The invitation still lay on the table when I heard soft footsteps approaching.
“Mom,” Lucas murmured, rubbing his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, Noah trailing quietly behind him.
I knelt down, smoothing their hair, grounding myself in their presence.
“We have somewhere to go,” I said softly.
The wedding was held at the Whitmore estate—a sprawling property hidden behind towering iron gates that resembled a fortress more than a home. Luxury cars lined the driveway, their polished surfaces reflecting a version of life I had once been told was never meant for me.
Inside, Eleanor Whitmore moved through the crowd like royalty surveying her domain. Her silver gown shimmered beneath crystal chandeliers, and her smile carried the unwavering certainty of someone who believed control was permanent.
“I want everything flawless,” she instructed a nearby planner. “Nothing unpredictable.”
Her confidence didn’t last.
