Three months had passed since Ivy's quiet exit, and Lucian Shen's penthouse had grown unexpectedly hollow. Business calls, board meetings, even the glow of his monitors at night felt muted without her presence. Each corridor, each portrait of Dawn seemed to whisper Ivy's name instead of his lost sister's.
**Mid‑Morning, Penthouse Study**
Lucian stood before the wall of gilded frames, staring at Dawn's portrait as sunlight sifted through frost-laced windows. He'd spent every dawn and dusk here, speaking to the memory of the sister he believed dead—and to the bride he'd driven away.
A soft chime announced a visitor in the adjoining salon. Lucian sighed, tightening his tie, and opened the door.
There, framed by the tall foyer, lingered a familiar silhouette—tall, pale, walking with a slig
