Laughter filled the air in a way that felt unfamiliar, light and unrestrained, breaking the rigid calm that his fiancée, Natalie Brooks, had always enforced. She was a woman obsessed with appearances and control, and their three year old twin sons, Tyler and Trevor, were usually kept in their room with tablets, trained to stay quiet and invisible.
Yet from the direction of the large chef’s kitchen, which was rarely used, came the sound of clattering metal and bright, uncontrollable giggles. Dominic paused, confused, then followed the sound as the sterile scent of expensive cleaning products slowly gave way to something warmer, sweeter, and deeply comforting.
He smelled vanilla, melted butter, and sugar, and for a brief moment, it felt like stepping into a real home instead of a display.
He stopped at the doorway and stared.
The kitchen, once pristine, was now filled with cheerful chaos, with flour scattered across the floor, cracked eggs on the counter, and streaks of dried milk along the surface. In the middle of that joyful mess stood his sons, barefoot on the island, wearing oversized aprons, their cheeks smeared with chocolate.