Morning arrived in the Upper North like a lie.
Soft sunlight spilled across the glass walls of the Sterling Mansion, painting the marble floors gold. The gardens outside glittered with frost, every branch trimmed to perfection, every hedge sculpted like the estate itself believed in control.
Inside, the atmosphere felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too organized.
Ivy noticed it the moment she stepped into the main hall.
Two men stood beside the grand staircase.
They were not Sterling security.
Sterling guards wore navy suits with silver lapel pins. These men wore matte black, their posture rigid, their eyes scanning constantly.
Mercenaries.
Ivy slowed her step.
One of them inclined his head slightly.
“Miss Sterling.”
The voice was respectful.
But not loyal.
“Where is Marcus?” she asked.
