SCARLETT
The mansion felt different after Monaco.
Same marble floors, same high ceilings, same cold beautiful rooms that reflected the man who owned them. But something had shifted in me that made all of it feel smaller and more suffocating than it had before. Like returning to a jar after briefly understanding what open air felt like.
We arrived back late afternoon, the cars pulling through the iron gates with the quiet efficiency of Simon's world. Mom went straight to unpacking with the focused energy of someone already planning the next trip. Ethan carried my bag to the door, hugged mom warmly, and gave me a quiet look at the threshold that said several things he wasn't going to say out loud.
"Call me," he said simply.
"I will," I said.
He left and I watched his car clear the gate
