CHAPTER 443: CHAPTER 443: RESTRICTIONS OVER (PART 3)

Don turned toward Winter, one brow arching slightly. "Who?"

"It is Miss Claire and her daughter, Sylvia," Winter replied, her voice steady as she adjusted the cuff of her maid’s sleeve with quick movements.

Samantha’s expression lifted instantly. She turned toward Don, eyes brighter than before. "That’s great. Now would be a good time to ask her."

Don’s gaze lingered on her for a second before he looked back at Winter. ’I’m sure she really means well... but that many personalities in one room? That’s asking just asking for trouble. Not until I know them better. Especially Miss Claire.’

He leaned a hand on the back of Samantha’s chair. "Hold on, Mom. Maybe we should wait on hosting something big until we’ve known them long enough. Could do it on a holiday or some event—so it doesn’t come off like we’re... overly lively."

He didn’t believe a word of it, but he didn’t have to sell it hard. Samantha already had a habit of deferring to him, even when she wasn’t convinced.

Her smile thinned a little. "Are you sure? I mean... I guess it does seem odd hosting a gathering like that out of the blue, huh? Desperate, even." She sighed, her gaze drifting briefly toward the kitchen counter before returning to him.

Don stepped in closer and wrapped his arms lightly around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Not really. But with everything that’s happened lately, and the lack of... chemistry between everyone—it just doesn’t feel like the right time. More importantly, those kinds of things need planning so less goes wrong. I’ll help you plan it when the time comes."

That was enough to put the warmth back in her eyes. She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly through his hair. "Thank you, sweetie... you always know what to say to cheer me up."

Don eased back. "I try."

She turned in her chair to face him as he stepped away. "Go ahead and invite them in. Let me see if I can prepare some snacks for them."

"Sure thing."

As he passed Winter, the maid’s gaze shifted to Samantha. "Do you require assistance?"

Samantha gave a quick nod. "Oh yes, please. I’d love it if you did the arranging in that lovely way you do."

Don let their voices fade behind him as he crossed the dining space, then the living room, his steps steady against the polished flooring.

At the entrance, a quick sweep of his frame triggered the door’s panel. A digital prompt appeared in clean text:

Two recognized individuals outside. Open anyway? Yes / No

He tapped Yes.

The double door slid open with a low mechanical sigh~, revealing the pair beyond.

Sylvia stood ahead, wearing a fitted black-and-white ensemble—teenage corporate chic. The blazer was cropped just enough to nod at style over formality, the white shirt crisp beneath it. An office skirt broke just above the knee, offset entirely by a pair of high-top sneakers with subtle gold trim. The outfit screamed expensive, but in that carefully curated "effortless" way.

Her rich purple eyes caught the light as she smiled. "Well, good afternoon, Don." She let her gaze do a slow sweep over him before meeting his eyes again.

He didn’t take the bait. "Good afternoon to you too, Sylvia." His attention shifted past her.

Miss Claire was—as expected—measured elegance. White long-sleeved turtleneck, loose brown pants with a sash belt draped in a clean knot, and white heels that barely made a sound on the threshold. A pearl necklace rested against the collar, diamond earrings and a ladies’ watch catching faint reflections. Her hair was pulled into a neat top bun, held by a silver hairpiece that matched her restraint. The familiar black lipstick and eyeliner sharpened the lines of her pale face.

Her expression didn’t match her daughter’s. No smile—just a level look as she held a slim tablet at her side.

"Good afternoon, Don," she said evenly. "I do hope this isn’t a bad time?"

"Good afternoon to you too," Don replied evenly. "And of course not—please."

He stepped aside, one hand gesturing inward.

Sylvia smirked as she moved first, the corner of her mouth pulling upward like she’d just scored a small win. "Don’t mind if we do."

Her stride was deliberate—heels on sneakers rolling from step to step in a way that made the movement too polished for casual. It wasn’t exactly subtle, the faint sway in her pace like she wanted to draw an extra glance out of him.

If she did, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Miss Claire followed, her pace precise. Each click of her heel against the entry floor landed soft, like she measured even the sound of her arrival.

Once she crossed the threshold, she stopped beside him. "May we discuss a few matters privately?" Her tone was even, but there was no mistaking it for a question she expected to be declined.

Sylvia paused mid-step, turning back slightly with a faint frown. "Come on, Mom... we just got here. Isn’t it rude to jump straight to work?"

Miss Claire’s gaze slid in her daughter’s direction, though her head didn’t move. "Perhaps. But that is the purpose of my visit, dear. It is best to make my reasons known early, so as to work within time."

Sylvia rolled her eyes, an exaggerated arc. "Ugh, you really need to learn to live in the moment a little. Anyway—have fun, I guess. I’m going to see Summer."

Without waiting for acknowledgment, she turned down the hall toward the bedrooms, her sneakers muffled by the carpeted stretch.

A soft sigh left Miss Claire, just enough to lift her shoulders briefly. "I do apologize for her tendency to get too comfortable when visiting here," she said in that low, formal way of hers.

Don gave a slight shake of his head, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth. "It’s probably like a second home to her, given how close she and Summer are."

He motioned further inside. "Anyway, would you like to talk on the terrace?"

Miss Claire’s lips mirrored a faint smile, the kind that didn’t disrupt the rest of her expression. "I do not mind. The weather is lovely today."

They stepped into stride together, moving past the living area toward the open glass doors at the far end. The soft hum of the penthouse’s air system faded behind them, replaced by the muted whisper~ of the terrace breeze seeping through the gap where the doors met.