The scent of Omega

The sound of the cloth rubbing against the polished wood echoed softly in the light-filled room. Ryse was focused, wiping every surface with the meticulousness of a task she knew by heart. She had just finished making the bed, and the perfectly taut white sheets gave the room an immaculate appearance. Here, everything had to be perfect, spotless, without the slightest trace of dust or neglect.

She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and stepped back a few paces to inspect her work. The large guest room, which hadn't been occupied for months, was now ready. With an automatic gesture, she picked up her bucket and cloth, then headed toward the quiet hallway. Ryse's days were always the same: from morning till night, she took care of the cleaning, the laundry, and sometimes the cooking when help was needed. It was a well-established routine, a discreet existence within this immense house where she had grown up without ever truly belonging.

She walked along the corridor with its walls adorned with antique paintings and pushed open the door to the next room. A light breeze drifted in through the half-open window, gently lifting the white curtains. Here, the air smelled of lavender, the familiar scent of freshly laundered sheets. Ryse began her work with the same diligence, brushing away every trace of dust before smoothing the bedspread with a precise gesture.

Her mind wandered for a moment as she folded a blanket. Today, Nigel was coming back.

Ten years.

Ten years since he had left for the United States, taking with him the image of the big brother he had always been to her. He had protected her, listened to her, supported her, especially after her mother's death. But he had left, and time had taken its toll. And today.

Nigel was the Harris family heir. His return wouldn't change anything in her daily life.

When she finished the last bedroom, she went downstairs, her steps light and carefree, down the long corridors. The air was already thick with appetizing aromas, and when she entered the large stone kitchen, the warm atmosphere brought a smile to her face.

"Ah, Ryse! You're just in time!" exclaimed Martha, the cook, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. "Come help me peel these vegetables; dinner needs to be ready on time!" Ryse put her bucket down in a corner and rolled up her sleeves before taking her place at the large, solid wood table. She grabbed a knife and a carrot and began peeling with the ease of practice.

"Is the house ready for his return?" asked Martha, kneading a piece of dough energetically. Ryse nodded without looking up. “Yes, everything’s in order.” Martha sighed. “I wonder what he looks like now… Ten years is a long time. He was a handsome boy; he must have grown into an impressive man.”

Ryse gave a small smile. “No matter what he looks like, he won’t be spending his days with us in the kitchen.” The cook burst out laughing. “That’s for sure! An heir like him has other things on his mind.” Ryse continued her work in silence, leaving Martha to chat with the other servants. She was grateful for these simple moments, when she could occupy herself without thinking about what lay ahead. For even though she told herself that nothing would change, a small part of her knew that Nigel’s arrival would mark a turning point. And even though Ryse felt only a brotherly affection for him, she knew that this house would never be the same again. The sun was setting gently through the large kitchen windows when she finished her chores. Dinner was almost ready, the house was spotless. Everything was in place to welcome the prodigal son. The day was slowly fading, tinting the sky orange and pink through the thin curtains of Ryse's room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she absently laced her slender ankle, savoring the rare moment of respite the end of her workday afforded her. Her muscles, aching from hours of work, protested slightly, but she was used to it.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence of her room envelop her. In this house where she had grown up as the maid's daughter, but since her mother's death, she had no real place. Neither truly a servant nor truly a member of the family, she drifted between the two worlds without dwelling on what that meant.

But tonight, that silence was suddenly broken. Voices echoed from downstairs, fueled by the excitement of a long-awaited gathering. Laughter, exclamations, a warm welcome that could only mean one thing: Nigel was finally home.

Ryse opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling in the gathering darkness of her room. She hesitated for a moment, then stood, smoothing her dress with an automatic gesture. She hadn't expected much from this evening, but something still drew her toward the living room. Perhaps simple curiosity, perhaps an unconscious need to see for herself how much he had changed.

Her steps were light on the stairs as she descended, brushing against the polished wooden banister. The closer she got to the living room, the clearer the voices became, filled with emotion and joy.

When she stepped through the doorway, the scene before her seemed almost unreal. In the center of the room, Mrs. Harris held a man in her arms, her eyes shining with tears.

"My son... My boy, here you are at last!" He was tall. Much taller than she remembered. Nigel Harris was no longer the young man she had known. His broad back, his imposing stature, everything about him exuded a quiet strength, a natural presence that commanded respect. His face, sculpted by the years, displayed more defined features, a strong jaw, dark eyes where the shadow of the past had mingled with maturity. His elegant suit gave him a distinguished air, a far cry from the carefree boy who once roamed the halls of this house. Ryse remained in the background, observing the scene without a word. Beside Nigel, a young woman stood straight, her gaze curious but imbued with a certain gentleness. She was beautiful. Delicate and refined, with her neatly styled brown hair and her dress