ARIELLE
The Turner Pack mansion was everything I had ever imagined—and so much more. The moment I stepped inside, a quiet wave of regality washed over me, the kind of effortless grandeur that couldn't be imitated or staged. It was the kind of grace one had to be born into — woven into their very blood.
A well-groomed butler greeted me at the door with a courteous bow before escorting me through the marble-floored hallway to the detached glasshouse behind the main building.
Warm light spilled from its tall windows, and laughter drifted through the air. Inside, the other guests had already gathered, their conversation vibrant and lively.
I paused at the entrance, hesitation gnawing at me.
Part of me burned with curiosity, eager to see what captured their attention so completely. But another part — the quieter, more cautious side — trembled at the thought of stepping into a world that had never truly been mine to claim.
