Elena's POV
"You remember me?"
The words tumble out before I can stop them. Adrian's gray eyes hold mine and I feel like I'm falling into deep water.
"Of course I remember you." His voice is soft but it seems to fill the entire entryway. "You taught me how to mix paint colors. You said blue and yellow don't just make green—they make hope."
My heart stutters. I said that? I don't remember teaching a little boy about painting. But looking at Adrian now, something stirs in my memory. A small child with messy dark hair. Curious eyes watching me work in Grandmother's studio.
"You were so little," I whisper.
"I was eight." Adrian takes a step closer. "You were sixteen and you let me help you paint. No one else in this family ever let me do anything creative."
Sophia makes a disgusted sound in her throat. "How touching. The prodigal daughter returns and already she's getting attention." She spins on her heel. "I'll tell Father you're here."
She disappears into the house. Her footsteps echo on the marble floor like gunshots.
Martha squeezes my arm. "Don't mind her, dear. She's been difficult since—" She stops suddenly and glances at Adrian.
"Since what?" I ask.
"Since Grandmother died," Adrian finishes quietly. "Everyone's been on edge."
Before I can respond, voices boom from deeper in the house. Angry voices. My father's voice.
"She has nerve showing her face here!"
My entire body goes rigid. That voice still has power over me even after seven years. I hate that it does.
Martha moves closer to me. "You're not alone this time, Elena. Remember that."
Heavy footsteps approach. My instinct screams at me to run back to James's car. To leave before the pain starts again.
But I force my feet to stay planted on the ground.
A man appears in the doorway. He's older now. Gray hair where there used to be brown. Lines around his mouth from years of frowning. But his eyes are the same. Cold. Judging. Disappointed.
"Father," I say. My voice sounds stronger than I feel.
Charles Morgan looks at me like I'm a stain on his expensive floor. "You came."
"The invitation said mandatory attendance."
"I didn't write that invitation," he snaps. "Your grandmother did. Before she died."
A woman appears behind him. Thin. Perfect posture. Ice-blue eyes that match her personality. My stepmother Evelyn.
She doesn't greet me. She just stares like I'm some strange animal in a zoo.
"Charles, we should move this to the sitting room," Evelyn says in her clipped voice. "The neighbors might see."
"Let them see," another voice says.
An older man steps forward. Uncle Philip. He looks like my father but with kinder eyes. He's watching me carefully.
"Elena," Philip says with a small nod. "Welcome back."
"Thank you," I manage to say.
"Don't thank him," my father growls. "You're not welcome here. You gave up that right when you walked out seven years ago."
"You threw me out," I correct him. The words come out sharp. "You told me to marry a man I didn't love or get out of your house."
"I gave you an opportunity—"
"You gave me a nightmare!"
The words explode out of me. Everyone goes silent. Even my father looks shocked.
Martha touches my arm gently but I'm done being quiet. Seven years of anger pour out like a broken dam.
"I was eighteen years old," I say. My voice shakes but I keep going. "Richard Blackwell was fifty. He looked at me like I was a thing he could buy. You tried to sell me, Father. Your own daughter."
"I tried to secure your future," Charles says coldly.
"You tried to control me." Tears burn my eyes but I blink them away. "Well, guess what? I built my own future. Without your money. Without your name. Without any of you."
Evelyn's mouth presses into a thin line. "How noble. And how's that poverty treating you?"
"Better than your misery," I shoot back.
Sophia gasps from somewhere behind Father. Philip coughs to hide what might be a laugh.
My father's face turns red. "You will not speak to your stepmother that way—"
"She's not my mother," I interrupt. "My mother died when I was five. You married Evelyn six months later. She never wanted me around and we all know it."
Evelyn's face goes pale. For once, she has nothing to say.
"That's enough." Adrian's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. He moves to stand beside me. "Elena just arrived. Can we at least let her get inside before the family drama starts?"
My father glares at Adrian. "Stay out of this, nephew. This doesn't concern you."
"Actually, it does." Adrian doesn't back down. "Grandmother left instructions that Elena is to be treated with respect during her stay. Or the entire will gets contested in court."
This is news to me. And to my father, apparently. His eyes narrow dangerously.
"What instructions?"
"Mr. Harrison will explain at the will reading," Adrian says smoothly. "But the short version is: be nice to Elena or lose everything."
Silence falls like a heavy blanket. My father looks like he wants to explode. Evelyn's face is frozen in shock. Even Sophia has gone quiet.
I stare at Adrian. Why is he defending me? We barely know each other.
Philip clears his throat. "Well. That changes things." He looks at me with something that might be respect. "Elena, would you like to see your room? I'm sure you're tired from the drive."
"I'll show her," Adrian offers immediately.
"That's not appropriate," Evelyn says quickly. "She can find her own way—"
"I said I'll show her." Adrian's voice is firm. He looks at me. "Do you have luggage?"
I nod toward the driveway where James is still waiting. "In the car."
"I'll get it." Adrian walks past my father without asking permission.
My father watches him go with suspicious eyes. Then he turns back to me.
"Two weeks," he says. "That's what the will requires. Two weeks and then you leave again. And this time, you don't come back."
"Don't worry," I say quietly. "I wasn't planning to stay any longer than necessary."
He grunts and walks away. Evelyn follows him like a shadow. Sophia lingers for a moment, her eyes full of something I can't read. Then she leaves too.
Only Philip remains. He studies me carefully.
"You've grown up," he says.
"I had to."
"Your grandmother was very proud of you. She told me so many times." He pauses. "She also said you'd need protection when you came back. I didn't understand what she meant. Until now."
"Protection from what?"
"From them." He glances toward where my father disappeared. "From the truth. From yourself." He shakes his head. "Your grandmother was always cryptic. But she was never wrong."
Before I can ask what he means, Adrian returns carrying my small suitcase. It looks tiny in his hands.
"Ready?" he asks me.
No. I'm not ready for any of this.
But I nod anyway.
Martha gives me one more quick hug. "I'll bring tea to your room later," she whispers. "We have much to talk about."
Adrian leads me toward the grand staircase. My legs feel shaky as we climb. The house looks exactly like I remember. Cold. Formal. More like a museum than a home.
"I'm sorry about them," Adrian says as we reach the second floor. "They haven't changed."
"I didn't expect them to."
"Your grandmother hoped they would. She always believed people could grow and change." He glances at me. "She believed that about you too."
"What do you mean?"
"She said you'd come back stronger. Braver. Ready to fight." He stops in front of a door. "She was right."
My old bedroom. I recognize the door immediately. My hand reaches for the handle but Adrian stops me.
"They gave your room to someone else," he says gently. "You're in the guest wing now."
Of course they did. Even my childhood bedroom was taken away.
Adrian leads me down another hallway. "It's actually better. More private. You won't have to hear them arguing at night."
"They still argue?"
"Constantly. Your father and Evelyn barely speak to each other. Sophia is..." He pauses. "Difficult. Uncle Philip tries to keep the peace but it's exhausting."
We stop in front of another door. Adrian opens it and steps aside to let me enter first.
The room is nice. Smaller than my old room but comfortable. A bed. A dresser. A window overlooking the gardens.
Adrian sets my suitcase down. "It's not much but—"
"It's fine," I interrupt. "Thank you. For defending me downstairs."
"Someone had to." He looks at me with those gray eyes that seem to see too much. "Elena, I need to tell you something. About why I remember you so clearly."
My heart beats faster. "What?"
"When you left, I cried for days. My parents didn't understand why. They said you were just a distant cousin. That I barely knew you." He takes a breath. "But you were the only person who ever treated me like I mattered. Like what I thought and felt was important."
Emotions clog my throat. "Adrian—"
"I know it sounds strange. I was just a kid and you probably don't remember most of it. But you changed something in me. You showed me that the Morgan way wasn't the only way to live."
I don't know what to say. This man who's basically a stranger is looking at me like I'm someone important. Someone worth protecting.
"I'm glad you came back," he says softly.
Before I can respond, a voice speaks from the doorway.
"How sweet."
We both spin around.
A woman stands there. Blonde hair. Perfect makeup. Designer clothes that scream money and status. She looks like she belongs in this house. Like she was born to be a Morgan.
Her blue eyes travel from Adrian to me and back again. Something cold flashes across her face.
"Adrian, darling," she says in a sugary voice. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"
Adrian's entire body tenses. "Isabella. I didn't know you were here."
"I arrived early. Your mother invited me." Isabella steps into the room. She moves like a cat. Graceful but dangerous.
She stops right in front of me. She's taller than me. More beautiful. More everything.
"You must be the cousin," she says. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Elena, right? The one who ran away?"
"I left," I correct her. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Isabella tilts her head. "Either way, how interesting that you decided to return after all these years."
The way she says "interesting" makes it sound like an insult.
Adrian moves between us. "Isabella, this is Elena Morgan. Elena, this is Isabella Whitmore. My fiancée."
The word hits me like a punch to the stomach.
Fiancée.
Adrian is engaged.
Of course he is. Men like him don't stay single. Men like him marry women like Isabella. Perfect. Polished. Appropriate.
"Congratulations," I force myself to say.
Isabella's smile grows wider. "Thank you. The wedding is in six months. Adrian and I are very happy together." She links her arm through his possessively. "Aren't we, darling?"
Adrian's jaw tightens. "Isabella—"
"I should let you two settle in." Isabella looks at me one more time. Her eyes are sharp like knives. "Welcome back, Elena. I'm sure these two weeks will be very... enlightening for all of us."
She walks out, pulling Adrian with her. He glances back at me and mouths "I'm sorry" before disappearing into the hallway.
I stand alone in the guest room. My suitcase sits on the floor. The mansion creaks and settles around me.
Adrian is engaged.
He defended me. He remembered me. He looked at me like I mattered.
But he belongs to someone else.
And from the way Isabella looked at me, she's not going to let me forget it.