CHAPTER 29 —A House That Is No Longer Mine
Peter
The Stormbringer mansion has always been too large for comfort. Even as a child, I remember the ceilings feeling too high, the hallways too long, the silence too heavy. My father used to say that greatness required space. Space for power, legacy and the weight of command.
Tonight, the house felt like a mausoleum, and I was the ghost haunting it. I stood on the balcony outside my father’s old study, which was now mine, watching as Clara’s car pulled through the wrought iron gates. The metal groaned open as if it also resented what was about to happen.
The sky was coloured orange with sunset, the last of the sunlight dying behind the tree line. The air smelled like damp earth and pine, but even the forest felt distant lately. I still felt
