The Yellow Hurricane
Saturday afternoon at the Sterling Estate was usually a quiet, dignified affair.
Grandpa Arthur would read his paper, Declan would work, and the house would be silent.
Not today.
HOOOONK! HOOOONK!
A bright, neon-yellow Jeep Wrangler screeched through the heavy iron gates, blasting pop music.
The Sterling security guards looked terrified.
Elian was sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a thick wool cardigan, sipping herbal tea. He smiled.
" Here comes the hurricane."
The Jeep stopped. Doors flew open. The Squad spilled out like a bag of Skittles.
Jax Wearing a tight tank top despite the cold, carrying four massive grocery bags.
Chloe Wearing 6-inch heels and carrying a "Get Well Soon" balloon that was bigger than her head.
Milo Live-streaming their arrival. "Guys, we are at THE Sterling Mansion. Look at this architecture! It smells like old money!"
Liam Analyzing the structural integrity of the porch columns.
Ren Walking while playing his Nintendo Switch, almost tripping over a flower pot.
"ELIAN!" Chloe screamed, dropping her designer bag on the grass.
"Wait, don't—" Elian started.
Too late. Jax dropped the grocery bags and charged like a bull. He scooped Elian up in a bone-crushing bear hug, lifting him off the ground.
"TEDDY BEAR! You're alive! I was ready to punch a wall!"
"Can't... breathe... Jax..." Elian wheezed, laughing.
Jax set him down. Chloe immediately started inspecting his face.
"Do you have dark circles? Are you eating? I brought you Korean face masks. We are doing a spa day."
"I'm fine, guys," Elian beamed, feeling the warmth spread in his chest. "Come inside. My family is... waiting."
The Living Room Clash
The contrast inside the drawing room was hilarious.
The Sterling men—Grandpa Arthur, Declan, and Adrian—were sitting in a tableau of elegance.
Then, The Squad entered, bringing chaos.
Milo walked in, saw the chandelier, and nearly fainted. "This chandelier costs more than my entire existence."
Declan looked up from his laptop. He was sitting on the velvet sofa, wearing a crisp grey dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. He looked intimidatingly handsome.
Chloe stopped dead in her tracks.
She grabbed Elian's arm. Her grip was iron.
"Elian," she hissed. "Who. Is. That?"
"That's my brother, Declan," Elian whispered.
Chloe's eyes widened. She smoothed her hair, popped a mint, and changed her walk to a "Runway Strut."
She walked over to Declan.
"Hello," Chloe purred, batting her eyelashes. "I'm Chloe. I'm Elian's... spiritual advisor. And fashion consultant."
Declan looked up, his face stoic. "Nice to meet you, Chloe."
He went back to typing.
Chloe didn't give up. She sat next to him (too close).
"So, Declan... do you like art? Because you look like a masterpiece."
Declan stopped typing. He looked at her, confused. "Are you flirting with me, Miss Chloe?"
Chloe turned bright red. "I... uh... statistically speaking..." She looked at Liam for help.
Liam adjusted his glasses. "Statistically, she is failing."
Elian buried his face in his hands, laughing. Declan just shook his head, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. He didn't hate the attention.
Meanwhile, Adrian descended the grand staircase. He was wearing casual lounge wear, but he still looked like he was on a Vogue cover.
Milo saw him.
Milo dropped his phone.
Crack.
"Oh. My. God," Milo whispered, clutching his chest. "That is Adrian Sterling. The Adrian Sterling. I have his calendar. I have his perfume. I have his face on my pillowcase."
Adrian heard him. He flashed his million-dollar celebrity smile and walked over.
"Hi there," Adrian winked. "Fan?"
Milo opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just nodded frantically, looking like a bobblehead.
"You're... shiny," Milo finally squeaked.
Adrian laughed—a rich, melodic sound. "I'll sign your phone case later, sweetheart."
Milo melted into a puddle on the Persian rug.
Grandpa Arthur was watching this circus with a grumpy expression. He didn't like noise. He didn't like strangers.
Then, Jax walked up to him.
Jax was huge. 6'4", pure muscle. He loomed over Arthur's armchair.
Most people were terrified of Arthur Sterling. Jax just grinned.
"Hello, Sir!" Jax boomed. "Elian told me you're the Big Boss."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He tapped his cane. "And who are you? You take up a lot of space."
"I'm Jax. Rugby Captain," Jax flexed his bicep jokingly. "I heard you used to be a boxer in the Navy, Sir?"
Arthur's eyes lit up. "Who told you that?"
"Elian," Jax sat on the floor near the chair (like a golden retriever). "He said nobody could beat you."
Arthur straightened his back. "Damn right. I had a mean right hook."
"I bet you still have it," Jax challenged playfully. "Arm wrestle? If I win, I get a cookie. If you win, I do 50 pushups."
The room went silent. Declan stopped typing. Adrian stopped posing. No one challenged Arthur.
Arthur stared at Jax. Then, he slammed his elbow on the side table.
"You're on, kid. Prepare to lose."
They locked hands. Jax was gentle at first, but Arthur was surprisingly strong. The old man's face turned red with effort, his eyes shining with a competitive fire he hadn't felt in years.
Jax let Arthur struggle for a bit, then allowed his arm to be pinned.
SLAM.
"Hah!" Arthur cheered, raising his hands.
"Still got it!"
"Wow," Jax rubbed his arm, pretending to be hurt. "You're a tank, Sir. 50 pushups for me."
He started doing pushups right there on the rug.
Arthur laughed—a loud, barking laugh.
"I like this one," Arthur pointed his cane at Jax. "Elian, keep this one. He's good stock."
The Kitchen
"Okay, show's over!" Elian clapped.
"Time to feed the beast. Everyone to the kitchen!"
The Sterling Kitchen was massive, equipped with professional stoves. Elian tied his apron. His mood shifted. He wasn't the scared boy from the basement anymore. He was The Chef.
"Today's Menu," Elian announced. "Truffle Mushroom Risotto with Pan-Seared Scallops and Garlic Confit Toast."
"Yes, Chef!" The Squad shouted in unison.
Elian assigned tasks:
Jax: Crushing garlic (because he was strong).
Chloe: Selecting the wine (because she refused to touch onions).
Liam: Measuring ingredients to the exact milligram.
Milo: Taking photos for Instagram.
Elian stood at the main stove.
He melted a block of high-quality butter. Sizzle.
He threw in the shallots and garlic. The aroma hit the air instantly—sweet, savory, and comforting.
"Smell that?" Elian closed his eyes. "That's the smell of home."
He added the Arborio rice, toasting it until it was translucent. Then came the white wine. Whoosh! Steam rose up.
"Stirring is key," Elian explained to Declan, who had wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the smell. "You have to massage the starch out of the rice. It makes it creamy without adding cream."
Declan watched his little brother. He saw the focus in Elian's violet eyes. He saw the confidence in his hands.
"You're really good at this," Declan said softly. "I didn't know."
"You never looked," Elian replied, not with bitterness, but with honesty. He handed Declan a spoon. "Taste."
Declan took a sip.
His eyes widened. The flavor was explosive—earthy mushrooms, rich parmesan, the zing of wine, and the deep, luxurious hit of truffle oil.
"Elian," Declan whispered. "This is... restaurant quality. No, better."
Elian beamed. "Wait for the scallops."
The Feast
Half an hour later, the dining table was set.
It was a rare sight. The Sterlings and The Squad sat together.
There was no stiff silence.
Milo was trying to feed Adrian a grape.
Chloe was asking Declan about stock markets (trying to sound smart).
Jax and Grandpa Arthur were debating boxing legends.
Noah and Ren were talking about video games.
And in the center of it all was Elian.
He watched them eat. He watched them smile.
The warm, creamy Risotto warmed their stomachs, but the laughter warmed the cold mansion walls.
"A toast!" Adrian stood up, raising his glass.
"To Elian," Adrian said, looking at his brother with pride. "Who cooks like a god, looks like an angel, and has the weirdest friends I've ever met."
"Hey!" Chloe threw a napkin at him.
"To Elian!" everyone cheered.
Elian raised his glass of sparkling juice.
He looked at his brothers. At his friends.
At his parents holding hands.
I changed the plot, Elian thought. In the book, this house was a tomb. Today, it's a home.
But as he sipped his drink, his gaze drifted to the window.
Outside, the sun was setting, casting long, dark shadows across the lawn.
The happiness felt fragile. Like glass.
He knew the Twins were coming back from London.
He knew Gabriel was out there, furious.
But for tonight... in this warm kitchen, smelling of truffle and laughter... Elian wasn't afraid.
"Thank you," Elian whispered to the room. "For everything."