Noah stood by the kitchen counter, his phone resting face down, like it had just given him bad news.
“My mother wants to meet you.”
I blinked. “You told her?”
“I didn’t have a choice. She saw the interview. My grandfather too.”
“And they still want to meet me?”
He gave a short, dry laugh. “Want is a stretch. Let’s say… they’ve decided it’s necessary.”
There it was, the invisible line I’d been waiting to cross. We dressed up and went to visit them.
The Bennetts’ estate looked like something out of a modern-day monarchy. White columns, trimmed hedges, silver-plated lion statues flanking the stairs but nothing was as cold as the woman who opened the door.
Estelle Bennett. Noah’s mom looked polished, severe, and beautiful in a way that felt weaponized.
She didn’t greet me, instead, sh
