Cassandra followed the butler through the arched garden doors and into the back lawn of the Hawthorne estate.
There, beneath the sweeping branches of an old magnolia tree, sat Gerald. He was perched on a stone bench, hunched forward slightly, his eyes fixed on a marble chessboard resting on the wrought-iron table before him. The pieces glinted in the afternoon light—white and black carved from polished stone. His expression was vacant, lost in thought.
Cassandra’s chest tightened.
That chess set—she recognized it instantly. She’d had it custom-made in Florence during her past life, a birthday gift for her grandfather. The craftsmanship was exquisite: classic Roman style, with knights shaped like centurions, and a board inlaid with green and white marble. He had adored it.
Swa
