Luggage clicks behind her like punctuation each wheel a crisp sentence saying: I’m back, and you’ll never catch up.

She’s... pretty. Not in the fragile, youthful kind of way Vivian weaponizes, but the kind of beautiful that’s been earned. Mid-to-late forties, maybe, but polished, glowing, terrifying. All cheekbones and precision. The way she carries herself? Like the house already belongs to her. Like we do.

I stare at her, dumbly.

Is this Damian’s lover?

But I thought age-gap romances were supposed to go the other way you know, emotionally unavailable older man, wide-eyes, rich and either the boss or best friend’s dad. Was this some kind of twisted reverse trope?...