ADRIEN'S POV
The car purred down the long, oak-lined driveway, a predator of polished obsidian slicing through the manicured perfection of my past. Each turn of the wheels on the meticulously raked gravel was a turn of the screw in my gut. I hadn't set foot on the Walton estate since I came to talk to Clara about what she did at the spa.
The villa loomed at the end of the drive, less a home and more a monument to dynastic wealth. Its limestone facade, stark and imposing against the gray sky, held no warmth for me. It was a beautiful, cold mausoleum where my childhood was interred.
I cut the engine, and the ensuing silence was heavier than the engine's roar. For a moment, I just sat there, my hands gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel. This was a business meeting, I reminded myself. A necessary, unpleasant merger of my present life with the institution that was my family. Nothing more.
