The Sinclair estate looked different that morning—quieter, heavier, as though the walls themselves understood what the day symbolized. A soft drizzle had washed the driveway at dawn, leaving the air cold and clear, sharpening every scent, every sound.
Inside the guest room, Dianne stood before the mirror, palms pressed to the wooden vanity. Her heart beat steadily—not out of fear this time, but because she knew something in her life was about to shift.
And she was ready for it.
She slipped into the gown Maya had sent up earlier—a deep, liquid gold with a slit that climbed mid-thigh, the fabric hugging her curves like it had been crafted solely for her body. Her curls were styled in soft waves that cascaded down her back, the front pinned to reveal the full symmetry of her face.
Her ski
