The house still felt unfamiliar to her.
Despite its warmth and elegance, the Grigoras home wasn't a place Aneira had grown up in. The walls carried no echoes of her laughter. The floors didn't remember the tap of her childhood feet. Every hallway, every polished corner, belonged to someone else's past. To Sophia's.
And yet, today, it was Aneira in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair loosely tied, standing barefoot on the cool tiles as she stirred a pot of stew. The scent of garlic and thyme filled the air, wrapping the room in something that felt like a memory that might one day be hers.
She had gently refused help from the housekeeper, who understood enough not to argue and had slipped out without a word. Haisley, quiet and hesitant, had finally come downstairs at Aneira's insistence. Aiden had joined them too, leaning against the counter earlier, arms crossed, offering quiet company before helping set the table.
