The wrought-iron gates parted slowly, heavy and theatrical, like curtains rising on the final act of a play everyone had expected to end happily. The car rolled forward onto polished marble that gleamed black and white under the morning sun, every tile whispering luxury and new beginnings.
She leaned toward the window, breath catching.
The mansion rose before them like something carved from a dream — pale stone and graceful arches, dark-framed windows reflecting golden light, two stories of Mediterranean elegance wrapped in old-world craftsmanship. Towering pines and swaying palms stood sentinel behind it.
Balconies with intricate iron railings overlooked manicured gardens where white flowers bloomed in perfect, obedient rows.
Lanterns glowed softly even in daylight, as if the house itself refused to wait for night to show its warmth.
It looked like it had been waiting for her.
Diana brought the car to a smooth stop.
