The ride out of the city was quiet, but Lorraine’s nerves thrummed like a live wire. Roman’s house wasn’t far from the Quarter, but the atmosphere shifted the moment they passed through the wrought-iron gates.
The mansion rose up from behind manicured hedges and ancient oak trees draped in moss. It wasn’t ostentatious like Dwade’s estate—it had a colder sort of elegance, old stone and dark windows, its history palpable in the air. The lanterns along the drive flickered with golden light, throwing long shadows across the gravel.
Lorraine’s skin prickled. It was beautiful, yes, but it didn’t feel like safety. It felt like stepping into a secret world she wasn’t sure she belonged in.
Inside, the house was immaculate. High ceilings, marble floors, candlelight glowing against oil portraits o
