Chapter 9: The home coming
1092 Words
Elena kept to her word and returned home just in time for Aunt Helen and Dena’s long-anticipated visit. The Carter residence, usually quiet during weekday afternoons, now brimmed with the scent of fresh lilies and the rhythmic hum of kitchen preparations. Rosita Carter had taken it upon herself to turn the house into a soft haven of warmth and welcome, as though the air itself needed to be convinced that all was well.
The moment Elena stepped inside, her mother’s eyes lit up. “You’re back! Just in time. Helen and Dena are due any moment now,” Rosita said, rushing over to help Elena with her bag.
Elena smiled tiredly. “I told you I wouldn’t miss it.”
True to Rosita’s timing, not even ten minutes had passed before Aunt Helen's silver SUV pulled up in front of the house. The doorbell rang and the house erupted in greetings, laughter, and high-pitched chatter. Dena bounded into the hallway and threw her arms around Elena. “I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed.
Elena laughed, hugging her cousin. “You look like a whole magazine cover. What skincare are you using now?”
“You’re one to talk. You and Noah have been all over the internet,” Dena replied, narrowing her eyes with mock suspicion.
Rosita stepped in with a delighted grin. “Speaking of Noah, you should’ve seen the way he handled those reporters last week. Such elegance. If he’s not future son-in-law material, I don’t know who is.”
Aunt Helen, taking her seat on the couch, offered Elena a look of calm wisdom. “It’s not easy, living under a spotlight. But you handled it with grace, dear. Just like your father and I always hoped you would.”
Elena’s father, Mr. Carter, emerged from his study with his coffee mug and an arched brow. “I hope we’re not planning a royal wedding just yet.”
“Oh, stop it,” Rosita said, smirking. “You love the boy. You said so yourself after dinner last time.”
He shrugged with a soft grunt. “I said he was polite. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
The living room buzzed with light-hearted conversations, interrupted only by the clinking of cups and Rosita’s continuous attempts to feed everyone pastries. In the midst of it all, Elena felt a familiar peace—something rare and fleeting these days. But even in this warmth, her thoughts kept drifting to the penthouse.
Just a few days earlier, Elena had spent the night at Noah’s penthouse—their shared safe haven from the media storm.
The space was quiet, polished, and perfectly curated with minimalist elegance. Dark marble countertops, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and sleek matte-black fittings reflected the man who lived there—strong, private, refined.
That evening, Elena sat curled on the L-shaped sofa, barefoot and wrapped in Noah’s oversized hoodie, a glass of red wine cradled between her fingers.
Noah emerged from the open kitchen, two plates in hand. “Pasta, made by yours truly. No criticism allowed.”
She looked up and smiled. “I thought billionaires had personal chefs.”
He smirked, setting the plate down. “They do. But I like cooking. It grounds me.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a while before Elena broke it. “Do you think they’ll ever stop?”
“The blog?” he asked, setting his fork down. “Subruk has money and allies. But I have resources too. And now, I have you.”
She looked at him. “You really believe we can fight this?”
Noah leaned closer, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not letting them write the ending for us. We fight back on our terms.”
The fireplace crackled softly as the city lights painted gold streaks across the windows. Elena leaned her head against Noah’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For making it feel real. Even when it’s complicated.”
He chuckled gently. “It’s only complicated if we let it be.”
That night, the two sat up late, combing through digital footprints and cross-referencing media associates linked to Subruk. Their investigation was slow, but the direction was clear—and Noah’s billionaire reach meant they had more tools than most.
---
Back at the Carter home, the conversation had shifted again.
“So, what next?” Dena asked, twirling a piece of her hair. “Are you guys getting engaged for real?”
Elena blushed. “We haven’t even talked about that yet. We’re just... working things through.”
“I can’t wait for the wedding,” Rosita said, cutting her cake. “I’ve already contacted a few planners just in case. It’s never too early.”
Aunt Helen chuckled. “Slow down, Rosita. Let the kids breathe.”
Mr. Carter cleared his throat. “And what about work, Elena? You still running your studio?”
Her eyes lit up. “Actually, I just signed a contract to design a newlywed couple’s honeymoon apartment. It’s in Marbella.”
“Oh, that’s big!” Dena squealed.
“Very big,” Elena nodded. “It came through one of the connections I made during the last fashion interior symposium. High profile. I’m excited.”
“Designing a love nest while living in one,” Aunt Helen mused. “How poetic.”
As the evening waned, Elena found herself alone in the backyard, phone in hand. She texted Noah:
Elena: Survived the family dinner. Your fan club is growing.
Noah: Should I be jealous?
Elena: Of my dad? Maybe.
Noah: I mean Dena. I heard she asked about the wedding.
Elena: 🙄 Don’t remind me. Also, I told them I’ll be staying at your place for a bit. So they won’t freak out when I disappear.
Noah: You sure that’s safe?
Elena: With you? Probably not. But yes.
Noah: 😏 I’ll make the guest room look extra romantic.
Elena: Not funny.
Noah: Come soon.
Back inside, Rosita peeked out through the kitchen window and whispered to Aunt Helen. “You think she’s really in love?”
Helen smiled. “I think she doesn’t know it yet.”
And just like that, under the moonlight and laughter echoing inside, Elena felt something soften in her chest. Perhaps, this wasn’t just survival anymore. Perhaps, this was the beginning of something real.
Even if the world was still watching.
Whatever it is, we're only doing this for a reason and for a time frame.
Elena reminded herself.
- Writer
