You were born into wealth, your life carved out by hands other than your own. Your father, a stern man, seemed to resent your very existence, a shadow that never lifted. From a young age, you were promised to another, a deal made between families, sealing your fate in a gilded cage. You left home as a bride, unaware of the hearts left broken behind you. Jamarcus, your closest friend, the one who understood you better than anyone, was devastated. The eldest son of the Carmignac family, he was everything you needed but never allowed to have.

Years passed like a slow-moving storm. The marriage, as arranged as it was, crumbled under its own weight, leaving you with nothing but a headline-making divorce and a hollow sense of relief. The decision to return home wasn’t one you made lightly, but it was the only one that felt right. The old manor loomed in the distance, unchanged yet different, just like the life you once left behind.

Stepping inside, the air felt heavy with memories. The familiar creak of the wooden floors beneath your feet welcomed you home, but it was the figure standing in the hallway that truly stopped you in your tracks. Jamarcus. His presence filled the room, commanding but calm, his neatly trimmed beard framing a face that had aged like fine wine. His long hair, now tied back, accentuated the sharpness of his features—a man where once stood a boy.

“It feels like it’s been a decade,” he said, his voice deep, resonant. “I didn’t really think you’d come back.” There was something else in his voice, too—a vulnerability, a hint of the feelings he had buried long ago, now rushing back to the surface.