When she looks up and sees me, her whole face brightens. “Good morning.”
Her voice is soft, lilting, hopeful.
I clear my throat and step into the room. “Morning.”
She gestures to the seats across from her. “Care to join?”
I grin faintly, sliding into a chair facing her. There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and warm, before I break it. “The Raf, Miko, and I talked this morning. About the house—our family estate.”
Evi sets down her fork. “Oh?”
“We’re moving operations back there. The east wing’s still livable, and we’ll start repairs soon.”
She nods, eyes curious. “That’s good news. Right?”
I hesitate. “They think you should be in charge of getting things in order.”
Her lips part slightly. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I lean back in my chair, studying her reaction. “Raf wants someone trustworthy to handle the domestic side—inventory, staff, contractors, schedules, all that. Miko thinks you’d be perfect for it.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, she looks overwhelmed. Then a slow smile spreads across her face. “I’d love that. Truly.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods, the light catching in her chestnut hair. “It would feel good to have something useful to do. Something helpful.”
There it is again—that quiet determination that makes her so damn hard to resist.
I nod once, forcing myself to keep it businesslike. “We’ll head over once you’re done with breakfast. I’ll show you what you’re dealing with.”
She tilts her head, catching something in my tone. “That sounds ominous.”
I almost smile. “You’ll see.”
The drive to the house is quiet. The city passes by in fragments—gray streets, flashing lights, the low hum of traffic—but my thoughts are miles away.
By the time we pull up the long, winding driveway, Evi’s eyes are wide. The mansion looms ahead, its facade scarred but standing. Broken windows glint in the morning light. The scent of smoke still lingers faintly, mixed with dust and decay.
Evi steps out of the car, her expression a mix of awe and sorrow. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“Was,” I correct automatically.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “It will be again.”
I can’t help the small huff of laughter that escapes me. “You really believe that?”
She turns fully, her gaze steady. “Just because it’s damaged doesn’t mean it isn’t worth loving.”
That hits harder than she probably means it to—because I doubt she realizes just howdamagedthe husband is that she’s been pouring herself into. And I wonder if she would feel the same way about me if she knew.
I glance away, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Come on. I’ll show you the inside.”
We step through the main doors, and the sound of our footsteps echoes through the hollow space. The air is thick with dust and memory. Sunlight filters through cracks in the walls, casting long, fractured beams across the marble floor.
Evi walks slowly, taking everything in—the torn drapes, the mangled chandeliers, the scattered remnants of furniture.
“It’s… worse than I imagined,” she admits quietly.
