Elena's POV
The envelope falls from my shaking hands and lands on the apartment floor with a soft thud.
I stare at it like it's a snake ready to bite me. The cream-colored paper looks expensive. Too expensive for someone like me who lives in a tiny apartment with peeling paint and a refrigerator that makes weird noises at night.
"Elena?" James calls from the kitchen. "Did you drop something?"
I can't answer. My throat feels tight. My heart is racing so fast I think it might explode right out of my chest.
The Morgan family crest stares up at me from the envelope. A golden M surrounded by roses. I haven't seen that symbol in seven years. Seven long years since I walked away from that family and never looked back.
James appears in the doorway holding two cups of coffee. He sees the envelope on the floor and his face goes pale.
"No," he says firmly. "Whatever that is, throw it away. Right now."
But I can't move. My feet feel stuck to the floor like someone poured glue on them.
"It's from my grandmother," I whisper.
James sets down the coffee cups and picks up the envelope. He reads the front where my name is written in perfect handwriting. Then he looks at me with worried eyes.
"Your grandmother died three weeks ago, Elena. You didn't even go to the funeral."
"They didn't invite me to the funeral," I snap back. The anger in my voice surprises both of us.
James is quiet for a moment. Then he hands me the envelope. "You don't have to open it. We can burn it right now if you want."
Part of me wants to do exactly that. Burn it and forget the Morgan family exists. But my fingers are already tearing open the seal before I can stop myself.
Inside is a thick card with gold letters that seem to glow in the morning light.
Margaret Anne Morgan Memorial Reunion
Mandatory Attendance Required
Morgan Estate - This Saturday - 2:00 PM
Formal Reading of the Will to Follow
My hands start shaking harder. Mandatory? They're ordering me to come back after seven years of silence?
"There's more," James says quietly. He's reading over my shoulder.
I flip the card over and see a handwritten note at the bottom. I recognize my grandmother's writing immediately. She must have written this before she died.
Dearest Elena,
I know you're scared. I know you swore you'd never return. But please come home one last time. I'm leaving you something precious—my art studio and everything inside it. It's yours if you attend the reunion and stay for two weeks.
Trust me, sweetheart. This is important.
All my love,
Grandmother Margaret
The card slips from my fingers. The art studio. The place where I learned to paint. The only room in that giant mansion where I ever felt safe and happy.
"Two weeks?" James's voice sounds far away. "Elena, you can't go back there for two weeks. Your father will destroy you."
I sink onto my old couch. My mind is spinning like a tornado. Images flash through my head. My grandmother teaching me to mix colors. Her gentle hands guiding my paintbrush. Her telling me that art was about freedom and truth.
"She's giving me the studio," I say quietly. "The art studio."
James sits beside me. "I know what that place meant to you. But is it worth going back to those people? They threw you out like garbage, Elena. They told you that you were worthless."
Tears start burning my eyes but I blink them away. I don't cry anymore. Not about the Morgans. Not about anything.
"My father didn't throw me out," I correct him. "I left because I refused to marry some old man I didn't love. I chose to leave."
"They gave you an impossible choice," James argues. "Marry a stranger or lose your family. That's not a real choice."
He's right. I know he's right. But something about this invitation feels different. My grandmother never gave up on me. Even after I left, she sent me birthday cards with money hidden inside. She called me on holidays when no one else was listening.
She believed in me when nobody else did.
"What if this is my last chance to have something of hers?" I ask. My voice cracks. "What if I never get another piece of her?"
James takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then we go get it. But I'm driving you there and I'm picking you up in exactly two weeks. And if anyone tries to hurt you, I'm calling the police."
I almost smile. James has been my best friend since college. He knows everything about my messed-up family. He's seen me cry over them more times than I can count.
"Okay," I say. The word comes out like a whisper.
"Okay?" James looks shocked. "You're really going?"
I stand up and walk to the window. Outside, the city is waking up. People are going to work. Living normal lives with normal families. I've built a good life here. A simple life. I work at the museum restoring old paintings. I have this tiny apartment. I have James and a few other friends.
But I don't have any family. And I don't have my grandmother's studio.
"I'm going," I say more firmly. "Saturday. I'll stay the two weeks, get the studio, and leave. I can survive anything for two weeks."
James doesn't look convinced but he nods. "I'll take time off work. I'm not letting you face them alone."
I turn back to look at the invitation lying on my coffee table. Something about it feels wrong. Not the words exactly. But something underneath the words. Like there's a secret message I'm not seeing.
Why would my grandmother make attendance mandatory? Why two weeks instead of one? Why now?
A chill runs down my spine.
"James," I say slowly. "Do you think this is a trap?"
He picks up the invitation and studies it carefully. "Maybe. Your family isn't exactly known for their kindness."
I think about my father with his cold eyes. My stepmother who never wanted me around. My younger sister who always hated me for reasons I never understood.
"They're going to make those two weeks hell," I say.
"Probably," James agrees. "But you're stronger than them now. You survived seven years without their money or their name. You built your own life. They can't hurt you anymore unless you let them."
I want to believe him. I really do.
But deep in my gut, I know something is wrong. This invitation isn't just about an inheritance. My grandmother was too smart for that. She planned something. I can feel it.
The question is: what?
I pick up the invitation one more time and read the date. Saturday. Three days from now.
Three days until I walk back into the nightmare I escaped.
Three days until I face the family that rejected me.
Three days until I return to the Morgan estate where I lost everything.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from an unknown number.
Come home, Elena. It's time. Things are not what they seem. Your grandmother left you more than a studio. She left you the truth.
My blood runs cold.
"James," I whisper. "Someone just texted me."
He grabs my phone and reads the message. His face goes white. "Who sent this?"
"I don't know." My voice is shaking now. "Unknown number."
We stare at each other. The morning sun streams through my window but suddenly the room feels dark and cold.
What truth did my grandmother leave me? What else is hidden in that studio?
And who knows about it?
Saturday can't come soon enough. And yet, I'm terrified of what I'll find when I get there.
My old life is calling me back. And something tells me that once I step through those mansion doors, nothing will ever be the same again.