Our Christmas Sister Angel ·[Chapter: 7]

A gentle tale about the rebirth of mercy, second chances, the warmth of Christmas, and the meaning of being family.

If you’d like to walk this warm path from the very beginning and read the story from its first chapter, you can start [here] and follow the links within each part until you find your way back to this moment again.

To read the chapter that comes just before this one, kindly click [here]. 

Chapter [7]:
 The Roof

By noon the next day, the restaurant was wrapped in its usual quiet calm.
Angela stood in the middle of the dining hall, wiping the wooden tables that still smelled faintly of  pine and cinnamon. Outside, the last traces of snow were melting into glittering streams beneath the pale winter sun — the kind of silence that feels almost sacred. It was always like this at this time of year; everyone took their holidays, leaving the little town still and peaceful.

The five brothers descended quietly from the rooftop. Peering through the glass doors, they checked that the place was empty before stepping inside. Their voices were low, hesitant — as though  afraid to disturb the fragile warmth still lingering in the air.

They stopped in front of Angela, shy but sincere.
“Thank you… for everything,” Milo said.

Angela smiled gently, her eyes shining.
“I was happy to have you here. You’re always welcome back,” she replied softly.

Her kindness — that simple, unspoken grace — made them feel small and grateful all at once. They bowed their heads slightly, murmured their thanks, and turned to leave.

Not one of them thought to offer payment for the warm meal or the room they had spent the night in. They had simply… forgotten. 

And Angela, true to her quiet heart, hadn’t mentioned it either.

She stood at the restaurant door, watching as they drove away — not racing each other this time, not laughing recklessly down the snowy road. Instead, they drove in a neat line, slow and close 

together, as though trying to keep each other warm against the cold world outside.

A faint smile curved her lips, they looked like brothers again.


---

When they reached their villa in the capital of Novaris, their hearts sank.
As they had expected, a swarm of reporters and cameras crowded the front gate — a restless sea of flashing lights and questions.

They parked their sleek cars a little distance away and slipped into a narrow side street, leading to a hidden entrance at the back of the estate. Once inside, they collapsed into the grand hall, its chandeliers glittering above them like cold stars.

They had been silent since waking up at noon, and now, that silence pressed between them again.

They needed a plan — a way to disappear for a while, until the chaos faded and the world forgot about the scandal and the government’s official statement cutting them from the World Cup opening  ceremony.

“What now?” Tavin finally broke the quiet. “Do we just stay locked up here like fugitives? Or do we  leave the country for a while?”

Milo sighed. “If we try to leave, the airport cameras will catch us. Then the headlines will scream  that Pulse 5 ran away. We’re not trying to escape — just to disappear.”

Sorin leaned forward, his tone serious. “He’s right. We can’t leave Novaris. Even our family homes aren’t safe — the press will be waiting there too.”

Cian crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about Mr. Zack’s house again. It’s the safest place we know. We owe him an apology for not keeping in touch, but I’m sure he’d take us in. He  always does. It’s the perfect hideout.”

They exchanged glances. One by one, heads nodded in quiet agreement. 

There really wasn’t a better plan.

They went to their rooms, each gathering only what was necessary — a few clothes, essentials,  nothing more. An hour later, they reassembled in the grand hall, duffel bags slung over  their shoulders, ready to move.

“Wait,” Rein said suddenly. “We can’t take our cars — the press will spot us right away. Should we  call a cab?”

Milo grinned, his eyes glinting. “Why call one when we still have her?”

The others blinked, confused.
He pointed toward the garage.

A moment later, laughter broke through the tension.
There she was — 

their old, navy-blue Jeep Wrangler, dusty but sturdy, the same one they had bought secondhand many years ago when their dream had just begun.

The same one they’d driven to their very first gig, all five crammed inside, hearts pounding with hope. Milo was the one who found it. He’d said, “It’s old, but it fits us all. No one has to travel alone.”. Back then, they didn’t care about luxury — only about staying together.

He patted the hood fondly. “She’ll get us there. She always has.”

They climbed in now, laughter shaking the dust from the seats, and the engine coughing to life likean old friend clearing its throat.

As the gates of the villa opened, the sea of reporters didn’t even turn their heads. The five brothers  drove right past them — hidden in plain sight inside their battered navy-blue Jeep.

For a heartbeat, silence filled the car. Then Tavin laughed. Milo followed , grinning triumphantly as  they passed the swarm of reporters unnoticed. Who would suspect that this weathered old Jeep carried the very people the press was hunting? They had just outsmarted an army of journalists with nothing but an old car and a bit of luck.

Within seconds, they were all laughing — real, boyish laughter that filled the cold air.They drove toward Mr. Zack’s house.
And it felt good.
Like the world had turned back for a moment — to the time when they were just five brothers.
---------------

After they left, Angela made her way up to the rooftop — her favorite place when the restaurant was empty.
She carried a steaming cup of hot chocolate, its scent rich and sweet against the crisp mountain air.

The view from The Nest’s roof was breathtaking.
The mountains in the distance glowed in soft shades of violet under the midday sun, their snowy  crowns brushed by drifting clouds. Below them, pine trees stretched like an endless green sea, their needles shimmering in light.

Between the slopes, fields of roses and tulips spread wide, weaving colors through the valley —  crimson, blush, and gold like threads in a living tapestry.

Farther away, a small lake caught the light and sparkled like glass. On its silver edge, letters glimmered faintly:“Ninira.”

The air was alive with the scent of pine and snow and something sweet — the faint perfume of  flowers carried up from the valley.
It was one of those moments when time itself seemed to stop — when the world was quiet enough  to feel sacred, and the heart forgot every ache.

Angela sat down in the little rocking chair near the edge, the sun warming her face, her hands  wrapped around the mug.

She laughed quietly when she remembered how the five brothers  said they somehow knew her. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to step out and remind them herself, to tell them that she knew them too, long before the world did. But instead, she stayed in the kitchen, smiling to herself — a secret  smile only memory could explain.


She leaned back, eyes drifting to the small guest room window just below the roof.
That morning, she’d gone to wake them, as they’d asked. But when she knocked, there was no  answer. Peeking through the slightly open window, she saw the five brothers — fast asleep, tangled together on the floor.

The single small bed stood untouched. Two heavy blankets covered them all. Milo was curled  beside Sorin, and the rest pressed close, like a pile of children trying to stay warm through a storm.

Her heart had melted. So these men were nothing , only five little kids in their thirties, hiding from the world and the cold in each other’s arms.

She’d left them to sleep. 

When they finally woke around noon, she’d laughed quietly to see the faint blanket marks still  traced on their flushed faces.

“I wonder how they got back,” she murmured now, her breath a wisp of steam in the cold air. 

“Did they have to face the press again?”

She sighed. The stillness answered her.

They reminded her of how lonely she really was —
and how much she missed her own brothers, the twins , Joseph and Benjamin, who had been about the same age once upon a time.

Angela tilted her face toward the sky. The sunlight caught the snow drifting down from the  mountains, scattering it like silver dust.
For a long, quiet moment, she simply watched —
until the world below blurred into peace again.

............To be continued in “chapter : 8  ” tomorrow.
© 2025 , CorNer. All rights reserved. This work is protected under international copyright law.

 

Our Christmas Sister Angel · [Chapter: 6]