The mansion felt less like a building and more like a living thing. Vines crept along carved pillars. Hanging plants draped from balconies and archways, spilling blossoms in every color across polished floors. Water trickled softly from hidden fountains, weaving through narrow channels that ran along the hallways like veins. Even the air carried the earthy perfume of moss and orchids, clinging to skin and hair as though the house itself demanded you breathe it in.
Leo could not tell where the greenhouse ended and the mansion began.
The deeper they went, the wilder it seemed, though never disordered. It was a cultivated wilderness, every flowerbed and ivy-draped wall placed with intention. The wealth showed in the marble floors and antique furniture, but the life growing around it all softened the edges, making it feel less like a home for men and more like a sanctuary claimed by the green.
