CALHOUN'S POV.
The moment I stepped through the door, everything smelled the same—old money, polished wood, my mother’s signature lavender oils that cling to every hallway like an invisible warning. Home sweet home, I guess. Or whatever version of home I’ve always forced myself to accept.
Meeting the Steward had already drained the little patience I had left in me. It should have been the last thing I did today, yet fate decided to twist itself around my neck and pull me straight into the one situation I was trying to avoid: seeing my so-called fiancée again.
I let out a tired exhale and dropped onto the luxurious dark leather couch, the kind that swallows your weight in seconds. I shrugged my jacket off and tossed it carelessly beside me. My parents would have frowned at that. “A man o
