The ride to the Whitaker estate was silent, but my mind wasn’t. It had been years since I’d set foot on the sprawling property, but the moment we arrived, memories came rushing back.
The grand gates opened, revealing manicured gardens and the imposing mansion at the center. The fountain in the courtyard still sparkled under the sun, just as I remembered.
As I stepped out of the car, my chest tightened. The scent of blooming flowers brought back flashes of my childhood—running through these very gardens, carefree and innocent. But those memories felt distant now, almost foreign.
I walked through the front doors, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors. Everything was as it had been years ago, yet it felt different. The warmth I once associated with this place was replaced by an uneasy chill.
My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I turned to her, my jaw clenched. “Stop avoiding the question. Why did you allow Bobbie—a mafia boss and murderer—into this family? And why, of all people, would you arrange for me to marry him?”