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“It was,” Henrietta agreed, a tender smile touching her lips. “He told me half that mansion was going to look entirely different once you finally stopped being stubborn and moved your things in. He wanted you there. He wanted his family under that roof.”

“He was the stubborn one,” I whispered, blinking against the sudden burn behind my eyelids.

“Both of you were impossible,” Henrietta said, shaking her head. “But I couldn’t see that boy with anybody else. And Caspian knew one thing for damn sure. If things, for some reason, didn’t work out between y’all, he better not have brought some other woman around me expecting me to smile in her face and act like everything was fine. I’m not one of those mothers who thinks, if my son likes it, I love it, and I’m automatically standing behind every decision he makes just because he’s mine. Nope! I love you too much for that. I love my son too, but if Caspian had messed things up with you, that would’ve been between y’all. But he knew better than to think I was about to welcome some replacement with open arms and pretend I didn’t know what he lost.”

Even though Caspian and I never made it down the aisle, Henrietta had been treating me like her daughter-in-law long before marriage was even on the table.

As far as she was concerned, I was already family, and nobody could convince her otherwise. Hell, I wouldn’t have dared tell that woman I wasn’t officially her daughter-in-law, because she would’ve probably cussed me out and reminded me that a piece of paper didn't determine who belonged in her family. Six years without Caspian hadn't changed that either. She still loved me, still checked on me, and never once made me feel like my place in her life had disappeared along with her son.

Henrietta paused, letting the silence settle between us before speaking again. “I’ve kept that property running for six years, Lakelyn, but renting it out has been a disaster.”

I looked back at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Because of the rumors?”

Henrietta sighed, adjusting the strap of her handbag. “You’ve heard the stories.”

“Bits and pieces. Willow claimed people were calling it haunted.”

Henrietta chuckled softly and shook her head. “I don’t know about haunted, but I do know that house has made it very clear over the years when it didn’t care for somebody.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means people go in there thinking they’re about to enjoy a beautiful estate, and a few days later they’re throwing clothes into suitcases at three in the morning with half their shit still hanging in the closet.”

I chuckled.

Henrietta adjusted the strap of her handbag, still amused by it. “After that first family fled before they’d even been there twenty-four hours, I convinced myself they had simply gotten spooked. Then six months later, I rented it to a corporate executive on temporary relocation. She lasted four days before calling the agency in the middle of the night claiming she heard footsteps pacing the upstairs hallway outside her door every night at two in the morning.”

A strange, prickling chill ran down the back of my neck. I kept my expression guarded. “Old houses settle. Floorboards creak.”

“Yeah, I thought the same,” Henrietta replied. “Then, about a year later, a couple stayed three weeks. They reported deadbolts locking from the inside and the sound of somebody moving weights around in the basement gym before sunrise. One morning, they came downstairs and found a heavy commercial treadmill halfway down the central staircase. It had been unplugged, and the wheel locks were still engaged.”

A chill crept across the back of my neck.

Floorboards creaking, I could explain. Old wiring, faulty locks, even people scaring themselves after hearing rumors about the place… fine. But a treadmill didn’t unplug itself, unlock its own wheels long enough to travel up a staircase, lock them again, and decide to park in the middle of it.

I stared at her. “And after that, you still rented the house out?”

Henrietta gave me a slightly embarrassed look. “One more time. But only because every inspection came back clean, and I kept convincing myself there had to be a reasonable explanation.”

“Well, they’re clearly not there now, so what happened? And how long did they last?”

“Six days.”

I rolled my eyes.

Of course they did.

Henrietta’s expression shifted. “According to the couple, the first few days were actually quiet. I only knew this because I called and checked in just to make sure they had settled in. However, on the sixth night, things took a turn for the worse. Apparently, they were sitting in the kitchen talking about whether they should extend the lease. The woman said she suddenly felt dizzy. The guy asked if she was all right, but instead of answering him, she just sat there staring straight ahead. Then she turned toward him and said, ‘You probably shouldn’t extend shit. She’s fucking your best friend.’ He said it was still her voice, but wrong somehow—deeper, rougher, and carrying a tone that didn’t sound anything like her.”

I frowned. “Like somebody else was talking through her?”

Henrietta nodded slowly. “That’s exactly how he described it. It was different enough that he knew immediately something was off. He even thought for a second that his girlfriend was making some kind of sick joke. He asked her what the hell she was talking about, and she told him that she and his best friend had been sleeping together for months.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Right. But it got worse.” Henrietta pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile despite herself. “She went into detail. She told him where it started, how many times it had happened, and then informed him that his friend…” She paused. “Well, let’s just say she compared the two men in a way no boyfriend ever wants to hear. I am not repeating that part.” She shook her head. “After she finished telling him about the affair, she went completely quiet for a few seconds. When she spoke again, he said it wasn’t her voice anymore.”

I stared at Henrietta. “What do you mean it wasn’t her voice?”