The Last Legacy

Chapter 4

Mia’s POV

The hum of the black SUV faded as I stepped out, the heavy thud of the door behind me a physical finality. I was on enemy territory now. A polite but firm-faced woman, dressed as staff, greeted me.

"Welcome to the Godfrey estate, Miss Miller," she said, her tone neutral. "Mr. Andre has instructed that you be shown to your accommodations."

Accommodations. The word felt hollow. This was confinement. I kept my defenses up, every muscle tense, my gaze sweeping over the imposing mansion. What horrors lay beneath this veneer of wealth and order?

I was led inside, through grand halls adorned with priceless art. The air was thick with money, but it felt sterile, devoid of the warmth of my own family's penthouse. I was shown into a suite larger than most apartments. It was a symphony of muted colors, with a window offering a sweeping view of manicured gardens. It was beautiful, luxurious, and utterly alien.

"The master suite has been prepared for you, Miss Miller," the staff member announced. "Please let us know if you require anything at all. Someone will be with you shortly to assist with measurements."

Measurements? My brow furrowed. The woman gave a small bow and exited, closing the heavy door. Alone in the vast space, I felt a fresh wave of isolation. Without Lucas, without even one of my men... I was truly cut off. I walked to the center of the room, my hand instinctively going to the small, easily concealed knife I always carried. I needed to assess, to find weaknesses, to understand the layout of my gilded cage.

Before I could fully process my surroundings, there was a soft knock, and the door opened again. An older man, carrying a tape measure and a notebook, entered, followed by a younger woman with a selection of fabrics draped over her arm.

"Miss Miller?" the man asked, his voice gentle. "I am Mr. Dubois, the tailor for the Godfrey household. And this is Anya, my assistant. We've been sent to take your measurements for your new wardrobe."

"New wardrobe?" I echoed, my defenses hardening instantly. I took a step back. "I don't need new clothes. I have my own." Mr. Dubois gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm afraid that's not up for discussion, Miss Miller. It is a matter of family protocol."

Reluctantly, I began to remove my clothes, a sudden shame flushing my cheeks. As Mr. Dubois was about to take my measurements, the door opened, and Andre walked in.

I instinctively clutched the robe to my body. I was standing there in only a flimsy, sheer bra and underwear, a matching set I had bought myself a month ago, and my body was on display. "What are you doing? Get out!" I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of shame and rage.

He simply stood there, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze sweeping over my body. "Relax," he said, his voice flat. "There's nothing here I haven't seen before. Yours are not special."

His words hit me like a physical blow. The shame turned to a cold, hard anger. "Get out!" I screamed again, louder this time. "Leave me alone!"

"Please, sir," Mr. Dubois pleaded. "We are trying to work here."

Andre's eyes never left mine, but he gave a curt nod. "Fine. But I wanted to remind you who you belong to now." And with that, he turned and left, the door closing behind him.

I was shaking with fury. I would not belong to him. I would never be his. I got dressed in the clothes I came in and went down to dinner later. I was led to a formal dining room where Richard Godfrey sat at the head of a long mahogany table, flanked by two young women.

The one with piercing blue eyes and a cold, distant expression was Emma. The other, with a warm smile and a cascade of brown curls, was Seraphine.

"Mia," Seraphine said warmly, as I took the seat across from her. "Your hair is absolutely beautiful."

I managed a small, tired smile. The small talk felt bizarre in this opulent, cold prison.

Suddenly, Richard’s voice cut through the air. "So, where is your husband-to-be? He should be here."

I froze. Husband-to-be? It took me a full, gut-wrenching second to realize he meant Andre. "Who?" I asked.

Emma, with a dismissive shrug, answered for me. "He's out partying with his men. He just got back from the ambush."

Richard’s face tightened. "He should be around. The wedding is in three weeks' time."

Three weeks? The words screamed in my mind, a fresh wave of panic and despair crashing over me. Three weeks to marry a man I didn't know, a man who had looked at me with cold disgust. My heart, still nursing the wounds from Ryan's betrayal a week ago, felt like it was breaking all over again. f**k the Godfreys. I thought, my mind going numb with a simmering rage.

Then, Richard turned his attention to me, his voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "Mia," he said. "We need to discuss your... integration. Specifically, your identity."

My fork clattered against my plate. "My identity?"

"Yes," Richard continued calmly. "As you know, I am a public figure. A daughter-in-law in this family cannot be openly tied to a known drug family. It complicates things. For all of us."

"No," I said instantly, my voice firm, my defiance returning. "I won't. I won't change my name."

Richard held my gaze, his expression unyielding. "This is for your protection, Mia. And, more importantly, for the protection of your family. The Millers. A clean break, publicly."

"No!" I repeated, louder this time. My name was all I had left of my own in this place.

Richard remained utterly unperturbed. "It is already done," he stated simply. "As you know, our... resources... extend into various sectors. My boys at the Police precinct tell me that, thankfully, the FBI and NYPD have no significant public record of you. Unlike Lucas. And your father, Abraham." He said Abraham's name with a slight emphasis.

He paused, then delivered the blow. "So, starting today, publicly, your name is Mia Green."