Amelia stood in the center of her new apartment's empty living room, her arms folded loosely over her chest, feeling the quiet hum of possibility in the air. The soft morning light streamed generously through the wide, spotless windows, painting the floor in golden rectangles that shifted gently with the passing clouds. The air inside carried that faint, unmistakable scent of fresh paint and lemon-scented cleaner , crisp, bright, and new. It was the kind of smell that promised beginnings.
This place wasn't extravagant , not by any stretch. Just a modest, two-bedroom apartment with a small, open kitchen that bled into the living space and a narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms. But it was modern, freshly maintained, and most importantly ,far, far away from the long shadow of the Gray family's influence. That mattered more than square footage or designer finishes. This was hers. Her fresh start. A space that didn't carry echoes of old fights or memories she'd rather forget.
