The gates groaned as they opened, the sound echoing like a warning I wasn't ready to hear.
It had been years since I last stepped foot inside this house. Years since I abandoned the memories carved into its walls. I had promised myself I would never return, and yet, here I was—dragged back by circumstances I could no longer outrun.
The air smelled of polished wood and old secrets.
I pushed the heavy door open, my chest tight with unspoken resentment. I expected silence. Dust. Maybe even the hollow emptiness of a place that had forgotten me.
Instead, I was met with the sight of a woman.
She was bent over the long mahogany table, papers scattered in front of her, a pen tapping rhythmically against the wood. Her figure was… impossible to ignore. Commanding, almost defiant, as though she had every right to claim this space as hers.
Before I could demand an explanation, a familiar voice sliced through the air.
"Welcome home, son."
I froze. My mother stood at the foot of the staircase, her smile warm but her eyes sharp, as if gauging my reaction.
Then she turned, her voice bright, almost too casual.
"Come," she said. "There's someone I want you to meet."
The woman at the table straightened. Slowly. Her eyes—dark, piercing, unreadable—locked with mine.
"This," my mother continued, her hand gesturing between us, "is my friend's daughter."
For a moment, the world tilted. My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and every instinct screamed that this meeting wasn't as innocent as she made it sound.
Because the way the girl's lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile told me she wasn't here by accident.
And whatever reason had dragged me back home… she was at the center of it