The iron gates of the Rodrigues mansion came into view, and my heart swelled with emotion. Five years. Five long years since I'd seen this place, and it looked exactly the same—grand, imposing, and utterly home.
Before the car even came to a complete stop, I could see movement on the front steps. The moment Thomas opened my door, twelve maids in crisp uniforms rushed out in perfect synchronization.
"Welcome home, young mistress!" they called out in unison, their faces beaming with genuine joy.
Mrs. Chen, the head housekeeper who had practically raised me, stepped forward with tears in her eyes. "Miss Quinn, you're even more beautiful than when you left. Look at you, all grown up and sophisticated!"
I felt tears prick my own eyes. "Mrs. Chen, I've missed you all so much."
"Let us help you inside, dear," she said, noticing my slight limp. "We've prepared your favorite room, and Cook has been working on your welcome dinner since yesterday."
As they helped me toward the house, the massive front doors burst open, and my heart nearly exploded with joy.
"QUINN!"
My younger brother Diego came bounding down the steps, his face split into the biggest grin I'd ever seen. At nineteen, he'd grown at least six inches since I'd left, and his shoulders had broadened considerably.
"Diego!" I laughed, tears streaming down my face as he enveloped me in a bear hug, lifting me off my feet despite my injured ankle.
"I can't believe you're actually home," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you know how boring it's been without my big sister here to torment me?"
"I'm sure you managed just fine without me," I laughed, ruffling his hair the way I used to when we were kids.
"Quinn, mija."
I turned to see my father, Eduardo Rodrigues, standing in the doorway. Even at fifty-five, he was an imposing figure—tall, distinguished, with silver threading through his dark hair. But his eyes were soft with love and pride.
"Papá," I whispered, and he crossed the distance between us in three long strides.
"My brilliant daughter," he said, pulling me into his arms. "I am so proud of you. A master's degree from Universidad Complutense de Madrid, and with highest honors no less."
"I missed you so much, Papá. Both of you." I looked between him and Diego, feeling overwhelmed by how much love I felt in this moment.
"We missed you too, Quinn," Diego said, his usual teasing tone replaced by sincerity. "Christmas wasn't the same without you arguing with me about which movie to watch."
"And Easter," Papá added with a smile. "Diego tried to make your grandmother's flan recipe and nearly burned down the kitchen."
"It wasn't that bad!" Diego protested, making us all laugh.
"Come, let's get you inside," Papá said, noticing my slight limp. "What happened to your ankle?"
"Just a small mishap at the airport," I said, not ready to tell them about my mysterious rescuer just yet. "Nothing serious."
But as we walked toward the grand foyer, I couldn't hide my slight limp, and both Papá and Diego noticed immediately.
"Quinn, you're clearly in pain," Papá said, his voice taking on that authoritative tone I remembered so well. "Diego, help your sister to the sitting room. I'm calling Dr. Harrison."
"Papá, really, it's just a twisted ankle," I protested, but he was already pulling out his phone.
"Nonsense. You've been away for five years, and the first thing that happens when you come home is you get injured? I'm not taking any chances."
Within thirty minutes, Dr. Harrison—our family physician for over twenty years—arrived with his medical bag. He was a kind man in his sixties with gentle hands and a reassuring smile.
"Miss Quinn," he said warmly, "welcome home. Though I wish it were under better circumstances. Let's have a look at that ankle."
I sat on the plush sofa while Dr. Harrison carefully examined my foot, testing the range of motion and checking for swelling. His touch was professional but gentle, and I winced only slightly when he pressed certain areas.
"Well, the good news is it's not broken," he announced after a thorough examination. "It's a moderate sprain—you've stretched the ligaments, but there's no serious damage. You were lucky."
"How long until it heals?" I asked, concerned about being confined to the house.
"With proper rest and care, about two to three weeks. I'm going to give you some anti-inflammatory medication for the pain and swelling." He pulled out a small bottle of pills from his bag. "Take one every six hours with food. And I want you to keep it elevated as much as possible for the next few days."
"Two to three weeks?" Diego groaned dramatically. "There goes my plan to drag you around London to show you all the places you missed."
"The places will still be there in three weeks," Papá said firmly. "Quinn's health comes first."
Dr. Harrison packed up his bag and handed me the medication. "Ice it for twenty minutes every few hours today, and if the swelling doesn't go down or if the pain gets worse, call me immediately. Other than that, just rest."
After Dr. Harrison left, I took the prescribed medication and settled back into the sitting room with my ankle properly elevated on a cushion. The pain was already starting to subside, and I felt much better knowing it was just a sprain.
"Now," I said, looking around at all the faces I'd missed so much, "can we please focus on something other than my ankle? I want to hear everything. Tell me about the business, Diego's last year of school, Mrs. Chen's granddaughter's wedding—everything."
"Your room is ready," Mrs. Chen announced. "Fresh flowers, your favorite lavender sheets, and I've had the fireplace cleaned and ready to light."
"And wait until you see what I've done to my room," Diego said excitedly. "I've got a whole gaming setup now, and a mini fridge, and—"
"Diego, let your sister rest," Papá chuckled. "She's had a long journey."
"Actually," I said, looking around at all the faces I'd missed so much, "I don't want to rest just yet. I want to hear everything. Tell me about the business, Diego's last year of school, Mrs. Chen's granddaughter's wedding—everything."
Diego's eyes lit up. "Really? Because I have so much to tell you about university applications, and there's this girl—"
"A girl?" I raised an eyebrow with a grin. "My baby brother has a girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend," Diego said, his cheeks reddening. "Her name is Isabella, and she's in my literature class, and she's really smart, and—"
"And he's completely smitten," Papá added with amusement.
"I am not smitten!" Diego protested, which only made us laugh harder.
"Come," Papá said, gesturing toward the sitting room. "Let's sit properly and catch up. Mrs. Chen, could you have Cook bring us some tea? And perhaps some of those pastries Quinn loves?"
As we settled into the familiar warmth of the sitting room, surrounded by the people who loved me most, I felt something I hadn't experienced in five years—complete and utter contentment. But even as I listened to Diego's animated stories and Papá's updates about the family business, I couldn't shake the image of those dark eyes and strong arms from my mind.
Who was that man? And why couldn't I stop thinking about him?