The morning after the siege, Thorne Manor didn't feel like a cold, hollow prison anymore. It felt like a fortress that had finally found its true commander. The air inside the house was different lighter, cleaner as if the very walls were exhaling after years of holding their breath. I stood on the wide balcony of the master suite, the cool morning breeze tugging at the silk of my robe. I watched the sun crawl over the Manhattan skyline, painting the glass towers in shades of gold and amber.
Below, in the gravel driveway, the scene was one of absolute, silent destruction. A fleet of black SUVs was being loaded with the last of Victoria’s designer luggage and antique trunks. I watched from above as Silas’s mother, the woman who had spent years trying to erase me from existence, was ushered
