64

It started with a craving.

Not one of Ellie's usual late-night reading sessions or law firm emails — this one was primal, persistent, and oddly specific. She wanted ice cream sandwiches and spicy chips. At ten forty-five on a Tuesday night.

"Liam," she whispered, peeking into his room.

Her little brother was sitting cross-legged on his bed, playing with his tablet under the covers like every six-year-old on a stealth mission. He froze when she opened the door.

"I wasn't—"

"I need backup," Ellie interrupted, grinning. "Mission 7/11. You in?"

Liam's eyes widened. "You mean the actual 7/11?"

She nodded. "You get chips, I get dessert, everyone wins."

"But Mama doesn't let us eat that," he whispered dramatically.

Ellie smirked. "That's why it's a mission, not a request."

They crept down the stairs like thieves in pajamas, careful not to wake the household staff. The villa was vast and quiet, the marble floors betraying every creak. Liam tiptoed exaggeratedly, clutching his little wallet.

"Papa's gonna kill us," he muttered.

Ellie chuckled, fishing her keys from her jacket. "Only if he finds out."

A few minutes later, her Harley was purring quietly outside the gate. Ellie handed Liam her spare helmet — comically oversized on his small head — and helped him climb onto the back seat.

"Hold on tight," she said, grinning as the gate slid open under Alex's bleary-eyed watch.

"Miss Ellie," the guard started cautiously, "does your father—"

"Knows I'm craving sugar?" she quipped. "Absolutely. Carry on, Alex."

Alex sighed, muttering something about losing his job before sunrise.

The 7/11 trip should've been uneventful — just a sister and her little brother in flip-flops and matching De Torre hoodies buying junk food under fluorescent lights. But fate, as usual, had other plans.

Two college kids recognized Ellie immediately — the leather jacket, the sharp profile, the unmistakable De Torre look. One whispered. The other raised a phone.

Within minutes, there were flashes. A few polite "Miss De Torre! Over here!" and one particularly nosy onlooker filming as Ellie and Liam exited the store, plastic bags swinging.

Liam looked up, squinting under the bright lights. "Ate, why are they taking pictures?"

"Because people get weird when they see cameras," she said lightly, ushering him toward the bike. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine.

By the time they got home, Alex had already met them at the gate — frantic. "Ma'am Lea's calling, Miss Ellie! Sir Rafael too—"

Ellie winced, passing him the grocery bag. "Tell them we got vitamins."

"Vitamins from 7/11?" Alex muttered under his breath.

The following morning, the chaos was no longer confined to the villa. It had spilled out into the world — headlines, trending hashtags, commentary threads, and flashing camera stills from the previous night's misadventure.

What began as a craving had become a national spectacle.

Rafael was at the breakfast table with a tablet in one hand, his expression unreadable, while Lea stood beside him, phone in hand, reading one headline after another with increasing disbelief.

"PREGNANT ELLIE DE TORRE SPOTTED BUYING JUNK FOOD WITH MYSTERY BOY!" "LATE-NIGHT 7/11 RUN: IS THIS THE DE TORRES' UNDISCLOSED SON?" "BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS SPARKS SCANDAL — RIDES OFF ON HARLEY WITH SON?"

Lea froze at that last one. "Rides off on Harley?" she read aloud, her tone a mix of horror and disbelief. "Rafael—tell me that's not true."

Rafael's silence was answer enough.

Her jaw dropped. "She took Liam on the Harley? At night?"

He rubbed his temples, sighing. "Technically, she's an excellent driver—"

"Rafael!"

He winced. "Okay. Poor choice of words."

Lea's phone buzzed again — another notification, another headline. This one came with a photo: Ellie in her leather jacket, her helmet half on, Liam gripping her waist with his oversized helmet, both of them illuminated by the 7/11 sign as they sped off. The caption was merciless.

"THE DE TORRE DARLINGS: CHAOS RUNS IN THE FAMILY."

Lea's mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God."

"Lea," Rafael began carefully, "don't—"

But it was too late.

Lea half-laughed, half-yelled — the kind of exasperated sound only mothers could make when they loved their children and wanted to throttle them at the same time. "I swear, Paeng, this family is allergic to peace! Ellie is pregnant, craving ice cream, fine. But Liam? A six-year-old accomplice on a motorcycle at midnight?"

Rafael hid a smile behind his hand. "Technically, that's team bonding."

"Technically," she shot back, "that's child endangerment!"

From the hallway, small footsteps shuffled in. Liam appeared, holding a bowl of cereal, looking suspiciously well-behaved. Ellie trailed behind him, wearing one of Lea's robes, hair tied up, trying not to look guilty.

"Good morning," Ellie said cautiously.

Lea didn't even turn around. "Do not 'good morning' me, Ramona Joselle."

Liam whispered, "Uh-oh."

Rafael cleared his throat, trying to contain his amusement. "Lea—"

She pointed a finger at him. "Don't. You're laughing inside, I can see it."

Ellie sank onto the couch. "Okay, yes, I get it. It was reckless, I know. But I was craving ice cream and Liam wanted chips. We weren't out long."

"You were photographed," Lea snapped. "You were trending before midnight! Do you have any idea what kind of calls I got from PR this morning?"

Ellie grimaced. "Let me guess. Damage control?"

"Press mitigation, Ellie. Your pregnancy, your cravings, and now this ridiculous ride of infamy!"

Liam piped up from his chair, tone small but earnest. "Mama, we wore helmets."

Lea blinked. "Liam."

"Yes, Mama?"

"I love you. But do not defend your partner in crime."

He looked at Ellie guiltily. "Sorry, Ate."

Ellie chuckled softly, but the laugh died when she caught her mother's expression.

Lea pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering to herself. "I raised geniuses. Actual geniuses with no self-preservation instincts."

Rafael finally stepped forward, voice calm but laced with amusement. "Okay, everyone breathe. No one's dead, no one's arrested. We'll spin this the usual way."

Lea threw him a look. "Spin? Rafael, the internet thinks our six-year-old is Ellie's son!"

Rafael shrugged. "Honestly, could've been worse. At least they think she's responsible enough to be a mother."

Lea stared at him. "You're not helping."

He smiled faintly. "Didn't say I was trying to."

By noon, the PR department at De Torre Vision had issued a formal statement clarifying that Ellie's "mystery boy" was her younger brother, not her child, and that the "trip" was a harmless errand. But the memes had already spread.

#DeTorreSibs trended for twelve hours straight, with fan edits, reaction videos, and one particularly viral clip of a reporter saying, "Ellie De Torre's definition of a midnight craving is a Harley ride and a six-year-old wingman."

When Lea saw that on her phone, she nearly dropped it.

"This family," she muttered, pacing the living room, "is going to give me gray hair before Rafael's next board meeting."

Rafael leaned back on the sofa, amused. "Lea, people are calling them iconic. You should see Twitter."

"I don't want to see Twitter, Rafael! Twitter is evil!"

Ellie and Liam sat together on the couch, both trying not to laugh.

Finally, Lea stopped pacing, looked at the two of them, and sighed deeply. "No more late-night rides. No more 7/11 missions. If you're craving something, you call me, you call your Papa, or you wake Ate Neri. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mama/Mom," Ellie and Liam chorused in unison.

Lea exhaled again, half exasperated, half relieved. "God help me, I love you both. But if I ever see another headline with 'Harley' and 'child passenger' in the same sentence, I'll sell that bike myself."

Rafael smirked. "You'd have to catch it first."

Lea shot him a look so sharp he raised both hands in surrender.

Later that night, when the villa finally quieted down, Lea and Rafael sat on the balcony with tea, the city lights twinkling in the distance.

"You realize," she said softly, "they're both you, right? Impulsive, dramatic, charming. You've multiplied your chaos genes."

Rafael laughed quietly. "And yet, you're still here."

Lea smiled faintly. "Because somebody has to keep the headlines interesting."

And for once, Rafael didn't argue. He just reached for her hand, still smiling, as the sound of Ellie's laughter and Liam's distant chatter drifted down the hall — the soundtrack of a family who had long since made peace with their beautiful, uncontrollable chaos.