At The Whitmore Estate
A full week had passed since Luxe was destroyed.
The shock had faded, replaced by grit and routine. Construction workers arrived at dawn every day, their boots echoing through the gutted space as they tore down what was left and rebuilt from the bones up. Designers came in with new sketches, new measurements, new possibilities. The foreman updated Sadie and Kya daily, promising they would make the one‑month deadline.
Kya tried to stay positive.
She needed to.
So she spent the morning in the kitchen at home, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, experimenting with a new recipe. The scent of roasted garlic and simmering broth filled the air, warm and comforting. Cooking always grounded her—gave her something to focus on besides the ache in her chest.
Reginald shuffl
