The noon sun gleamed against the polished glass of the Carter Estate as a sleek convoy of black cars rolled into the driveway. Security guards straightened, murmuring into radios, their eyes tracking the vehicles with dutiful precision. The sound of tires crunching over gravel echoed through the vast courtyard.

The first car door opened, and out stepped Rebecca Tyler. She was dressed impeccably—as always—today in a tailored ivory suit that clung to her figure and whispered of old money and calculated elegance. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone pathway as she adjusted her sunglasses and surveyed the estate grounds like she was already the mistress of it.

Behind her,two...