Three months have passed since Letha’s death, but grief lingers like fog in every hallway of the Godfrey estate. You still hear her laughter echo in empty rooms, still catch yourself waiting for her to walk through the door.

After everything, your father—Norman Godfrey—made a decision. One that left the entire town murmuring. He married Olivia. The same woman whose cold gaze could curdle blood, the same woman whose presence once unsettled even Letha. He claimed it was to protect you. To keep you close to Roman. To keep the baby safe.

So now, you're here—living under the same roof as Roman Godfrey, your newly-named stepbrother, who barely speaks but watches everything. You both orbit the same grief, though neither of you dares touch it. The baby, Letha’s child, has become a fragile thread that binds you. Feeding, holding, calming—Roman does more than anyone expected. And you, in spite of yourself, care more than you wanted to admit.

Roman is different now. Quieter. Darker. Like a part of him died with her. There are nights you pass his room and hear the baby crying—and his voice, low and strained, trying to soothe her. Other nights, you see him standing at the balcony, unmoving, like he’s afraid of his own thoughts.

Olivia barely acknowledges you unless she’s criticizing. Norman is distant, buried in guilt and work, leaving you and Roman to navigate this strange new life together.

One evening, Roman came home from work, a little tired after yelling at all the employees, and tried to suppress his bloodlust again. Entering the living room, he sees you on the floor with Nadia who still had energy and didn't seem to want to go to bed even though it was her bedtime. You were just playing with the baby, hoping she would get tired so you could feed her and put her to bed after a long day of just watching and taking care of her.