The mont I stood in front of the grand mahogany doors, my breath got caught in my lungs. The golden emblem above the handle shimred faintly in the afternoon sun.
The Heavens.
The na alone used to an peace. Warmth. Safety.
I could still rember running through those halls barefoot, laughter echoing off the walls, the sll of my mother’s perfu filling the air.
My father’s voice would call from the study, telling to co for dinner. Back then, it was ho.
Now, it felt like a fortress. One I was no longer welco in.
Matteo stood beside , the picture of calm indifference. Hands tucked neatly in his coat pockets, his black shades reflecting the mansion’s white façade.
Not a single crease on his face gave away a thought. He looked like he belonged here, while I felt like an intruder.
I wanted to hit him. Right across his expressionless, too-composed face, but the mont he tilted his head toward , my body betrayed .
I straightened instantly, as my jaw tightened, and in a blink of an eye, my hand was lifted it to the doorbell, pushing it as the sound echoed through the surrounding.
Ding-dong.
I wanted to curse myself. I wanted to run from here.
Or I could have refused to get in that car, but I didn’t. I stayed like a fool.
And now I was standing here, about to face everything I had spent a long while trying to forget.
Ten seconds. That’s all it took, but it felt like a lifeti, as the door creaked open slowly.
A woman stood there perfectly dressed in black and white uniform.
Her posture was straight, and her expression was calm.
"May I help you, sir, ma’am?" she asked, her tone being polite yet professional.
My mouth opened, but no sound ca out. The words carrying my na, my purpose, everything got stuck sowhere between my chest and throat.
Before I could find them, and convey it to her, Matteo spoke. "Is Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley ho?"
The maid blinked, confused, her gaze flicking between us. "Mrs. Kingsley is available, but... may I know your nas, please?"
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst through my ribs. My palms were slick. I swallowed, forcing the words out, "Tell her... that Elena has co to et her."
The maid’s brows furrowed slightly as if she recognized either from the family picture or the recent scandal, as disbilef was visible on her face which was then composed by sa smile.
She nodded and walked back inside after she said, "Okay, please wait here for a mont."
The silence that followed pressed against like weight.
Matteo adjusted his watch, his face still unreadable. I glared at him,"You could have warned ."
He shrugged slightly, "I did. You just didn’t listen."
God, I wanted to throw sothing at him.
Before I could speak again, the door opened sharply, and everything inside froze.
My mother.
Matilda Kingsley stood there.
Even after all these years, she looked the sa...graceful, polished, perfect.
Her pearl earrings caught the sunlight.
Her tailored cream dress did not have a single wrinkle, but her eyes...her eyes made want to disappear.
She stared at for a mont that felt too long, her gaze scanning from head to toe.
Every crease in my blouse, every scuff on my heels, I could literally feel her judging each one.
"Elena..." A shiver ran through as I heard her whisper my na.
Matteo leaned in slightly, whispering under his breath, "At least she did not pretend not to know you."
I shot him a glare.
"Shut up," I hissed at him in a low for only him to hear.
Before I could process anything, my mother reached forward and grabbed my wrist. Her touch was firm, her grip cold, but she pulled inside without hesitation.
Matteo followed easily, like this was his ho and not mine. His shoes clicked softly against the marble floor, echoing in the silence that had once held my childhood laughter.
The scent hit instantly...that sa serene scent, polished wood, and a faint trace of cinnamon tea.
It was all the sa. The chandelier above still glead.
The portraits on the wall still stared down with that quiet disapproval. Even the clock ticked in the sa slow rhythm.
Except... everything felt hollow.
"Bring tea, and so snacks for her," my mother ordered a passing maid.
Her voice was calm, practiced, like she had not just dragged her estranged daughter across the threshold.
I saw the sa maid disappearing into the kitchen as she dragged to the seating area.
She motioned for to sit, and I did sit awkwardly, on the edge of the couch. Matteo stood nearby, his hands behind his back. Like a silent observer, as he was.
For a second, just a tiny, fragile second I saw sothing soft in her eyes. Maybe concern.
Her gaze lingered on my face, tracing it like she was checking for damage.
And I let myself believe.
Maybe she still cared.
Maybe she was still my mother.
My chest ached with hope, as I pushed out so words out of my mouth, "I... I didn’t an to co unannounced..."
I tried to began a conversation softly with her when her voice cut through mine like a blade. "Why are you here?"
I blinked, as it took a few seconds to process what she just asked.
"I... I just wanted to..." I tried to explain, but my voice died seeing her grim expression.
Her tone dropped lower, sharp and cold, "Do you have any idea what could happen if soone saw you here?"
I frowned as I asked, "What?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Folding her hands on her chest, she started to scold like a child, "The reporters, the neighbors, the board mbers..do you have any idea what they would say? You think I can afford another scandal after what you pulled with the Morris and their middle-class secretry?"
My heart sank. That fragile spark of hope inside flickered once just died in that mont.
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