The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire
Chapter 48: Preparation

Chapter 48: Preparation

The golden evening light filtered gently through the curtains as the house buzzed with activity. Elena’s laughter echoed softly from the kitchen, mixing with the clinks of utensils as she and Daniel worked side by side, preparing the much-awaited dinner. Miles, focused and precise, was laying out the plates and cutlery at the dining table, aligning them perfectly. Hope and Asher, with all the seriousness of a military operation, were fluffing and arranging the cushions on the living room sofa—occasionally tossing one at each other and erupting in giggles.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Miles glanced at the clock—4:00 PM. "Who came so early?" he murmured, wiping his hands on a cloth.

But before he could reach the door, Hope had already dashed past. "I’ll get it, big brooo!"

She flung the door open with a beaming smile. "Hello, big sister Celina!"

Celina stood at the doorway, her presence soft and elegant. She wore a pastel beige knit dress that hugged her figure gracefully without being too extravagant—comfortable, tasteful, and modestly sophisticated. Her long hair was brushed back with gentle waves cascading over her shoulders. In her hands, she held a bottle of vintage wine, carefully wrapped in a velvet cloth.

"Hello, Hope," Celina greeted warmly, bending down to gently ruffle her hair.

Asher peeked from behind Hope, eyeing the guest curiously. "You look pretty," he said with a sincere nod.

Celina smiled and reached out to pat his head. "Thank you, Asher. You’re getting more charming every time I see you."

Miles appeared behind the twins, his arms crossed and a faint smile on his lips. "Come, have a seat."

Celina stepped inside and handed over the wine bottle to him. "Asher seems to have a better sense of things," she teased, arching an eyebrow.

Miles looked puzzled, holding the bottle. "What do you mean?"

Celina smirked, brushing past him. "Nothing. Just an observation."

As she stepped into the living room, she glanced toward the kitchen. "Where’s Aunt Elena?"

Miles followed behind. "She’s inside—with Father. They’re finishing up the dinner prep."

Celina paused, turning to face him with surprise. "Father? You mean Uncle Daniel? Wasn’t he in the hospital?"

Miles’s expression changed slightly. He lowered his voice. "He’s here, but you must not tell anyone, Celina. His presence at home is... a matter of security. Not even your dad should know right now."

Celina’s teasing nature vanished in a heartbeat. She gave a single firm nod. "I understand, Miles. I won’t say a word."

He relaxed slightly, offering a nod of thanks.

"Well," Celina said with a grin, "let me go help Aunt in the kitchen."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You’ll ruin your clothes."

"Hnm," she hummed with a defiant smile. "I can handle a little kitchen duty."

And with that, she walked off, slipping off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves, ready to join the family effort.

"Hello Aunt Elena, hello Uncle Daniel," Celina greeted politely as she stepped into the kitchen, her tone sweet and respectful.

Elena turned with a smile that lit up her entire face. "Oh dear, you’re here already! You look beautiful!"

Celina chuckled softly. "You look pretty as well, Aunt."

Elena beamed. "Let me introduce you two properly. He is my husband, Daniel. And she," Elena said proudly, "is my high school friend’s daughter, and Miles’s classmate—Celina Wraithbourne."

Daniel, who was drying his hands on a kitchen towel, paused for a second. "Wraithbourne?" His eyes widened just slightly. "As in that Wraithbourne?"

Celina smiled graciously. "Yes, Uncle. That one. Nice to meet you."

Daniel nodded warmly. "Nice to meet you too, dear. I’ve heard a lot about your family."

Before either adult could wave her off, Celina walked in further. "Aunt, let me help you with something. You’ve already done so much—why don’t you relax in the living room for a bit?"

Daniel smiled kindly. "You don’t have to do all this. You’re our guest, Celina."

Elena added quickly, "That’s right. Come on, sit and chat for a while."

But Celina gently insisted, already rolling up her sleeves. "It’s really fine, Aunt. Miles always talks about your cooking with so much admiration... I’ve wanted to see you in action for a while. I just want to help."

Elena tilted her head, touched. "Well, if you insist. I wouldn’t mind a hand with the seasoning."

Celina nodded with enthusiasm, and Daniel, grinning, quietly excused himself from the kitchen.

He stepped into the living room and lowered himself beside the twins, who were now flipping through a picture book together on the floor. Miles, fixing a decorative piece on the wall, turned his head as Daniel let out a small, thoughtful chuckle.

"She’s like a daughter-in-law capturing the kitchen," Daniel muttered, just loud enough for Miles to hear.

Miles froze. Coughed. "What...?"

Daniel waved his hand vaguely. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just observing her nature."

Miles narrowed his eyes suspiciously but played along. "Yeah... well, she can be a little pushy like that."

Daniel smiled knowingly and leaned back, watching the twins giggle at a funny page in the book.

"So," he said casually, "is she the guest you were talking about?"

Miles glanced at his father, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "The surprise is yet to be revealed, Father."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

Miles gave a small smile. "You’ll see soon."

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and soft laughter could be heard as Celina and Elena worked together like old friends, a comforting domestic rhythm forming between them—blending past, present, and a hint of something deeper just beneath the surface.

Somewhere far from country

In a dimly lit chamber layered with shadows and silence, the Old Master stood by an arched window. Outside, the winds whispered against the cliffs, crashing waves below echoing his bitterness. The glow of a single oil lamp flickered behind him, casting long streaks across the old wooden floor. In his hand, a secure encrypted phone buzzed softly.

He picked up the call with reverence.

Old Master: "Sir... Miles has just acquired Cinder Square. It seems... he wants to reclaim what his father once built."

There was a pause on the other side—calm, composed, and laced with cold amusement.

Voice on the line: "Really now? Like father, like son. But he should’ve learned something from Edward’s fate... Let the boy play for now. We’ll shut it all down—just like we did before."

The Old Master clenched his jaw, knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone tighter.

Old Master: "Yes, sir. I will personally make sure the Sterling name never rises again."

The voice grew more businesslike.

Voice: "And the plans in the other cities?"

Old Master: "Already underway. The foundation for the production lab has been laid. Distribution networks are being mobilized in the east and coastal sectors. Within two months, we’ll have operations in three major cities."

A moment of silence, then a low warning.

Voice: "Good. I hope your identity as a member of the Island doesn’t become a liability... We can’t afford exposure—not now."

The Old Master straightened his back.

Old Master: "It won’t. I’ve buried that part of me long ago. No one will trace it. No one dares speak of that place."

The call disconnected with a soft tone.

He stood there for a moment, still and silent. Then slowly, he slipped the phone into his coat pocket and looked out over the darkening horizon. His voice came in a low murmur, filled with old wounds and venom.

"Edward... my friend... I won’t let your name rise again. Not through your son. Not while I live."

He turned away from the window. Behind him, pinned to the wall like a ghost of the past, was an old, faded photograph—two men standing shoulder to shoulder in high school uniform. One of them: Edward Sterling.

And beside him... the Old Master.

A blade of wind tore through the room as the window creaked.

The war had begun again. Quiet. Subtle. But no less dangerous than before.

Back at the Keller residence...

The comforting aroma of roasted garlic and fresh herbs floated gently through the house. From the kitchen came the warm, inviting scent of creamy baked penne pasta, bubbling with parmesan and mozzarella. Beside it, Elena placed a tray of stuffed bell peppers, neatly arranged and packed with a savory mix of quinoa, mushrooms, and feta cheese. A fresh bowl of Caesar salad waited on the counter, crisp and chilled, and a butter-soft focaccia bread, still warm from the oven, filled the air with hints of rosemary and olive oil.

Laughter drifted out from the kitchen — Celina was rolling up her sleeves with flour smudged on her cheek, holding up a wooden spoon like it was a sword.

"You need more garlic!" she laughed.

"No, you need to stop throwing it in everything!" Elena chuckled, gently taking the spoon back with mock scolding.

In the living room, Daniel was relaxing on the couch, trying not to laugh too hard at the scene unfolding nearby.

Hope had turned the cushions into a princess castle — again. This time with a tea set balanced precariously on a throw blanket she’d deemed a "royal rug."

"Asher, guard the gates! The surprise guest might be a spy!" she whispered dramatically.

Asher, with a colander helmet on his head and a spatula in hand, saluted."Yes, Commander Princess Hope!"

Daniel chuckled, hiding his face behind a pillow. "I think they’re training to be chaos agents."

Miles finished setting the table — elegant yet homely, with folded napkins, a lit vanilla-scented candle, and gleaming plates ready for a feast. He stood back and looked around. The home, once quiet, now pulsed with warmth, love, and laughter.

Just then, the oven beeped, and another wave of rich aromas flooded the room.

And then—Ding-dong.The doorbell rang.

Miles blinked and glanced at the clock. 6 PM sharp.

"Who’s here already?" he muttered, heading for the door.

From behind the cushion wall, Hope gasped and grabbed Asher’s arm."She’s here! The secret guest!"

"I hope she brought snacks," Asher whispered back, peeking over the pillow.

Miles placed his hand on the doorknob.

A hush fell over the room as the door creaked open...