The Al-Siyufi estate felt different upon their return. The grand halls, once merely cold, now felt heavy with the weight of the name Adam had whispered in Milan. *Sarah.* Adam had retreated into his study the moment they stepped through the door, his silence more absolute than ever. He was a man rebuilding his walls, brick by frozen brick. Layla, however, was done being a ghost in his house.
She waited until the grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight. The servants had long since retired, and the only sound was the distant, rhythmic ticking that felt like a countdown.
She didn't head for the West Wing this time. Instead, she slipped into the library—a vast, circular room lined with thousands of books Adam likely never read. She wasn't looking for literature; she was looking for t
