Morning came to the estate like a cautious visitor—birds daring to sing where silence usually ruled.
Usually, the mornings here were clinical—the sound of silent vacuums in distant rooms, the rhythmic clink of silver being polished by invisible hands, and the oppressive weight of a house waiting for its master to dictate the temperature of the day.
But today, the air in the grand kitchen was thick with the scent of caramelized onions, roasted bell peppers, and smoky cumin. It was a smell that didn't belong in a museum; it belonged in a home.
Eloise was already awake.
She stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair loosely tied back, wearing one of the new casual outfits she had bought the day before—a soft oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder and fitted pants rolled at the ankles. Nothing extravagant. Nothing designed to impress. And yet, the kitchen felt fuller with her in it, warmer in a way the estate had never learned to replicate with architecture alone.
