Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Eighteen

The kitchen smelled like toast and cinnamon. Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, painting golden squares across the marble island where Elara sat, slowly swirling a spoon in her tea.

Across from her, Isabella set down a delicate porcelain cup and folded her hands in her lap. She watched her daughter with a careful softness, like one wrong word might shatter her.

"I heard what happened at school yesterday," Isabella said gently.

Elara didn't look up. Her hair, still damp from her morning shower, clung to her cheek.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, baby."

Elara blinked once, twice. "It's fine," she whispered. "I'm used to it."

Isabella frowned. "But you shouldn't be. You shouldn't ever have to be."

A long silence stretched between them. Then Elara gave a small shrug, eyes still on her untouched tea. "It's always the same. People stare, or whisper. Sometimes they think I'm weird, or a freak. I guess I am."

"You are not a freak," Isabella said firmly, reaching across the counter. Her warm fingers curled around Elara's hand. "You are strong. And graceful. And one of the most genuine people I've ever known."

Elara glanced up, surprised by the fierceness in her mother's voice.

"I'm glad," Isabella continued, voice softening, "that you have people now-friends-who see your worth. That they stood up for you."

At that, something in Elara's throat caught. She hadn't expected that part to mean so much.

"They didn't have to," Elara murmured. "They barely tolerated me before."

"Maybe not," Isabella smiled knowingly, "but they're Calvieros. And Calvieros protect their own, even if it takes them a while to figure it out."

Elara gave a small, reluctant laugh. "That sounds like something Salvatore would say."

Isabella's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It does, doesn't it? That boy could lecture a tree into blooming."

The laugh came easier this time. For a few minutes, they sat in quiet companionship, sipping tea and picking at buttery toast, letting the warmth between them melt away the chill of yesterday.

---

Elara slid into her usual seat near the back, tucking her hair behind her ear as she opened her book. The Secret Garden again-she liked how it spoke about broken things coming to life.

A moment later, a chair scraped beside her.

Elara looked up to see a boy.

He dropped his bag and sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he had always sat next to her.

Elara's breath caught.

The boy turned slightly, and those familiar eyes met hers-one deep forest green, the other ice blue. The same impossible match as hers.

Elara's voice came out in a quiet rush. "Your eyes... they're like mine."

The boy blinked, then offered a slow, crooked smile. "That's cool."

"Yeah," she whispered, smiling back. "Yeah, it is."

They sat in silence for a few pages, but it wasn't awkward. There was something calming about him. Something solid, gentle and safe.

Eventually, Elara tilted her head and asked, "Are you new here or did you just switch classes?"

He shrugged. "Sort of. Got kicked out of the other one. Disagreed with the teacher."

Elara raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the type to get in trouble."

"I'm not. But she said The Iliad was boring, and I said she was probably reading it wrong."

Elara laughed. "You did not."

"I did."

She was still smiling when she asked, "So... what's your name?"

He hesitated for half a beat. "Orion Drakos."

The name landed like a quiet chime in her mind.

"You're-" Elara's voice dropped to a whisper. "You're in one of the five families."

He nodded. "Yeah. How 'bout you? What's your name,"

Elara stuck her hand out at him. "I'm Elara Calviero."

Their eyes met again and something unspoken passed between them.

We're not just alike. We're connected.

---

The rink echoed with the soft scrape of skates and the occasional thump of a poorly landed jump.

Elara unlaced her boots, sitting quietly on the bench, legs aching in the best way. The soft towel in her hand traced over the steel blades, wiping away the melted frost. Wipe. Dry. Inspect. Repeat. Her fingers moved on autopilot.

"You skate beautifully."

Elara looked up, startled.

An older woman stood near the entrance, wrapped in a tailored wool coat and a delicate scarf knotted neatly at her throat. Her silver hair gleamed like moonlight, and her posture was regal, despite her age.

Ellara offered her a kind smile. "Thank you."

The woman stepped closer, eyes flicking gently over Elara's features.

"My goodness," she said softly. "You're very beautiful."

Elara blinked, cheeks red from the cold and the compliment.

The woman smiled again and Elara gasped. "Your eyes... they're just like mine." She chuckled lightly. "You're the second person today with eyes like mine. Must be fate."

The old woman laughed, sitting relaxed next to Elara.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching the almost empty rink together.

"I'm here to see my granddaughter," the woman said at last. "We're not particularly close, though."

Elara glanced sideways. "Well... maybe you just need to give it time. If you show you care, she'll come around."

The woman's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "You're very wise."

Elara gave a quiet shrug. "I've never really had a grandmother. Or grandfather. It was always just me and my mom. Until... recently."

Something changed in the old woman's face-just slightly. Her hand trembled as she reached out.

"Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?"

Elara smiled, surprised by the sudden warmth rising in her chest. "Sure. I'd like that."

The woman's embrace was delicate but firm. A little too long. A little too tight.

Just long enough to steal a single platinum strand from Elara's hair-swift, silent and unnoticed.

---

The plastic bag lay on the seat beside her, the strand of hair coiled like a question mark inside it.

Thalia Drakos sat in the back of her town car, the city lights of Milan bleeding across the tinted windows. Her gloves were off, her fingers still tingling faintly from the warmth of the girl's hug.

She tapped her phone once. A voice answered in Greek.

"Yes, Mrs. Drakos?"

"Rush the test," Thalia said coldly. "Match it against Leonidas Drakos' profile. I want results within three days."

"Yes, ma'am."

She ended the call.

Outside the window, the night deepened, and with it, the weight in Thalia's chest.

"If she is who I think she is," Thalia murmured, her fingers curling into a fist, "then everything changes."