The sun spilled golden light over the city as a luxury black SUV pulled into the quiet cul-de-sac of Amber Creek. At the heart of the street stood an elegant two-story house with wide glass windows, neat hedges, and a basketball hoop nailed above the garage door. The Gordon residence.
Inside, the house buzzed with the usual morning chaos—laughter, arguments, and the clatter of dishes in the kitchen.
Miles Gordon, international football star and the heart of the Gordon family, stood shirtless in the hallway, a towel slung over his shoulder. He had just come back from his morning run and was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Miles! If you drip sweat all over the floor again, I swear—"
Sarah Gordon appeared at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, scowling. Her twin, Delilah, was lounging on the couch downstairs, rolling her eyes.
"Calm down, Sarah," Delilah called lazily, "You know he does this every morning. Let him enjoy his sweaty ego."
Sarah muttered something under her breath and stormed back into her room. Of the two sisters, she was the short-tempered one, but fiercely loyal and kind. Delilah, on the other hand, had a sharp tongue but a wise soul. Both adored Miles—and he loved them more than anything.
In the dining room, Margaret Gordon, their 21-year-old cousin, was pouring cereal into a bowl. She was only two years older than the twins and in her final year of college. She had moved in when she started university and never left. Her calm presence was something of a glue in the house, balancing the strong personalities around her.
"Morning, Maggie," Miles greeted her, ruffling her hair.
"You're dripping on my shoulder," she said without looking up, but with a smile on her lips.
"Sorry!" he chuckled and walked into the kitchen.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
"Get it, Delilah!" Sarah yelled from upstairs.
Delilah groaned and pulled herself up, opening the door to reveal a woman standing in the sunlight, suitcase in hand. She had shoulder-length curly hair, a notepad tucked under one arm, and a confident smile.
"Hi, I'm Angelina James. I'm here to meet Miles Gordon."
Delilah raised a brow. "A journalist?"
"Yes. We have an interview scheduled. But I might be early…"
Miles appeared behind Delilah, wiping his face with the towel. He looked at Angelina and gave a quick, polite smile.
"Right on time," he said, stepping forward. "Come in."
As Angelina entered the house, she glanced around, absorbing the energy of the place. A warm, chaotic harmony. Something about it felt like a story waiting to be written.
Anna Gordon stood in the hallway, watching with a knowing smile. She was the quiet force behind the household—their guardian, advisor, and the only adult with a firm grip on the younger generation. Though not their biological mother, she loved each of them as her own.
"Miles," she said gently, "Can we talk later?"
"Sure, Aunt Anna," he replied.
Angelina noticed how smoothly everything functioned within the apparent chaos. This was not just a house. It was a home. And as she followed Miles into the living room for the interview, she couldn't help but wonder—was this story just about football? Or was something much deeper waiting to unfold?
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