~Marie's POV~
I shouldn't be here.
The polished marble under my heels, the scent of imported cigars soaked into the furniture, the guards posted outside the front doors in tailored suits pretending not to listen—it all screams of a world I spent years trying to outrun. And yet, here I am again.
In my father's house.
I walk through the grand entryway, my spine stiff, my fingers clenched around the strap of my bag like it's a lifeline. My mother's voice calls my name before I can even blink.
"Marie?"
She appears at the top of the staircase, still flawless as ever—jewels at her throat, her dark hair swept into a perfect twist. And when she sees me—when her eyes actually *recognize* that I'm real—her hands fly to her mouth.
A second later, she's rushing down the stairs in heels that probably cost more than my entire monthly rent.
"My baby girl…" she breathes, wrapping her arms around me tight. "I thought—God, I thought we'd lost you again."
I don't cry. But my throat aches.
