The Rivera estate carried its silence like a weight. Even the vast gardens, once vibrant with laughter and casual chatter of staff and family, seemed subdued. The fountains still spilled their crystalline arcs of water, the roses still bloomed in red fire and pale white elegance, but everything felt muted, as if the world itself had slowed in reverence to grief and worry.
Amara found herself walking along one of the stone pathways after breakfast, her fingers trailing over the iron railing that edged the terrace. Though she was now familiar with the estate, she still felt the slight ache of being a visitor, someone who belonged only because of circumstances that no one wanted.
Sera’s absence haunted the house. Every corridor, every piece of furniture, seemed to whisper her name. And she
