Aurelia Spencer had promised herself she would never return to New York like this.
The city pressed against the car windows as if it had been waiting for her. Towers of steel and glass rose on both sides, blocking out most of the sky. Traffic moved in heavy lines below, engines rumbling, horns calling out in sharp bursts, voices drifting up from open windows. The air felt thick even through the glass.
New York never whispered. It pushed. It demanded.
Aurelia sat still in the back seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her posture was straight, practiced, the kind that came from years of being watched. Her eyes stayed fixed on the blur of gray buildings and flashing lights outside. Her reflection stared back at her from the tinted window, calm and controlled, distant enough to feel unfamiliar.
Monaco felt unreal now.
Mornings that started slowly. Sunlight on water instead of concrete. The sound of waves replacing sirens. The version of herself that wore loose dresses and walked without looking over her shoulder. The version that answered to no one.
She had built that life carefully on purpose.
During Serena and Naomi's visits to Monaco, Serena had teased her more than once. She would laugh over wine on the balcony, the harbor lights spread below, and say Aurelia vanished like a ghost with money.
Naomi never laughed. She would watch the water and say Aurelia disappeared because she could, and because she needed space.
Both of them had been right.
Andrew Middleton had been part of that space.
Aurelia did not let herself think about him often. Still, the memory slipped in, unwanted and sharp. Bare feet on cold stone floors. Late nights where time slowed instead of chasing her. His easy laugh. The way he asked questions, she never fully answered. The way he accepted only the parts of her she chose to give.
It had never been forever. She had known that.
Still, leaving without a goodbye pressed tight against her chest.
Her phone buzzed softly in her hand.
She glanced down.
Andrew.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, then turned it face down without answering. The vibration stopped. The silence that followed felt heavier.
The driver cleared his throat gently.
"Miss Spencer."
She looked up. "Yes."
"The press is already gathering near the chapel," he said. "They have been tracking flights since dawn."
Aurelia let out a slow breath. "Of course they have."
Nothing excited Manhattan like the return of someone who had walked away.
The missing heiress. The daughter who left. The woman who abandoned the Spencer Corporation and built a life somewhere quieter.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"They are blocking the front entrance," he said. "Cameras everywhere."
She nodded once. Her voice stayed even. "Take me through the front."
The driver hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said. "Let them see me."
The car slowed as it reached the curb.
Sound hit first.
Shouts. Questions. The sharp crack of cameras firing again and again.
The door opened.
Light flooded in as Aurelia stepped out.
"Aurelia."
"Miss Spencer."
"Why did you come back?"
"Is the company failing?"
"Did you know he was sick?"
She did not answer.
She walked forward with measured steps, her posture straight, her chin lifted. The black coat she wore was simple and clean, without a single mark or logo. Her heels struck the pavement in a steady rhythm.
She had learned early that silence made people uncomfortable.
She used it now.
A voice cut through the noise. "Is it true you were living in Monaco?"
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
Another voice followed fast. "Is Andrew Middleton the reason you left?"
Her steps did not falter.
Security closed in, guiding her toward the doors. The noise dulled as the heavy entrance doors shut behind her. Inside, the air was cool and still. The sharp smell of polished stone and old wood replaced exhaust and rain.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Margaret Spencer stood near the front of the chapel, dressed in black, her hands clasped tight enough that her knuckles had gone pale. When she saw Aurelia, something in her face softened and then broke.
They embraced without speaking.
"I thought you might not make it in time," Margaret whispered.
"I was not going to miss this," Aurelia replied.
They took their seats together.
Serena slid in on Aurelia's other side, close enough that their arms brushed. Her usual brightness was muted. She leaned in and whispered, "You look like you're about to punch the city."
Aurelia exhaled slowly. "Not today."
Naomi sat one row behind them. She did not speak. Her eyes scanned the room, sharp and alert, taking in every movement, every unfamiliar face.
The service began.
Words floated through the chapel, gentle and formal. Aurelia listened without really hearing. Her gaze drifted to the casket at the front. Dark wood. Polished. Final.
Rain tapped against the tall windows in a steady rhythm.
She thought of the last time she had spoken to her father. His voice had sounded tired. The pauses had been longer. The things he had not said echoed louder now than anything he had.
When the service ended, people moved quickly.
Hands touched her shoulder. Voices offered comfort.
"I am so sorry." "He was a good man." "He loved you very much."
She nodded. Thanked them. Answered when required.
Then the air shifted.
She felt it before she saw him.
Dominic Blackwood stood near the side aisle, dark coat buttoned neatly, his expression calm. Rain had dampened his hair, but he did not look rushed. He looked like someone who never rushed.
Margaret's fingers tightened around Aurelia's arm.
He stepped closer.
"I am sorry for your loss," Dominic said.
Aurelia met his gaze. "Thank you."
"You returned quickly," he said.
"For my father," Aurelia replied.
"For the company," he said.
Her jaw tightened. "That is not why I am here."
Dominic studied her for a moment. "Soon enough."
She did not respond.
He nodded once and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd.
Serena leaned close. "Please tell me that man is not here for what I think he is here for."
Naomi appeared beside them, her expression unreadable. "He never shows up without reason."
Aurelia said nothing.
The drive back to Spencer Manor passed in near silence. Rain streaked the windows in uneven lines, blurring the city into gray smears of light and shadow. Traffic moved around them, impatient and loud, but the car felt sealed off from it, like a bubble holding too much air. Serena stared out one window, jaw tight.
Naomi checked her phone once, then turned it face down and did not touch it again. Margaret sat beside Aurelia, her hand resting lightly over her daughter's knuckles, grounding without pressing. Aurelia watched the streets slide past and felt the strange disconnect of leaving her father behind in a building that would keep him, while the city outside went on exactly as it always had.
Spencer Manor felt welcoming from the moment they stepped inside, with the chilly cold outside.
The front doors closed behind them with a muted, final sound, sealing out the city. The noise of Manhattan vanished instantly, replaced by a silence so complete it pressed against Aurelia's ears.
The entry hall stretched upward through multiple floors, lit by a beautiful chandelier. Soft light caught the edges of framed portraits lining the walls. Generations watched from polished frames, their expressions unreadable.
Serena slowed beside her. "I forgot how this place swallows sound," she said quietly.
Naomi did not answer. She had already moved a few steps ahead, scanning the corners of the room out of habit.
They moved deeper into Spencer Manor, their footsteps muted by thick rugs that had been chosen to absorb sound rather than decorate. The house staff had retreated somewhere unseen. No greetings. No questions. Only space.
"The lawyer is already here," Naomi said quietly as they crossed the hall. "Your mother called him from the car."
Her father's study sat at the rear of the main floor, heavy double doors already open. The smell hit her immediately. Old books. Leather. A faint, sharp note she could never place but had always associated with late nights and closed doors.
The desk was exactly where it had always been.
Nothing had been moved.
The estate lawyer stood near the desk, coat removed, briefcase open at his feet. He looked like he had arrived quickly and stayed because leaving would have felt worse.
The lawyer spoke calmly, his voice measured.
Aurelia listened, her focus narrowing with every word.
Properties. Accounts. Investments.
Serena shifted from foot to foot. Naomi's arms crossed.
When the lawyer paused to turn a page, Serena shifted closer to Aurelia.
"Do you want me to interrupt him?" she whispered. "I can fake a coughing fit. Or a faint."
Aurelia closed her eyes for a brief second. "Please don't."
Serena nodded solemnly. "Fine. But I am keeping it as an option."
Behind them, Naomi's arms crossed tighter. Her jaw was set, eyes sharp, following every word the lawyer spoke.
Then the tone changed.
"The board will convene within forty-eight hours," the lawyer said. "Miss Spencer, you have been named interim chief executive officer."
Serena gasped softly. "What?"
Margaret whispered Aurelia's name.
Aurelia remained still.
"Interim," Aurelia said, the word landing slower than she meant it to.
"Yes," the lawyer said. "Until a formal vote."
Naomi spoke sharply. "Who pushed for this?"
The lawyer hesitated. "The board believed immediate continuity was necessary."
"And who leads them?" Aurelia asked.
Another pause.
"Mr Blackwood holds significant influence through existing partnerships," the lawyer said carefully.
Naomi muttered something under her breath that did not sound polite.
Margaret stepped forward. "You said he would not touch it."
The lawyer lowered his gaze.
Aurelia felt the room close in.
"Is there anything else?" she asked.
The lawyer swallowed. "You are expected at headquarters tomorrow morning."
Serena stared at him. "She just buried her father."
The lawyer gathered his papers. "I understand. But the market will not wait."
He left quietly.
Silence filled the study, thick and unmoving.
Somewhere in Spencer Manor, a clock ticked. Slow. Measured. Too loud.
Serena exhaled first. "So. That was… a lot."
Naomi turned sharply. "That was a setup."
Margaret had not moved. She stood near the desk, one hand resting on the worn leather edge as if it were the only thing holding her upright.
Aurelia lowered herself into her father's chair.
The wood creaked beneath her weight, familiar and unforgiving. Her chest tightened, and for a moment she could only remember him sitting here late into the night, shoulders heavy, eyes tired.
For the first time since stepping inside Spencer Manor, she felt how completely the house had closed around her.
She stared at the desk. At the place where he had signed so many decisions without her.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Slow.Certain.
Naomi froze.
Serena shook her head. "No."
Aurelia stood. "I will handle this."
She opened the door.
A staff member stood there, holding a slim folder.
"This was delivered through the front desk," she said. "Marked urgent."
"Miss Spencer," she said. "You are requested to attend an emergency board meeting tomorrow morning."
She took the folder.
The door closed.
Aurelia looked down at the paper in her hands.
Tomorrow.
New York pressed closer.
And somewhere in the city, decisions were already being made without her.