The Grant Family mansion stood against the night sky like a monument to power. Every window glowed with warm light, but there was nothing welcoming about it. To Emily, it looked like a fortress preparing for war.
Richard pulled the car into the circular driveway and killed the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.
"Last chance to run," Richard said, only half-joking.
Emily reached for the door handle. "I don't run."
Richard laughed quietly. "Yeah. I'm starting to see that."
They stepped out together. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine from the gardens. Peaceful. Deceptive.
The front door opened before they reached it.
Timothy stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. But Emily had learned to read the small things—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set just a fraction tighter than usual.
He was worried.
