It had been two weeks since I was brought to the Kingston estate—three long, stifling weeks.Sebastian was rarely around. I’d only seen him five times in total, and always at night. Sylvia had said he was busy at the Capitol, staying late to work—whatever that meant. I didn’t ask questions. I don’t really care.Nathaniel had left the day after the shootout, off to one of his “hunting trips” or whatever it was he called them. Sylvia, too, had been gone a lot lately, flitting between charity events, luncheons, and high-society affairs that I was not yet “ready” to attend, in her words.So, I was left alone in the house.At first, the silence unnerved me. Every corridor felt like it was watching. But as the days passed, I began to notice some things.The staff were polite, cautious, but kind in their own way. They called me “Madam” or “Mrs. Lorelie,” and I hated how strange it still felt to hear. The gardener, a quiet man in his sixties named Elias, tended to the rose garden every mornin
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