the private jet's wheels touched the runway with a smooth, practiced grace. alexandra barely reacted. she kept her eyes on the window, watching as the gray london morning blurred past, streaked with rain. the city looked the same. it always did.

as the plane taxied toward the private terminal, she could already see the sleek black car waiting on the tarmac. sinclaire travel was nothing if not seamless—every detail arranged, every transition effortless.

beside her, catherine closed her magazine and placed it on the lacquered table beside her seat. she adjusted the cuff of her sweater, then reached for her handbag without looking at alexandra.

"we should head down," she said.

alexandra inhaled, slow and steady, before rising to her feet. the weight of familiarity pressed against her chest—not suffocating, but present. london. after all this time.

the flight attendant opened the door, and a gust of crisp morning air swept through the cabin. alexandra followed her mother down the narrow steps, the wind catching strands of her dark hair. the air smelled of rain, jet fuel, and something distant—nostalgia, maybe.

the driver, dressed in a sharp black suit, opened the door for them with silent efficiency.

"welcome back, mrs. sinclaire," he greeted. then his gaze shifted to alexandra. "miss alexandra."

she gave a small nod in return.

they slid into the car, surrounded by the scent of leather and something faintly floral. alexandra leaned back into the cool interior, while catherine was already scrolling through her phone.

"you'll be staying at the mansion," catherine said after a moment.

not the townhouse, then. alexandra supposed she should have expected that.

"the townhouse is being sold," catherine continued, her tone light but decisive. "it's been empty for too long. the mansion is more suitable."

alexandra didn't argue. she hadn't thought about the townhouse in years. the mansion made sense. large, familiar, quiet.

"if there's ever a problem," catherine added, still not looking up from her phone, "you can always go to william."

at that, alexandra glanced at her mother. not in surprise, exactly—just acknowledgment.

she had always liked william leister. he had been a kind man, the sort of person who never spoke more than necessary but always noticed things. his presence had been steady, a quiet contrast to the world alexandra had grown up in.

she turned back to the window, watching as london unfolded around her.

the car wove through the wet streets, passing familiar sights—boutiques she had once loved, cafés where she had spent slow mornings. the rain slicked the pavement, and pedestrians moved briskly beneath dark umbrellas.

soon, they turned onto a quieter road, where tall iron gates marked the entrance to the sinclaire estate. the mansion came into view, its stone facade cold against the gray sky. ivy curled along the walls, and the windows reflected the dim light of the morning.

the driver pulled up smoothly, the tires crunching softly against the gravel of the long, circular driveway. the sound was familiar, one of the many small things about this house that hadn't changed.

as the car came to a stop in front of the entrance, alexandra reached for the door handle, but the driver was already there, opening it with practiced efficiency. a cool gust of london air slipped into the car, carrying the faint scent of rain and earth.

she stepped out, her heels sinking ever so slightly into the gravel before she adjusted her footing. the roundabout was just as she remembered—lined with perfectly trimmed hedges, the grand stone fountain at its center still flowing despite the drizzle.

the housekeeper was already waiting at the top of the steps, the double doors open behind her.

"welcome home, miss alexandra."

home.

she didn't let the word settle. instead, she nodded slightly, then ascended the stone steps, the sound of gravel crunching beneath her heels fading as she crossed the threshold.

the house smelled the same—polished wood, fresh flowers, something faintly familiar that she couldn't quite place. everything in its place, untouched by time.

and just like that, she was back.

catherine handed off her coat, her movements effortless.

"your room is ready," she said simply.

alexandra nodded and made her way upstairs.

her room was exactly as she remembered. the heavy drapes, the plush bedding, the perfectly arranged furniture. but as she stepped further inside, her eyes caught on something outside the window.

the garden.

she walked closer, pressing her fingertips lightly against the cool glass.

memories layered themselves over the present, soft and unbidden.

her father, standing beneath the large oak tree, calling her name with laughter in his voice.

her mother, once warm and unguarded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind alexandra's ear as they sat on the garden steps.

nicholas, younger, his hands buried in his pockets, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as they argued over something she could no longer remember.

it was all there. frozen in time.

alexandra exhaled and stepped back.

she needed to get ready.

tonight was the gala.

she made her way to the ensuite bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the steam curl into the air. as she undressed, she caught her reflection in the mirror—calm, composed, exactly as she had trained herself to be.

the water was warm as it cascaded over her, washing away the weight of travel, the heaviness of the past few hours.

by the time she stepped out, wrapping a plush towel around herself, her mind was already shifting focus.

tonight, she would wear red.

she had chosen the dress carefully—elegant, striking, effortlessly commanding. the color suited her. bold, but not reckless. controlled.

it was, after all, just another event. another room full of polished smiles and carefully measured words.

and alexandra sinclaire had always known how to play the part.

( © SOLXSTRS 2025 )