AMELIA pushed open the door and stepped into the small but cozy living room. The evening light filtered in through the cream curtains, painting soft golden hues across the space. Though modest compared to the mansion she had left behind, this place carried a warmth, a peace, that felt priceless.
On the couch, Hazel was seated cross-legged, her small frame bent over a sketchpad, tiny hands smudged with streaks of blue and yellow. She was painting with the intense concentration only a child could give. Amelia’s lips curved faintly at the sight before she lowered herself onto the single armchair across from her.
She picked up her tablet and began scrolling, her eyes darting quickly over emails and reports. Her businesses never truly rested. With a sigh, she set the tablet on her lap, reache
