The terrace doors slid open with a muted whoosh, allowing Don and Miss Claire to step back into the penthouse’s interior.
The transition from the open air to the controlled climate inside was imdiate, the subtle scent of polished wood and distant lavender greeting them.
As they moved forward, the soft click of their footsteps on the marble floor echoed faintly. Don’s enhanced hearing, previously dulled by the terrace’s soundproofing, now picked up the ambient noises within the penthouse.
Amidst the usual hum, a sharp, emotionally charged voice pierced through.
"No! You listen to , you selfish bastard! I will not let you ruin this family twice!"
The voice was unmistakably Samantha’s, emanating from the second floor. Don’s steps faltered, his attention drawn upward. Miss Claire, oblivious to the outburst, continued her graceful stride, her heels producing a rhythmic tap-tap against the floor.
"We don’t want anything to do with you! What makes you think Donnie even wants to talk to you after everything you’ve done to him, to this family?!"
Don’s jaw tightened, the words sinking deep. He glanced toward the staircase, the source of the commotion. Miss Claire paused near the exit, her eyes scanning the living area.
"It seems Amanda and Samantha are elsewhere," she noted, her gaze settling on Winter, who was diligently tidying up the remnants of Amanda’s earlier presence.
Don nodded, his mind still partially tethered to the upstairs confrontation. He accompanied Miss Claire to the door, his movents automatic.
"Please do tell your mother thank you for hosting . Goodbye," she said, her voice as composed as ever.
"Of course," Don replied, watching as she departed, the sway of her hips a brief distraction before his focus returned to the matter at hand.
Without delay, he ascended the staircase, each step bringing the voices into clearer focus. The second floor mirrored the penthouse’s luxurious yet cozy aesthetic, with rooms dedicated to leisure and work. As he approached Samantha’s office, the door slightly ajar, her voice beca distinct.
"You don’t have the right! Both Sumr and Don are young adults! So you have no legal rights to see them if they don’t want you to. Just leave us alone!"
A definitive click signaled the end of the call. Don reached the door just as Amanda’s voice erged.
"That fucking asshole has so nerve. I bet he saw the story about Don being a city hero and wanted to capitalize on it like the leech he’s beco."
Samantha’s voice, though strained, carried a resolute tone. "I don’t care what he wants. I want him to stay away from us. I don’t want him anywhere near or anyone else in this house. I just can’t stomach it."
Don knocked lightly, the door responding by sliding open fully. Both won turned, surprise evident on their faces.
"Do-Donnie... I’m sorry if you heard that I—" Samantha began, her eyes wide.
"Was that Dad?" Don interjected, his voice steady.
Samantha nodded, and Amanda added, "Unfortunately, it was. He was trying to tell your mom to let you and Sumr visit him. Can you believe the audacity?"
"Well, he’ll just have to accept being disappointed. Just block him at this point, Mom," Don advised, his tone firm.
Samantha sighed, "I did. He used another number to call." Despite her frustration, she managed a warm smile. "Enough about that, sweetie. Sorry. I’m sure you’re hungry. Are you done speaking with Miss Claire? I was almost done preparing your al."
Don nodded. "I am. Miss Claire left but said to tell you thanks for having her."
Samantha acknowledged with a nod. "Oh, alright. Co on, let’s head back downstairs. Do you have anywhere you need to be today?"
As they exited the office, Don moved aside to let them pass. "There is sothing I might like to check now that the whole city doesn’t hate ," he replied.
Amanda smirked, "Planning to go see all your little girlfriends, huh? Scandalous."
Samantha frowned at the comnt, but Don responded with a shrug. "I’m walking with them right now."
Amanda burst out laughing, and even Samantha allowed herself a smile, the tension easing slightly.
"You’re getting cheekier by the day, aren’t you?" Amanda teased.
"Paying attention to my cheeks, are you?" Don retorted.
Amanda laughed again, and this ti Samantha joined in, though a blush colored her cheeks.
"Stop it with your crude jokes, you two," she admonished, though her tone lacked severity.
"Aww, and here I had the perfect coback," Amanda lanted.
"Co... back?" Don quipped.
Amanda laughed once more, while Samantha’s blush deepened, recalling so particularly sticky mories.
"I give up with you two," she declared as they descended the steps together.
———
A short while later...
The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint clink-clink of Don’s fork scraping against his plate and the steady hiss of the faucet.
Don leaned against the counter, his posture relaxed but not fully slouched. He had a plate in front of him—mashed potatoes, egg salad, and beans—comfort food thrown together without much care for presentation. A cup of orange juice sat nearby, condensation beading on the glass.
Winter moved with quiet efficiency around him, cleaning up the scattered dishes Samantha had left in her cooking frenzy.
The sink was running at a steady stream, the plates rattling softly as she stacked them into the drying rack.
Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and she paused occasionally to wipe her hands on a striped dish towel hanging over her shoulder.
Don ate in relative silence, chewing slowly, gaze drifting over the polished countertops and the faint sar of oil on the stove’s surface.
His hearing picked up the subtle creak of footsteps approaching from the hallway—a soft and familiar pattern. He didn’t turn at first, but after a mont, he angled his head toward the living area, noting the light footfalls and the faint swish of fabric.
Sumr erged, dressed in black booty shorts with white stripes running down the sides, white knee-high socks, and an oversized hoodie with the sleeves pulled down past her hands.
Her hair was slightly mussed, as if she’d just rolled out of bed again, though knowing her, it was probably styled that way on purpose.
She stepped into the living area, her gaze darting around like she was searching for soone. Her arms crossed, shoulders tight, brows faintly furrowed.
"There you are," she said when she finally spotted Don in the kitchen. Her tone was light, but there was a hint of irritation under the surface. She walked over, the soft pad-pad of her socks almost inaudible against the hardwood floor. "I was knocking on your door. I thought you fell asleep."
Don didn’t look up imdiately. He finished chewing, then stabbed another forkful of potatoes.
"I heard you," he said after a mont, voice dry as ever.
He had, of course. The knocks had been clear but quiet, like she wasn’t trying too hard to alert anyone. That told him enough.
Sumr’s eyes narrowed as she ca to a stop beside him, arms folding more tightly across her chest. She tilted her head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line as she stared at him—waiting, maybe, for him to explain himself.
Don swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then glanced at her.
"As you can see," he said, voice flat, "I was having so breakfast."
Sumr huffed, her cheek puffing out slightly as she avoided his gaze.
"I can see that..." she muttered, trailing off. Her fingers flexed once, tugging at the edge of her hoodie’s sleeve, a nervous little tic she didn’t seem to notice.
There was a brief pause, then she looked back at him, expression shifting.
"C-can you co help with sothing in my room?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost uncertain.
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