I stared at the guest house through the rain-streaked window of the SUV, the wipers thumping like a heartbeat I couldn’t slow. The estate’s back property—far enough from the main house to feel separate, close enough to remind me I wasn’t free. Markus had arranged it years ago as overflow for guests, a tidy two-story cottage with ivy on the brick and a small fenced yard. Now it was ours. For two years. Or until the project was done. Or until I broke and ran again.
The triplets pressed their faces to the glass, eyes wide.
“Is this a castle?” Jasmine whispered.
“More like a fancy dollhouse,” Jamin said, already unimpressed.
Jaden just watched quietly, gray eyes taking in everything.
Mrs. Juliet’s sitter had driven us here straight from the funeral. I’d told the kids we were staying for a
