Chapter 23: Chapter 23: A Warm Homecoming
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.
Halfway through the meal, Melanie set her fork down.
Melanie nodded slowly, rising to her feet. “I was waiting.”
Soon, the kitchen filled with rich, savory aromas. The maids peeked in now and then, offering to help, but Melanie insisted they relax.
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?”
“Because I haven’t designed seriously in years,” she admitted. “Not since… everything happened. But now, I think I want to try again.”
He nodded. “And I appreciate that.”
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.
“Starving.”
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.
Melanie paused, her eyes lighting up with a sudden idea. “Actually, yes. But I want to cook it myself. For all of us.”
Leonard nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of him. He’s one of the best.”
And for the first time in a long while, she let herself hope.
“The seasoning is perfect.”
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.
They nodded and dug in. Compliments echoed through the room:
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.
Leonard stepped into the dining room and stopped short at the sight of the table—the polished dishes, the warm lighting, the covered plates.
“Thank you, Leonard.”
“Yeah,” she said, eyes brightening. “And… I’m thinking of entering.”
“This is delicious, ma’am,” one said with wide eyes.
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.”
But she didn’t hear it. Or maybe she pretended not to.
Around 10:30, the sound of a car door echoed through the quiet evening.
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.
When the food was ready, she arranged it neatly on the long dining table. The maids, hesitant at first, eventually joined and tasted it.
She sat up straighter, heart suddenly thudding.
Their eyes met, a quiet understanding blooming in the silence between them. Gratitude swelled in Melanie’s chest.
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.
His eyes softened. “You didn’t have to.”
She smiled gently. “Hungry?”
It was already past 9 p.m.
“Leonard… can I tell you something?”
“I wanted to.”
She smiled, but it was faint. “I just… I wanted you to know.”
“Better than the chef’s special,” another added with a grin.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Then do it. You don’t need anyone’s permission. Least of all mine.”
He looked down at his plate and muttered, “Anything for you.”
“Did you… cook this?”
Something shifted in his expression. He walked closer, removing his blazer and placing it neatly over a chair. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”
His brow rose slightly. “That’s a big deal.”
“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.”
“I did. For everyone. But I waited to eat with you.”
The maid blinked, surprised. “You want to cook… for everyone?”
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.”
She turned toward the kitchen, Melanie caught her reflection in the glass window.
“Thank you,” Melanie said gratefully.
He looked up immediately, alert. “Of course.”
He looked at her, eyes lingering a second too long.
She looked… content.
“This is amazing.”
Melanie laughed, brushing flour off her cheek. “I’m glad you like it.”
“No, I want to help too.”
“Let me. Tonight, you rest.”
Melanie blushed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
“Welcome back, ma’am,” one of the maids greeted her warmly. “Would you like something special for dinner?”
Leonard’s expression didn’t change, but something softened in his eyes. “Why do you sound unsure?”
Emotion tightened her chest.
“It won’t be fancy,” she said. “But it’ll be made with heart.”
She poured herself a glass of water but didn’t touch her plate. Her gaze drifted toward the clock.
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.
“You’re still awake?”
He froze when he saw her.
Still no sign of Leonard.
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.
“I didn’t know you could cook like this, ma’am.”
