“Watch your tone, young lady,” Marcus says, his voice taking on an authoritative edge that makes Winter’s spine stiffen.
“We were trying to protect you, considering how easily you get light-headed and pass out from new information. We didn’t want a repeat of what happened yesterday, so we decided to just let you meet him once and for all.”
Winter opens her mouth to protest, anger and hurt warring in her chest, but Marcus cuts in again.
Rubbing his temples, he sighs heavily, suddenly looking older and more tired.
“We can discuss this later, Winter. Let’s get settled first. I’m sure you and your mother are tired from the journey.”
Winter wants to push further, wants to demand answers and explanations, but she realizes she is fighting a lost battle.
Marcus isn’t going to give her any more information right now, and she knows it.
The set of his jaw tells her everything.
She is going to have to speak to her mother about this the moment they are alone.
With that thought in mind, she nods stiffly before following them into the mansion, her footsteps echoing on the stone pathway.
The interior is as grand as Winter had imagined it might be—perhaps even more so.
Every room they pass is decorated with luxury in mind, each detail carefully curated to impress.
Gold-framed mirrors reflect their passage, high ceilings adorned with elaborate crystal chandeliers catch the afternoon light, and marble floors glisten under the soft lighting like frozen water.
Yet despite the beauty and elegance of it all, Winter can’t shake the feeling of coldness that permeates every corner.
The house feels more like a museum than a home, a place meant to impress visitors, not to comfort the people who live within its walls.
“This is the drawing room,” Marcus says, leading them into a large space dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the sprawling gardens.
Perfectly trimmed hedges form geometric patterns that seem to stretch on forever.
“We spend most of our time here when we’re not traveling. It has a beautiful view, as you can see.”
Winter barely hears him.
Her mind is stuck on Drae, replaying the unsettling tension between them earlier like a film reel she can’t stop.
What is his problem?
Why is he so angry, so hostile toward someone he’d just met?
Does he blame her for his father’s choices?
Sarah seems to sense her daughter’s unease. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
She reaches out and gently squeezes Winter’s hand.
“Don’t worry about Drae,” she says softly, though her voice lacks conviction.
“He’ll come around.”
Winter isn’t convinced.
The look in Drae’s eyes had been too raw, too filled with genuine resentment to simply disappear with time.
They move through the house, Marcus pointing out rooms and introducing the staff along the way.
Each introduction feels formal, rehearsed, as if they’d been prepared for this moment.
Evelyn, the housemaid—a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a neat bun—greets them with a warm smile.
“Miss Winter, it’s lovely to have you here,” she says, her voice genuinely welcoming.
“If you need anything at all, just ask. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Winter replies, managing a small smile in return.
At least Evelyn seems genuine, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of the house itself.
James, the driver who had picked them up from the airport, gives her a polite nod.
He is a tall man with silver hair and an impeccable posture that speaks of military training.
He doesn’t say much, just a formal, “Miss Winter, ma’am,” before retreating several steps back, his hands clasped behind him.
The last person they meet is George, the gardener, who seems the friendliest of them all.
His weathered face breaks into a wide grin, and dirt still clings to his fingernails.
“Welcome, Miss Winter,” he says with enthusiasm that feels unforced.
“The gardens are my pride and joy. You’re welcome to explore them anytime. I’ve got roses that’ll take your breath away.”
Winter nods, though she has no intention of wandering around alone.
The sheer size of the place is overwhelming, and despite the friendliness of the staff, she still feels out of place, like an actress who’d wandered onto the wrong stage.
Finally, they reach her bedroom.
Marcus opens the door with a flourish, and Winter’s breath catches in her throat.
A massive four-poster bed dominates the space, draped with rich, cream-colored fabrics that look like they cost more than her mother’s car.
The walls are painted a soft, pale blue that reminds her of early morning skies, and the windows overlook the vast, manicured gardens where George works his magic.
Everything about it screams luxury, from the antique vanity in the corner to the plush carpet beneath her feet.
“I hope you like it,” Marcus says, watching her reaction closely, as if her approval matters more than he wants to admit.
“You’ll find clothes in the closet—we had them prepared based on your mother’s suggestions. Dinner will be at eight. Take your time to settle in, but make sure not to miss it. It’s a tradition that must be observed.”
Winter nods, but she is far from relaxed.
Her muscles remain tense, coiled like springs.
She needs to speak to her mother as soon as possible, and she can’t wait any longer.
Locking eyes with her mother, Winter asks softly, her voice almost pleading, “Mom, can we talk?”
Sarah sighs, and something in her expression shifts—a weariness that goes deeper than physical exhaustion.
She gives Winter a look that seems to carry the weight of unspoken apologies.
“Let’s talk after dinner, okay, sweetie? I’m exhausted from the trip.”
Winter is tempted to push, tempted to beg her mother to stay and talk to her right now, to explain everything before another moment passes.
But there is something different about her mother, something she can’t quite place her finger on.
A distance that hadn’t been there before, or perhaps had always been there and Winter is only now seeing it clearly.
She has a feeling that if she pushes too hard, she’ll be forced to face a reality she isn’t ready for—a reality that confirms her greatest fear.
The fear of losing the only family she has left.
That very fear is what prompts Winter to smile, though it feels like her face might crack from the effort, nod, and say, “Okay, Mom. I understand.”
But she doesn’t understand.
Not at all.
She feels lost, adrift in a sea of luxury and secrets.
Alone in a house full of people.
And as she watches her mother and Marcus leave the room and close the door softly behind them, the click of the latch sounding final and absolute, she knows her new life is going to be one hell of a challenging ride.
She can only hope that she comes out unscathed, though something tells her that hope might be foolish.
Some journeys change you whether you want them to or not.