The black Elford sedan rolled through the iron gates of the estate with the smooth silence of a machine long accustomed to elegance. Past marble lions, past sculpted hedges and ancient sycamores. Up the winding path that led to the mansion—a structure carved from wealth, legacy, and ruthless ambition.
Inside the car, Damien sat still. Composed. Dressed in dark tailored fabric that no longer strained at the shoulders or bunched at the stomach. The clothes hugged his frame now—shaped by precision, not indulgence.
Beside him, Elysia rode in silence. Her posture straight, hands folded in her lap, gaze forward. But her eyes would flick to him now and then. Brief glances. Soft. Calculated. Like she still hadn't grown used to the change, like she was verifying he was real.
The driver pulled up to the grand entrance. A valet already waited at the top of the steps, bowing low before the car had even stopped.
The door opened with a muted click.
Damien stepped out first.
