Chapter eight
Vivienne Hart POV
°°°
I'm going to crack a muscle or two from the way I'm straining my neck muscles as I look around the place I'm brought to. The driver from the salon was almost an hour long, and I remained quiet throughout the journey. The silence was terrifying, but it was better than my stuttering words.
This place screams royalty.
It's his home.
That's what he told me,
“Welcome home, little one.”
His words are still echoing in the back of my head like a taint whisper that will be buried in my head.
Home?
Does he even believe in that word?
Because for some reason, he looked distant and sounded distant. And there's no chance in hell that I would even consider this place a home.
But what's home anyway?
The one I shared with my mother before she died?
Or
