The Jones estate had always been a fortress of old money and quiet power, but for the first time, Emma felt its walls embrace her like a shield.
Sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the guest suite William had prepared for her, casting golden patterns over the antique furnishings. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread that had lived in her bones for years.
William stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the sprawling gardens below. He turned when Emma entered, his sharp eyes softening at the sight of her— her hands folded protectively over her stomach, her face still bearing the ghosts of exhaustion.
"You look better already," he remarked, pouring her a cup of tea from the silver service. "This house has a way of healing."
