Prologue : The Gate and the Thorn
She stepped through the gate.The iron closed behind her with a soft, final sound. August did not touch her. He simply turned and walked toward the house, certain she would follow. The roses brushed her sleeve as she passed. One thorn caught. She felt the small, bright sting and did not pull free until the blood welled, thin and warm against the rain.Inside, the air smelled of old wood, wet stone, and something sweeter—cut stems, maybe, or the ghost of a garden that had once been kept. August stopped beneath a chandelier that had not been lit in years. Water dripped from his hair onto the marble. When he looked at her again, the scar caught the light.“Twelve months,” he said. “You live here. You restore my mother’s greenhouse. You answer when I call. Three rules. In exchange, your brother’s debt ceases to exist.”Wren’s pulse beat hard at the base of her throat. She could still leave. The gate was behind her. The rain was still falling. Milo’s name sat between them like a blade neither of them had drawn yet.“And if I refuse?” she asked.August’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Then Friday comes, Miss Halloway. And I stop being patient.”She looked at the contract he had not yet shown her. She looked at the scar. She looked at the dark mouth of the hallway that led deeper into the house, where the north wing waited behind a locked door she could not yet see.Outside, a rose tapped against the glass as the wind rose.Wren drew a breath that tasted of iron and rain.“Show me where to sign.”
