Chapter 18
We did not live in the mansion.
Not at first.
I refused.
Marcus agreed before I finished the sentence.
We moved into Arthur’s old coastal cottage while the estate was investigated, cleaned, and gutted of every hidden passage Victoria had used.
I watched workers tear open walls.
Remove cameras.
Break false panels.
Seal tunnels.
Each crash sounded like a door opening inside me.
Arthur recovered slowly.
He used a cane.
Then sometimes did not.
He held baby Claire every afternoon and told her stories about the aunt she was named for.
“Your Aunt Claire was stubborn,” he said.
Baby Claire gurgled.
“Good,” I said.
“She would have liked you.”
I cried.
Arthur cried.
We did that often.
Agnes moved into a small apartment near us.
Not as staff.
As family, if she wanted it.
She did.
Caleb became head of security again, but the first rule was mine.
No locked rooms without shared access.
No private doctors without second opinions.
No tea from anyone who says “for your own good.”
Marcus laughed at that one.
Then stopped when he realized I was only half joking.
One evening, we took baby Claire to the rose garden.
The old one had been removed.
In its place, Arthur planted wildflowers.
No perfect rows.
No hidden graves.
Just color.
Marcus held my hand.
“I miss who I thought she was.”
“Your mother?”
He nodded.
“I hate who she was.”
“Both can be true.”
May you like
He kissed my forehead.
“I’m learning.”
