A laugh catches in my throat, soft and disbelieving. A door thatlocks. Not to keep me in, but to keep everyone else out.
Just me. This is mine.
I drift through the space slowly, touching everything just to make sure it’s real. The rows of books. The windowsill cushion, still warm from the sun. The silver-rimmed lamp beside the bed.
I sit on the bed and it’s like I’m sinking into a cloud.
The tears come out of nowhere. Not loud, not ugly—just quiet streaks down my cheeks as I bury my face in a pillow that smells like lavender and clean cotton.
This room is mine. No yelling outside the door. No footsteps I have to hold my breath through. No fear. No Daniel.
The air iswarm and faintly perfumed, carrying the distant scent of rosemary and garlic, sharp and inviting, threading through the corridors. It lures me forward, toward the dining room, where I’m supposed to sit as if I belong here. My stomach twists, part nerves, part hunger, and I keep my gaze straight ahead, shoulders squared, pretending I don’t feel the weight of every step or the grandeur pressing in from all sides.
I feel like I’m being watched, even though I haven’t seen anyone. The sconces flicker with soft golden light.
The double doors at the end of the hall are already open.
Lucian stands as I enter. He’s at the head of a long, elegant table, the kind you only ever see in movies. A chandelier spills soft light across a white linen runner, flanked by silver and crystal. Everything gleams.
And at the far end of the table, a girl sits.
She straightens immediately when she sees me. Blonde hair pulled into a neat low ponytail, sharp cheekbones, pink lipstick. Her dress matches her nails, and the moment I meet her eyes, she lights up with a smile that’s so bright it throws me off balance.
“You’re here,” she says, standing up. “Hi! I’m Dakota.”
She crosses the room with the eager steps of someone who’s been waiting for this moment.
Lucian’s voice cuts through the hum in my ears. “Isobel, come in. This is my wife, Adrienne. And this?—”
“I’m her stepsister,” Dakota finishes, beaming. “Technically. But who cares about technicalities?”
Adrienne rises too, elegant in that unbothered way only rich women seem to master. She offers me a small, cool smile. “Welcome, Isobel. I hope your room is comfortable.”
“It is,” I say, still trying to find my footing. “Thank you.”
Dakota gestures to the seat beside her. “Come sit. I saved you a spot. I mean, technically the housekeeper did, but I told her to.”
Lucian gives a quiet chuckle and pulls out my chair as I cross the room. I sit down, feeling like every movement is being documented, but Dakota’s warm gaze never wavers.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” she says as the first course is placed in front of us. “I’ve known about you for a while now, well, I knew there was someone. I just didn’t think I’d actually get to meet you.”
“Yeah. Me neither.” I manage a small smile, still unsure what to do with this version of events.
“Lucian told me everything,” Dakota says, reaching for her glass of water. “I mean, not everything-everything. But enough. And I just want you to know. I’m really glad you’re here. Seriously.”
Her voice is open, a little nervous even.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet.
For a beat, the room settles. Cutlery clinks against porcelain. Adrienne sips her wine. Lucian watches me with something close to relief.
Dakota twists her fork between her fingers, then leans in just slightly.
“Do you… like it here so far? I know it’s a lot all at once, but I really hope it doesn’t feel awful.”
That catches me off guard. I blink. “It’s… not awful.”
Dakota lets out a soft laugh. “Okay, that’s fair. We’ll work our way up to kind of okay next.”
