Semua Bab My Billionaire Ex- Husband’s Nemesis : Bab 161 - Bab 170

ARIA'S POVThe sky above the western ridge had shifted to a deep, velvety indigo, dotted with the first bright prickles of evening stars, by the time the heavy wooden hand mill was bolted securely to the end of the long oak board.The mill was a magnificent, ancient piece of equipment, two thick discs of dressed mountain granite enclosed in a polished beechwood casing, turned by a long iron crank handle with a smoothed hickory grip. Julian had oil-rubbed the iron gears after the winnowing was done, and now the mechanism sat ready on the porch, gleaming softly under the amber light of two hanging oil lamps."Fill the hopper half-full, Maya," Elizabeth instructed, her voice a calm, comforting anchor as the household gathered around the expanded board. "Not too high, or the stones will choke on the first pass. We want a fine, silk-soft flour for tonight's harvest loaf."Maya leaned over the wooden hopper, using a carved birch scoop to transfer two generous helpings of the clean, golden

ARIA'S POVThe morning dew had barely evaporated from the high stone walls when Elizabeth stepped out onto the sunlit terrace, a stack of woven split-oak baskets cradled in her arms.While the men spent the morning in the upper barn loft hoisting two hundred pounds of clean wheat into Kat’s iron-strapped cedar chests, the lower valley belonged to a quieter, sweeter rhythm. The long stretch of dry-stacked granite wall that marked the eastern boundary of the orchard was thick with tangled wild blackberry canes. Heavy, dark, and swollen with the summer's late heat, the clusters hung in heavy clusters over the grey stone, scenting the warm air with the perfume of ripe fruit and sun-warmed earth."If we don't pick them today, the autumn thrushes will harvest them for us by tomorrow night," Elizabeth remarked, setting three wide baskets down on the long oak table under the porch roof. She looked over at Maya and me with a knowing spark in her eyes behind her brass-rimmed spectacles. "A

ARIA'S POVBy two o'clock in the afternoon, the heat down in the lower gorge was thick and heavy, trapped between the high granite walls of the creek bed.The upper waterwheel, a twelve foot structure of dense white oak that powered the estate’s wood turning lathe and the secondary grain mill sat motionless in its stone race. The creek water had been diverted through the timber bypass sluice, sending a torrent of foam and spray churning over the mossy rocks below, leaving the giant wooden wheel hanging dry, exposed, and silent in the shade of the hemlocks.For three years, the upper wheel had turned without complaint. But last week, during the heavy timber hauling for the loft floor, one of the three inch iron binding hoops that held the outer oak rim together had buckled under stress, splitting clean through at the weld. Without a sound outer hoop to clamp the radial spokes, the wheel would warp, bind against its granite housing, and tear its own axle tree to splinters within a sea

ARIA'S POVThe music faded into the cool night air as Julian drew the willow pipe from his lips, letting the final, sweet note linger until it dissolved into the rush of the creek below. Around the fire pit, the embers shifted with a soft crackle, throwing a sudden burst of orange light across the faces gathered on the terrace.No one spoke for a long moment. The warmth of the song held us in its grip, a shared breath shared by fifteen souls who had found their way to the same high valley.Then, down by the lower gorge, a metallic sound cut through the steady hum of the waterwheel.It wasn't the natural groan of the oak timbers or the familiar slap of the current against the stone race. It was a sharp, rhythmic clink tap, the unmistakable sound of iron shod boots stepping cautiously onto the oak planks of the newly reinforced lower bridge.In an instant, the gentle atmosphere on the terrace shifted. It didn't break into panic, the valley had long outgrown the frantic fear that once

ARIA'S POVMorning broke over the valley in shades of soft gold and pale slate gray. By seven o'clock, the dew was still heavy on the terrace grass, but the outdoor summer kitchen was already bustling with quiet, purposeful life. A gentle column of sweet birch smoke drifted up from the stone hearth pit, carrying the rich, toasted aroma of roasted barley coffee and griddle cakes cooked on the cast-iron plate.Nora sat on the edge of the long oak bench, wrapped in a thick wool blanket Elizabeth had laid across her shoulders. The grey dust of the road was gone she had washed her face and hands at the cold spring trough before dawn revealing a face that was far younger than she had seemed under the starlight last night. She held her stoneware mug in both hands, watching the morning light creep down the eastern granite ridge with an expression of quiet, disbelieving wonder."I haven't seen a valley this still in three years," Nora said softly, her eyes tracking the smooth, rhythmic spin