The early morning light filtered through the lace curtains of the newly restored drawing room, casting soft patterns across the polished wooden floor. The estate, alive with the hum of workers and the promise of a fresh start, felt lighter than it had in years. For the first time, the weight of the past seemed to be lifting, replaced by cautious optimism.
As I arranged a vase of freshly cut roses on the side table, a knock at the door startled me. It was rare for unannounced visitors these days—especially now that Damien and I had tightened security after Lydia's last attempt to undermine us.
"I'll get it," Damien said, already halfway to the door.
I followed him, curiosity bubbling beneath the surface. When he opened the door, a small group of people stood on the steps. At first glance, they seemed unfamiliar, but as the older woman at the front stepped forward, her face triggered a cascade of memories.
