Abigail's POV
The wrought-iron gates groaned open with a shiver of ancient wealth and tightly leashed power. Vicky stepped out of the sleek black car, her lips parting in awe as her eyes devoured the mansion before us. It rose from the earth like a monument to dominance; cream-stone pillars stretching skyward, crowned by archways dripping in violet bougainvillea that fluttered in the scorching sun like royal banners. The scent of blooming roses and trimmed cypress danced in the heat.
Vicky’s eyes glittered like a child’s at the gates of a wonderland. She spun in place on the marble floor, her heels clicking in rapid staccato, the sound echoing like a heartbeat chasing excitement.
“Holy goddess,” she breathed, shielding her eyes against the brilliance. “This place could house ten packs
