The Vexley mansion stretched across the horizon like something torn from a painting—grand, cold, untouchable. Under the bruised indigo sky, its spires pierced upward like watchtowers, the ivy creeping over stone walls as though even nature longed to claim it back. The lawns were trimmed to perfection, not a blade of grass out of place, yet to Eliana Bennett it all felt sterile, suffocating. Luxury wrapped in steel. A palace, yes—but to her, it was a prison with fancy locks.
Five days had slipped by since she had stood in the hospital and finally said it out loud—her resignation. The words had cost her, like tearing something alive from her chest. And yet, she was still here. Still walking these echoing halls where every corner seemed to breathe Rafael's name. Each day had blurred into a silent tug of war: her resolve against his persistence, her desire for freedom against the weight of promises she couldn't quite abandon.
