polished dishes, the warm lighting, the covered plates.

"Did you... cook this?"

"I did. For everyone. But I waited to eat with you."

Something shifted in his expression. He walked closer, removing his blazer and placing it neatly over a chair. "Thank you. It smells amazing."

She smiled gently. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

She uncovered the food and dished up two plates, setting them across from one another. They sat, and for a while, they simply ate. The soft clink of cutlery and the occasional sigh of contentment filled the space between them.

Halfway through the meal, Melanie set her fork down.

"Leonard... can I tell you something?"

He looked up immediately, alert. "Of course."

She hesitated, fingers clasped in her lap. "There's a competition in school. A design competition for the new students. The winner gets to meet Designer Lee for a one-on-one mentorship."

His brow rose slightly. "That's a big deal."

Leonard nodded slowly. "I've heard of him. He's one of the best."

"Yeah," she said, eyes brightening. "And... I'm thinking of entering."

Leonard's expression didn't change, but something softened in his eyes. "Why do you sound unsure?"

"Because I haven't designed seriously in years," she admitted. "Not since... everything happened. But now, I think I want to try again."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "Then do it. You don't need anyone's permission. Least of all mine."

She smiled, but it was faint. "I just... I wanted you to know."

He nodded. "And I appreciate that."

"Melanie," he said, his voice firm but warm, "I believe in you. And if you ever need help with anything—resources, materials, advice—you let me know. You don't have to do it alone."

Emotion tightened her chest.

He always said the right things—but it wasn't just the words. It was the way he said them. Like he meant every syllable.

Their eyes met, a quiet understanding blooming in the silence between them. Gratitude swelled in Melanie's chest.

"Thank you, Leonard."

He looked down at his plate and muttered, "Anything for you."

But she didn't hear it. Or maybe she pretended not to.

They finished the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. And when he stood to clear the plates, Melanie stopped him with a soft smile.

"Let me. Tonight, you rest."

He looked at her, eyes lingering a second too long.

"No, I want to help too."

As they cleared the table together, side by side in the warm kitchen light, there was a new energy between them—faint, but growing. Like something fragile yet full of potential.

She turned toward the kitchen, Melanie caught her reflection in the glass window.

She looked... content.

And for the first time in a long while, she let herself hope.