He smiles faintly. “It’s warmer than it looks.”
A woman steps forward from the hall—tall, sleek, with perfect posture and cool eyes. She's in her forties, maybe. Impeccably dressed.
“This is Elara,” Lucian says. “House manager. She runs the estate. Anything you need—clothes, toiletries, space—just tell her.”
“Welcome, Miss Ashthorne,” Elara says with a graceful nod, like I’m royalty instead of a stray dragged in off the street.
“Nice to meet you.” I try to force a smile onto my face, but I’m not sure I succeed. “Please just call me Isobel.”
“Would you like a tour?” Lucian gestures.
“I’m going to need a map.”
“That can be arranged.” He chuckles.
A large living room with a fireplace and cushioned seats. A formal dining room with a long, opulent dining table.
We pass a portrait of a woman in a high-necked gown with a hawk perched on her arm.
“She looks like she’d stab someone with a knitting needle.”
Lucian glances over. “That’s Margot Ashthorne. Your great great great great grandmother. She probably did.”
We push through a set of double doors, and it’s like stepping into a dream.
Books line every wall, floor to ceiling, with rolling ladders and iron balconies along the second level. There’s a spiral staircase winding up into the soft light that filters through the stained-glass dome overhead. Velvet chairs in deep blues and emeralds are scattered around a sunken fireplace. It’s warm here, even though no fire burns.
“This is my new favorite room.” I look around in awe.
“I’m not surprised.” Lucian chuckles. “Come back whenever you want.”
“I definitely will.” I smile as he leads us back out. Albeit, somewhat reluctantly on my side.
He shows me the kitchens—somehow bigger than the dining room—then the back terrace where the gardens stretch toward the tree line.
The gardens roll out in layered tiers with hedges trimmed to perfection, beds bursting with soft peonies, lavender, and strange flowers I don’t even recognize. Stone paths snake through them, curving around marble statues half-sunk in ivy and time. There’s a koi pond, of course. There’s always a koi pond in rich people movies. But here it’s real, orange and white shapes drifting beneath lily pads.
We head down one of the stone paths, and he shows me the greenhouse. It’s all glass and iron bones, full of filtered sunlight and the smell of damp moss. Inside, it’s warm and misty, alive with vines, herbs, and exotic plants that stretch for the ceiling. There’s a little table and two wrought-iron chairs tucked in the corner.
“I used to come here when I needed to think,” Lucian says, brushing his fingers across a lavender stalk. “Still do, sometimes.”
After the greenhouse, he leads me toward what looks like an outbuilding—stone, similar to the rest of the estate, but newer.
He punches in a code, and the door slides open into a modern dream.
It’s a gym. Full floor-to-ceiling mirrors, polished floors, free weights, machines I don’t know the names of, even a boxing setup in the corner. There’s a small fridge filled with water bottles, and sleek storage cabinets stocked with everything from towels to wraps and protein bars.
We exit through a side door, and the path curves again—this time to a hidden courtyard. And there, nestled in a serene oasis, is a pool.
Long and light blue, surrounded by chaise lounges and trailing vines. A glass wall to the side reveals a pool house, stocked with towels, speakers, and—yes—a minibar.
I blink. “This is insane.”
Lucian gives a small laugh. “It’s a lot. I know.”
“It’s not just a lot. It’s another planet.”
Lucian leads us back into the house, showing me which way to his office if I ever need him. My head is spinning as we make our way to the main foyer where Elara is just walking in from the other side of the house.
