The gravel crunches under Ethan’s shoes as he walks toward the estate entrance—each step feeling louder than it should in the quiet of the hillside. The warm light spilling from the doors casts long shadows across the driveway, and he can make out figures moving behind the glass. A piano plays somewhere inside—Chopin, he thinks, though he couldn’t say which piece.He’s halfway up the steps when the doors swing fully open, revealing a line of people standing perfectly still. Men in tailored suits and women in silk dresses, all staring directly at him. At the front stands an older man with silver hair combed back from his forehead, his hands clasped behind his back—Lorenzo Bianco, if Ethan had to guess.The smile on Lorenzo’s face is warm enough to melt ice, but his eyes are sharp as he takes in Ethan’s navy suit, the way his sleeves bunch slightly at the wrists, the fact that he arrived alone in a compact sedan that’s now pulling away down the driveway.“Mr. Morrison!” Lorenzo’s voice

The marble under Ethan’s soles had been cool enough to soothe the heat that prickled up his ankles from the dining room—where crystal chandeliers blazed like tiny suns and every fork clink had felt like a judgment. He found her in the library, doors thrown wide to the night; moonlight slanted across shelves so tall they seemed to drink the sky, leather spines gleaming like dark teeth in the pale glow. Charlotte paced the length of the room. Her dress swirled around her feet like ink bleeding into snow, and each step landed with a sharp thump that echoed off the floorboards. When she turned at the sound of his footsteps, her eyes were two chips of flint, hot and sharp enough to cut through the quiet air. “Of course you followed,” she said, her voice carrying none of the softness he’d heard in the dining room. “Come to celebrate how perfectly you played the part? How you charmed them all with your stories of ‘community work’?” Ethan stopped at the threshold, his palms already damp

The silence stretched like pulled glass, fragile and sharp."Young master?" Manu's voice dripped with disbelief and contempt. "Is this some kind of joke?"The driver stood calmly, his expensive suit perfectly tailored, his hands clasped professionally in front of him. He didn't acknowledge Manu at all—his attention remained fixed on Ethan with the kind of deference that couldn't be faked.Charlotte's arm was still linked through Ethan's from her impulsive declaration moments ago. She could feel him tense, could see the flash of annoyance cross his face before it smoothed into careful neutrality."Thank you for coming, Marcus," Ethan said quietly. "I'll be right there.""Of course, young master. I'll wait by the car." The driver bowed again—a precise, practiced movement—and retreated toward the entrance.The moment he was gone, chaos erupted."Young master?" Antonio Bianco stepped forward, his earlier dismissiveness completely vanished. "What—who are you?"Lorenzo emerged from his stud

The dinner lasted three hours.Ethan hadn't intended that. He'd planned for polite conversation, a quick meal, then a clean exit. Instead, he found himself talking,really talking...in ways he hadn't with anyone except Rebecca.Charlotte listened without interrupting. She asked questions that showed she was actually paying attention, not just waiting for her turn to speak. When he told her about finding Vanessa with Derek, she winced with genuine sympathy."That's brutal," she said quietly. "Not just the betrayal, but the timing. Right after your mother's funeral.""It clarified things," Ethan said. "Showed me who people really were.""And now you're destroying them for it.""Yes."Charlotte didn't flinch. "Good. They deserve it."By the time dessert arrived, Ethan had learned that Charlotte's mother had died when she was sixteen. Cancer, like his own mother. That Lorenzo had become even more controlling afterward, trying to manage every aspect of Charlotte's life "for her own protecti

Ethan turned to find Rebecca standing in his doorway, backlit by the hallway lights, her expression unreadable in the shadows. "I'm thinking," he corrected. "Thinking and brooding look the same from the outside." She entered without invitation, moving to the windows. "Vincent's worried about you." "Vincent's always worried about something." "Not like this. He thinks you're getting too emotionally involved." Rebecca turned to face him. "The Morrison family. Charlotte Bianco. Even Mrs Chen and the Crown Street property—you're making everything personal." "It is personal," Ethan said quietly. "My mother died because my father was too selfish to care for her properly. Derek tried to kill himself because I destroyed everything he had. Mrs Shen lost her life savings because someone like my father decided profit mattered more than people. How is any of that not personal?" Rebecca was quiet for a moment, studying him in the dim light. "You're starting to sound like Sarah." "Is th