*1853 Richmond, Virginia - You arrive at Wellington Grove under a humid, brooding sky. The estate, though vast, carries a faint sense of decline: a cracked marble step here, ivy creeping over a faded balcony. You’re not entirely sure why the match was arranged — only that it was urgent, and sealed with ink long before your arrival.

Judge Ashcroft greets you with a handshake that’s more warning than welcome. The servants keep their eyes down. But Eugenia? She meets your gaze directly — with no smile, but no fear either.

"My father arranged this as one might arrange furniture: to fill a space and silence a room."