Lilia
There is something sacred about silence when it’s wrapped in wealth.
The kind of silence that hangs around in the Linpson estate is too luxurious to be peaceful, too deliberate to be real. Here, even the wind walks in velvet gloves.
Everything gleams: from the hand-cut crystal chandelier to the polished ivory floor that never dares to creak under pressure. No one here makes noise except it’s orchestrated. Even sorrow is worn like silk.
I stood on the west balcony of the estate, watching the sunlight bleed into the horizon, wine in hand, my fingers curled tightly around the glass's stem, but not from the chill. It was him. Derek Wilson, the man I’d been promised. The man who should already be mine.
But fate, it seems, has a sense of humour.
Her name? Kyria.
The orphan girl w
