The wind smelled clean. Not the overly pollenated, but the faintly floral breeze of Spring. The type that hinted spring was nearing its end, hiding behind some polite curtain call.
Leina ran through the Reinhardt family's garden with Diane, her white Samoyed, bounding beside her like a fluff-filled rocket of joy. The dog's fur caught the sun in waves, glowing against the neatly trimmed hedges and glassy ornamental ponds.
Four years changed everything—and nothing.
Leina Reinhardt, now fourteen, had grown into her features. Her once-wide eyes had narrowed in the way all kids do when the world starts to make a little more sense. She still had her signature button nose, her waves of dark hair tied in a ribbon today. She still wore the kind of serious expression that adults mistook for elegance, but those closest to her could read the quiet humor behind it now.
Diane barked, cutting into her thoughts.
Leina paused, her cheeks flushed from the run, and bent down to rub Diane's ears. "You're too fast," she whispered, but it was a lie. She loved the pace, the energy, the quiet joy of the moment.
After everything—the pressure, the social expectations, the constant spotlight on her and her brothers—this felt like breathing.
Inside the estate, the halls buzzed with activity. Staff walked through with flower arrangements for tomorrow's private event. Someone was testing canapés in the kitchen for Giselle's upcoming culinary showcase. The Reinhardts may have been Westdentia's richest family, but even Leina knew money didn't make this house feel alive. People did.
Leina had become something of a person herself.
She had friends now. Real ones. Beyond the twins or her brothers. Her world had stretched wider in four years. There was Eirlys from the poetry club, a quiet girl who preferred metaphors over math. There was Yasmina, who invited her to fencing practice every week and swore like a soldier in three languages. Even Maria and Daria Mills, her oldest elite friends, still texted her constantly—mostly memes and scandalous rumors they picked up from their politically entrenched family.
Being elite meant Leina had to master a language that adults spoke behind fans and cocktails. At galas, she curtsied just enough to appear charming, never docile. She learned how to compliment without sounding fake, how to spot jealousy masked as generosity, and how to deflect uncomfortable questions without blinking.
And there were many uncomfortable questions.
"Is Lester really being prepared for politics?"
"Does Levy train six hours a day for Olympic trials?"
"Are you dating anyone yet, dear?"
To which Leina would just raise a brow, sip her drink, and give some cryptic one-liner that Lester called her 'villain era voice.'
Speaking of Lester, he had given away his snake last year. "She needed a more enthusiastic owner," he said with a casual shrug, but Leina had caught the melancholy behind his words. The snake had been a gift from Logan, back when Lester was twelve and too quiet for anyone to understand.
She still missed the weird little reptile curling around her wrist.
Another pang of memory—Roger, Louis and Liam's chameleon, had died during the past winter. He'd been old for his species, but his loss still sent ripples through the household. Louis even held a tiny funeral, which Leina had attended with a flower crown on Diane's head, not daring to smile when Louis got teary over the speech.
Now, her footsteps crunched on the gravel path that curved near the flowerbeds. She knew where she was going.
The family had a small, private grave plot for beloved pets. A peaceful corner of the estate with low stones and wild violets. She knelt down in front of Roger's marker—simple, with his name etched in gold.
"Hey, Roger," she said softly. "The twins are arguing over which of them got your tail pattern right. I told them it looked like a galaxy and they shut up real fast."
Diane whined and leaned into her side. Leina scratched her behind the ears again.
"I know, girl," she murmured. "We all miss him."
There was something comforting about talking to the chameleon, like he was still some quiet part of her childhood. Leina wasn't sad exactly—just... remembering.
She stood up, brushing off her coat, and turned back toward the garden. Diane gave a little yip and bounded ahead. Leina followed, but slowed her pace.
It was good, she thought. This version of her life. Not perfect. Not easy. But good.
She didn't hear the gravel crunch at first—too caught up in her own thoughts. But then Diane's bark broke through the air, joyful and loud.
Leina looked up.
A man stood at the entrance to the estate, framed by sunlight and the wrought iron arch.
Leina broke into a run.
"Uncle Anthony!" she shouted.
His coat flared behind him, black against the floral landscape. His smile was sharp, boyish. Dangerously hot, as always. Leina swore the man looked more like a movie villain than her mom's brother, but that was part of his charm.
He knelt down just in time to catch her in a hug.
"You've grown," he said into her hair, voice low and amused.
"So have your dramatic entrances," Leina shot back.
He laughed. "Well, I have to keep the legend alive."
And just like that, her world felt a little more whole again.