The storm had passed by dawn, leaving the Carter mansion wrapped in silence. Droplets clung to the glass windows like tiny pearls, glistening in the weak sunlight. The air smelled of wet earth and fresh beginnings, though inside, tension simmered beneath the polished calm.
Samantha woke early. She moved to the window of the guest room, her silk nightdress brushing softly against her legs. With one hand, she parted the curtains and watched the garden below, where a maid hurried across the lawn to collect fallen branches.
Same house, same walls… yet they don't know I'm not a guest. I'm the ghost they buried with their lies.
She turned from the window, her expression hardening. The memory of Nick's startled face when he had barged in last night lingered. For the first time, she had seen a glimpse of guilt… or maybe longing. Either way, it was a weakness. And weakness was something she could use.
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