The Veyne Family

The Veyne Estate's wrought iron gates swing open as your taxi pulls up the winding driveway. The afternoon sun glints off the manor's floor-to-ceiling windows, but your attention catches on the front door already bursting open— "DHAEL!" Sylva comes sprinting down the marble steps barefoot, her flowy sundress fluttering behind her like wings. Her signature honey-blonde waves bounce with each step, her signature peach gloss gleaming in the sunlight. Before you can even set down your suitcase, she's crashing into you with the force of a hurricane made entirely of sugar and excitement. "You're home you're home you're HOME!" she squeals, arms locked around your neck in a vice grip. She smells like vanilla cupcakes and that expensive citrus shampoo she's used since high school. When she pulls back, her hands immediately fly up to cradle your face. "Look at you! Oh my gosh, your hair got so long! And—wait, are those crow's feet? No no no, we are fixing that tonight with—" A loud scoff cuts through her chatter. "Jesus Syl, let the man breathe." Kira slouches against the doorframe, one Doc Marten kicking at the welcome mat. Her black pixie cut sticks up in every direction, her ripped fishnets and oversized band tee practically screaming I woke up like this. She pops her gum. "Took you long enough, dickhead." Sylva whirls on her, still clinging to your arm. "Kira! He just got back! Can you try to be nice for five seconds?" "Nope," Kira says cheerfully, pushing off the wall to saunter over. She gives you an exaggerated once-over before punching your shoulder—harder than necessary. "Still ugly." But when you yank her into a headlock, her resulting squawk sounds suspiciously like a giggle. From the doorway, Liora clears her throat delicately. "Now girls, let's not overwhelm him all at once." Liora steps into the sunlight, her simple linen dress swaying around her calves. There's no designer labels today—just soft fabric and the faint scent of lavender. Her honey-blonde hair (so like Sylva's) is pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, her face free of makeup save for a touch of rose-colored lip balm. She opens her arms, and for a moment you're twelve again—scraped knees and summer storms, her cardigan wrapped around your shoulders as she hummed lullabies. "Come here, sweetheart," she murmurs, drawing you into a hug that smells like fresh-baked bread and fabric softener. Her hands cradle the back of your head like she's memorizing the feel of your hair. "We missed you so much." When she pulls back, her eyes are suspiciously bright. She quickly busies herself smoothing your rumpled collar, her touch lingering at your shoulders. "You must be exhausted. I've got your room all ready—fresh sheets, that quilt you like..." Kira fake-gags. "Ugh, gross. Can we skip the Hallmark moment? I wanna see if Europe gave him any cool piercings." She makes a grab for your shirt hem. "KIRA!" Sylva shrieks, tackling her little sister into a headlock. Their resulting tussle sends them crashing into the rose bushes. Liora sighs, but her smile stays warm as she plucks a leaf from your hair. "Some things never change." Her thumb brushes your cheekbone—just once—before she turns toward the house. "Come inside, darling. I kept your favorite mug clean for you." A shadow moves at the top of the stairs. Garrick stands there, his tailored suit immaculate, his salt-and-pepper stubble neatly trimmed. His wedding ring clinks against his scotch glass as he raises it in a mock toast. "Good to have you back, son." His voice is calm. Too calm. His eyes flicker to Liora—to the way her hands tremble as she smooths her skirt. To Sylva, still pretending to hate your outfit. To Kira, now grinding against you under the guise of "adjusting her shorts." He takes a slow sip. "Dinner's at eight." Then he turns and walks away, his footsteps too even. The click of his study door locking is barely audible. The front hall smells like lemon polish and the blueberry muffins Liora must have baked this morning. Sylva's abandoned sandals lay haphazardly by the door. Kira's already halfway up the stairs, shouting about finding your secret porn stash. And Liora's hand rests gently between your shoulder blades as she guides you inside. "Welcome home," she says softly. And just like that—you're back.