The Whitmore Estate hadn’t changed since I was a girl. The high-arched ceilings, gold-plated railings, and glittering chandeliers were all still there, untouched by time or tragedy. But stepping into it as a guest was one thing. Stepping into it as the wife of the man who once served tea was something else entirely.
I followed Dominic through the grand hall in silence. Staff moved like shadows—polite, deferential, and always two steps out of the way. My heels clicked loudly on the polished floors, each echo reminding me that I didn’t belong here.
“You don’t have to stare like that,” Dominic said as we reached the double staircase.
“I’m just wondering why everyone’s acting like you own this place.”
He paused mid-step. “Maybe because I do.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t answer. Jus
