Mag-log inThe estate was quieter than it should have been. Salma stood in the foyer for a long moment after the front doors closed behind her. Aria’s car had already disappeared down the long drive. The sound of it was gone, and the faint scent of her perfume still lingered near the entrance, thin and fading. Salma breathed it in once, then let it go. She walked through the ground-floor corridor toward the sitting room she and Aria had used most often during the final days. A soft scarf, the color of late autumn leaves, lay draped over the back of a chair. Salma picked it up. The fabric was soft, she held it against her palm, her thumb moving once across the edge, then she folded it carefully and set it on the side table. In the quiet that followed, she caught herself listening for the soft sound of Aria’s voice from the next room. The habit was still there. She let the expectation rise and fall without fighting it. Then she turned and walked toward the garden doors. Devon was
The morning Aria left, it was drizzling.Aria stood in the suite that had been hers for the final stretch of her recovery, looking at the small suitcase beside the door.It was strange seeing it there.For weeks, everything she owned had been reduced to what could fit within reach of a hospital bed. Medication, water, a phone, and a few changes of clothes. Now there was a suitcase again. Something about that made leaving feel real.The cardiac team had given their final clearance the evening before. The specialists were all gone, the last leaving after signing her discharge. The nurses had already thinned to a single quiet presence who would accompany her as far as the car and remain with her through the final departure arrangements.Aria looked around the room one last time. She had never expected to become attached to it.And yet, it had held the last weeks of her life inside the Wellington Estate. It had held the first morning she had walked without assistance. The first time she h
Aria had started finding her way around the estate without thinking about every step. Her body still reminded her when she pushed too far, and some afternoons she needed to sit longer than she wanted to admit. But she no longer needed someone beside her every second. The nurses still checked on her regularly, and the medical team had not completely loosened their grip on her recovery. Still, the estate no longer felt like a place she was trapped inside. It felt like somewhere she was preparing to leave. That realization had been sitting quietly in the back of her mind for weeks. She stood near the window of her suite, watching two gardeners work farther across the grounds. One of them was Elias, the new gardener Devon had hired after weeks of complaining about applications. Even from this distance, Aria could see the difference in the garden. Behind her, someone knocked. Salma stood in the doorway. Salma had changed since the last time Aria had known her intimately eno
SALMA Salma stood in front of the long mirror in her dressing room and looked at herself in a way she had not allowed herself to for weeks. Morning light spilled through the windows, catching the fuller line of her breasts beneath her camisole and the gentle, unmistakable curve of her stomach. She was three months pregnant now. Her body had softened. There was healthy weight in her hips, and a roundness to her face that had not been there before. She turned slightly, pressing a palm against the small of her back where a familiar ache had begun to settle. From this angle, the small bump was noticeable. She stared at her reflection for a long moment. Then she smiled. She dressed slowly, choosing a blouse that no longer hid everything and a pair of soft trousers. When she stepped into the corridor, the house was already awake. By the time she reached the kitchen, Shane was already there, a tablet in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear. “The shipment doesn't leave until the sec
ARIA POVAria had left the medical wing on a Friday with a nurse walking half a step behind her. After a week of waking up and constant physical therapy, her legs were still a little wobbly, and every few steps she had to pause and let the dizziness settle. The nurse never rushed her.She had not realized how large the estate truly was until she was moving through it on her own feet, days after she had been moved to another wing on the ground floor. She passed the grand parlour first. It had high ceilings, heavy furniture that looked as though it had not been rearranged in years, and a fireplace that held no ashes. And beyond it was the common family area, which opened into the kitchen.The kitchen was the first place that felt properly alive. The room was enormous—marble counters, wide windows, and enough space to feed a small army without ever feeling crowded. Aria stopped at the doorway and watched silently.Devon stood at the island with two laptops open and a phone pressed betwee
ARIA POVAria woke to the sound of her own breathing. For several seconds she lay still, staring at the white ceiling while her lungs pulled air in, released it, and pulled in another breath without help.The rhythm was almost too ordinary to notice, yet it was the first thing she became conscious of. She had forgotten how strange breathing could feel when it was no longer automatic. Her chest ached with every deeper breath. Her throat felt scraped raw. A persistent dryness sat beneath her tongue and made swallowing uncomfortable. And her limbs seemed to belong to someone else—heavy and weak beneath the sheets.But she was breathing. On her own.She slowly turned her head. A nurse adjusted something on the monitor beside her bed. Another stood near the foot, checking the chart. Then memory returned. Not all of it. Fragments. Pain. White lights. Voices. Hands. The sensation of drowning and then being pulled back.And Salma.Two days ago, she had woken to an empty room, confused about w







