The weekend getaway was over.

So was the peace that came with it.

Back at the Cross mansion, the air carried its usual quiet tension,  a kind of stillness that made even the walls seem to listen. Grandma Eleanor sat elegantly on the sofa, draped in her cream shawl, flipping through a magazine as if she hadn’t just witnessed a viral breakfast scandal.

“Get me a glass of orange juice,” she said lazily to one of the servants.

“Yes, ma’am,” the servant replied and hurried off.

Just then, Aria walked in, phone in hand, her brows knit together.

“Grandma, look at this— the breakfast drama is still trending online!” she...