VENUSWhen we returned to the table, Andrea was already gone.No dramatic exit. No storming heels or slammed doors. Just her empty wineglass—and the scent of her chaos, lingering like cheap perfume in a velvet room.“She said she had something important to get to,” Rosemary offered with a polite smile.Right. Something important.Like poisoning the air then vanishing before it turned on her.Lunch wrapped fast after that.Connor cracked some joke about the “bloodbath in Bordeaux.” Alanna giggled, bless her naive little heart. Sabine met my eyes with a smirk so smug I wanted to flick her forehead. But Aaron? He was too calm. That dangerous kind of calm. The kind that screams without sound. And when Rosemary stood, her voice soft as silk, announcing dinner would be at seven and that we were free to wander, I swear—every soul in that room exhaled.The storm had passed. But no one was foolish enough to believe the skies were clear.People scattered like leaves.I headed toward the west c
VENUSThe silence that followed her entrance wasn’t awkward.It was loaded.Andrea stood at the threshold like she knew she was the disruption. Like she’d rehearsed this moment—how she’d walk in, how we’d all freeze, how her name would echo in our heads like a warning bell.And it did.Even Alanna, mid-story about a sandstorm, stopped mid-sentence—her wide eyes fixed on the stranger who now commanded every breath in the room.Rosemary stood, graceful as ever, smoothing her dress and offering a warm, measured smile.“Andrea,” she said lightly. “You’re here?”Andrea stepped inside, heels clicking with surgical precision.“I saw you at the gala yesterday,” she replied, her voice all velvet and smoke. “Thought I’d drop by and say hi. I hope I’m not imposing.”She didn’t sound sorry. Not even a little.I glanced at Aaron. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed. But his grip on the wineglass? White-knuckled. His jaw tight, unreadable.Andrea’s gaze swept the room—Rosemary. Silas. Connor.And t
VENUSThe dining room was a cathedral of elegance—arched windows kissing the ceiling, a chandelier dripping with crystal like a thousand frozen teardrops, and a table long enough to host a royal inquisition. I took my seat beside Aaron, hyper-aware of the heat still lingering on my lips… and the silence that followed after.The first to arrive was Sabine.She walked in like she owned the floor—the house, even. Her navy silk dress clung to her like it was part of her skin, heels tapping softly against marble, chin high and smile effortless. She didn’t just move through the space… she commanded it."Rosemary!" she called warmly, crossing the room with arms already open.Rosemary lit up like the sun. “Sabine, darling.”The hug that followed was long, familiar. Intimate.“Look at you,” Rosemary cooed, pulling back. “More stunning every time I see you.”"You’re the one aging backwards," Sabine grinned. "Seriously, I need your skincare routine. That serum from France or are you just living
VENUSAaron led me through the house like he was gliding through a memory—one carefully preserved and painfully untouched. Each hallway echoed with quiet opulence, the air heavy with the scent of polished wood, aged books, and something faintly floral—like a home holding its breath.“This used to be my grandfather’s room anytime he visited,” he said, nodding toward a room with a door slightly ajar, its shadows untouched by light. “No one goes in there now.”I didn’t ask why. Some silences are sacred, too brittle to touch.We passed five—maybe six—guest rooms, a sprawling library that looked like it belonged in a Gothic manor, and a sunroom that still smelled faintly of lavender and dust. Every detail was flawless. The home was alive, yes… but frozen. As though time had chosen this place to stop and never restart.“Your mom really keeps it together,” I murmured, fingers trailing the curved wooden rail as we ascended the staircase.“She does,” he said. But something in his voice tighten
VENUSThe next day, we drove toward the wealthier end of New York City—the kind of neighborhood that whispered old money and high gates. It was a private community, the kind where names mattered more than numbers, and silence was stitched into the lawns.When we finally pulled up to the house, I had to blink twice. It was massive. A sprawling driveway curled like a ribbon across the estate, leading to a fountain and a collection of luxury cars that looked like they’d never seen a red light."You grew up here?" I asked, wide-eyed.“Most of the time, yeah.”“It’s beautiful.”“My mom keeps it alive.”We reached the front doors—towering, regal, and carved with patterns that probably had a story behind them. Even from the outside, the house pulsed with elegance. I hadn't stepped inside, and yet it already felt like a museum wrapped in warmth.A maid answered the door, but she didn’t even get a full greeting out before—“Ronny!”A little girl came flying through the glass doors, arms flung
VENUSStanding behind me was the Rosemary Carter—Aaron Sinclair’s birth mother."You didn’t tell me you were back. We spoke just yesterday,” he said, rising to his feet.Her smile was soft, voice softer. “I thought I’d surprise you.”I stood too, instinctively taking my place beside Aaron.“Mom,” he said, one arm gently guiding me closer, “this is Venus. My wife.”He turned to me. “Venus, my mom—Rosemary Carter.”I’d expected... more. She was elegant, yes—but not the intimidating kind. Her posture was easy, her aura warm. Stunning without trying, and not at all the fragile woman people had whispered about.Why the hell were they calling her sick?“Good evening, ma’am,” I said, offering my hand. Sue me—I panicked.She ignored it and pulled me into a hug. “Ma’am? Do I look that old?”I blinked, startled—then laughed, a little breathless. “Sorry. Habit.”“You’re beautiful,” she said warmly.“Thank you,” I murmured, cheeks heating.“Call me Rose. Makes me feel young again.”“You’re not ev