The first morning of spring break arrived with a quiet kind of brilliance at the Reinhardt estate. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, throwing golden lines across the marble floors, and the usual hum of the household slowed to something calmer.
Logan Reinhardt was up early, already showered and dressed in a casual black hoodie and joggers—his version of "off-duty." As Westdentia's wealthiest man and a mogul who could snap his fingers and shake an entire boardroom, he rarely got a day free of meetings. But today was different. Today, he was just Dad.
He made his way through the estate's long corridors, past busy staff dusting down sculptures and tending to morning arrangements, until he reached Lester's room. No knocking needed. The door was already open, music faintly playing from within.
Lester sat on the floor lacing up his sneakers, his headphones perched around his neck. He looked up at Logan and grinned, that signature mix of confidence and low-key sarcasm lighting up his face.
"Trying to sneak up on me?" Lester asked.
Logan smirked. "Trying to see if you were still alive. I half expected you to be glued to your bed."
"Please. I've been up. Unlike some people, I don't need three shots of espresso to function."
Logan held up a cup from the estate's in-house café. "Luxury, not necessity."
"Keep telling yourself that."
They exchanged a look and then a chuckle. It was effortless—this rhythm they had. Father and son, more alike than they often admitted.
"Come on," Logan said, tossing him a basketball. "Let's see if you still suck."
---
The Reinhardt private basketball court was nestled behind a stretch of manicured gardens. It wasn't flashy—it was tasteful, serene, and wildly expensive, like everything else on the estate.
They played for almost an hour. Logan was good—deceptively fast for a man in his forties—but Lester was better. Taller now, more agile, and ruthless when it came to jump shots.
Logan huffed as he missed a rebound. "Okay. Maybe I'm a little out of shape."
Lester dribbled lazily, cocky grin in full display. "A little?"
Logan wiped sweat from his brow. "Keep talking. You still live under my roof."
"I pay rent in sarcasm."
"Then you're overpaid."
More laughter. They paused for water and leaned against the edge of the court, breathing in the crisp spring air.
Logan glanced sideways. "You've been thinking a lot lately."
Lester raised an eyebrow. "And you've been reading my mind again."
"I don't need to. I'm your father. I see it on your face."
Lester hesitated, then said, "Do you ever feel... like you have to be someone else around people? I mean, outside the family."
Logan's answer was immediate. "All the time. But the trick is knowing who you are underneath the mask."
Lester nodded, slow and thoughtful. "I think I'm still figuring that part out."
"You don't have to rush it." Logan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've got time. And you've got us."
---
Back at the house, they took quick showers and changed. Lester swiped a hoodie from Logan's closet—one he'd claimed ages ago but pretended was a coincidence. They wandered into the kitchen where Giselle had left lunch out in perfectly wrapped portions. Chicken pesto wraps, her signature roasted vegetables, and a side of homemade chips.
Liam and Louis had come through earlier and cleared out, leaving only a note: "Gone skating. Don't wait. Love ya." Leina's quiet laughter echoed faintly from upstairs—probably talking with Samantha. Even on a day off, the house buzzed with soft energy.
They ate in the glass sunroom where the light warmed the stone floors. Logan poured himself a glass of whiskey. Lester stuck with juice, though he swirled it around like it was aged wine.
"You know," Logan said, raising his glass, "if someone told me twenty years ago I'd have five kids and be married to the most terrifyingly talented chef in the world, I would've laughed."
Lester smirked. "Terrifying's a strong word."
"Not when you've seen her destroy a chef on live television."
They both chuckled. A silence settled again, this time comfortable.
"I used to be scared of becoming you," Lester admitted.
Logan glanced at him. "And now?"
"I'm still a little scared. But I also… kind of want to."
Logan looked at him, this boy who wasn't really a boy anymore. "Don't become me. Be better. Be you."
---
Later, they ended up in the lounge, records playing softly in the background. Logan leaned back, eyes closed as a vintage track filled the space. Lester flopped onto the couch beside him, staring up at the ceiling.
"Do you remember the time I tried to impress Leina with a stupid backflip and broke my wrist?"
Logan laughed, almost spilling his drink. "I remember your brothers laughing so hard they cried."
"She didn't even blink. Just handed me a bandage like it was nothing."
"You've always had terrible taste in grand gestures."
Lester snorted. "Guess I get that from you."
They shared a smile.
Outside, dusk began to settle. The golden haze of day softened into lavender-blue, and the Reinhardt estate seemed to hum with gentle life. Somewhere, Giselle was in the test kitchen making a new spring tart. Leina's laughter trailed again from the hallway as the twins dragged her into something chaotic. It all just…fit.
Logan turned to his son. "Thanks for hanging out today."
Lester shrugged. "You're not that bad for an old man."
Logan raised his glass. "Here's to more days like this."
Lester clinked his juice against the rim. "You got it, Dad."
---
The sky outside went dark, but the warmth inside the Reinhardt home stayed bright.
And for once, there was no noise from the world outside. Just peace. Just family.
Just the two of them—father and son—exactly where they needed to be.