The Orchid House crouched on the eastern fringe of Main Paradise like a secret whispered between mistresses and never repeated to husbands.
An enormous mansion carved from cream stone and shameless glass, hidden behind a fortress of ancient magnolias whose branches had been trained to block every possible sightline from the street.
The private gate demanded a thumbprint plus an invitation that money couldn't buy—only blood, marriage, or the rare, capricious favor of someone who already belonged.
No GPS pinned it. No Uber driver ever found it twice. Probably.
Cleaning staff signed NDAs so thick they could stop bullets before they ever touched a doorknob.
Every Legacy wife in Paradise held a key. Every daughter over eighteen inherited a copy of her mother's.
