Maeve’s POV
The simple red sauce pasta was a hit. We set the large glass bowl on the center of the wooden dining table, and for the first time since I stepped foot into the Vance estate, the giant house felt like an actual home instead of a cold stone vault.
Ryan sat right beside me, his small legs swinging beneath his chair as he ate every bite on his plate. Eleanor sat across from us, watching the boy with a soft, affectionate expression before turning her full attention to me.
She did not ask about the High Council. She did not ask about the press release or the political war with the Blackwood family. Instead, she asked simple, thoughtful questions about my studio, the paintings I loved, and how Gawain and I had built the business together from scratch to honor my mother’s memory.
