SERAPHINA’S POV
It had been more than a decade since I’d last driven down the long, cobblestone path to the Lockwood estate.
The gates loomed just as I remembered them—tall, wrought iron bars curling into elegant, merciless shapes.
Once, I used to think they looked like vines protecting a sanctuary. Now, I saw only the prison they were.
The gates creaked open as we approached, their slow groan slicing through the quiet afternoon air.
Daniel was practically bouncing in his seat, his face pressed against the window as the familiar expanse unfolded before us.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The manor was as imposing as ever—gray-bricked, symmetrical, magnificent. The slate roof glinted faintly under the late afternoon sun, the pale stone façade catching light in that same proud, cold way.
The sight of my childhood home should have filled me with nostalgia. Instead, I just felt hollow.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance.
