The Burnett estate was calm.

Tucked into the wooded outskirts just beyond the city’s edge, it stood like it always had—traditional, warm, and dignified. The kind of house that seemed to have its own memory. Familiar creaks in the floorboards, a scent of polished oak in the halls, tall windows framed with long ivory curtains.

That evening, the estate glowed under low chandeliers. Freya had insisted on a quiet gathering—no hired staff, no formal seating charts, just family and comfort. After the storm of cameras and headlines, it was exactly what Sophie needed.

She stood in the drawing room, now converted into a cozy space for conversation. Candles flickered in...