Camilla.
I didn’t expect to be stunned.
The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of what could only be described as a palace carved out of glass and white marble. I blinked, twice, maybe three times, and even rubbed the edge of my sleeve against my eyes, hoping I wasn’t hallucinating. But no—this was real. This was Grey’s house.
The walls stretched high into the sky, with delicate arches and floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the golden dusk like they were part of the sun itself. A circular driveway curled around a fountain so pristine I could see the rippling reflection of a swan statue balanced in its center. The air smelled like lavender and wealth. There were actual gardeners trimming the already-perfect hedges, and I caught the soft echo of a grand piano playing from inside.
I stood there, frozen. My heart thudded somewhere near my throat. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a moment.
This was his world. And I—what was I doing here?
The image of the slum I left behind fla
