The first time I saw Blackthorne Hall, I thought it was a dream. Or a lie. Rain slashed sideways as the iron gates groaned open, revealing a mansion carved from shadow and firelight. I sat in the back of the Morgan limo, wrists still scarred from the cuffs they’d cut off hours ago.\n\n"You’re one of us," the woman across from me said—Aunt Lillian, though I couldn’t call her that yet. Her voice left no room for argument. "They stole twelve years from you. We’ll take them back—with interest."\n\nThen he stepped out from the foyer. Tall, hooded eyes, hands tucked into a coat like he wanted to vanish. But when he looked at me, something flickered—recognition? Pity? No. Deeper. Like he’d been waiting.\n\n"Grace," he said, voice low. "You’re safe now."\n\nBut safety feels like a trap when you’ve lived in cages. And the way his gaze held mine… that wasn’t protection. That was danger wearing a gentleman’s face.