One: Returning Home

Lena Stewart POV

As the car rolled through the sinuous roads of Ravenswood, I couldn't help but feel a tightening in my chest. It had been over a decade since I last saw my hometown, and though the landscape was familiar, it felt like a place from someone else's life—a life I had left behind when I was just a child.

The towering trees that lined the road looked taller and darker as if they were closing in around me. I stared out the window, watching as the old, stone buildings of the town came into view.

Everything seemed smaller than I remembered, and yet it loomed over me, casting a shadow I couldn't escape.

"We're almost there, Miss Lena," the driver said, breaking the silence. I nodded, unable to find my voice.

Ravenswood had always been a quiet town, the kind where everyone knew each other's business. I wondered how many people remembered me, the girl, mayor's daughter, who had been whisked away to boarding school at ten years old, never to return until now. Did they whisper about me in their homes, speculate about why I had been sent away? The thought made my stomach churn.

As we passed through the town square, I caught glimpses of familiar sights—the old clock tower, the quaint little shops, and the bakery where I used to beg my nanny to buy me sweet buns. But there was no warmth in these memories, only a cold detachment like I was watching someone else's life unfold.

The car turned onto the long, gravel driveway of my father's mansion, and the building came into view, looming at the end like a fortress. It was just as imposing as I remembered, with its stone facade and ivy-covered walls. A place that had never felt like home, even when I lived there.

The car came to a stop, and the driver got out to open my door. I hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping out. The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and something else—something that reminded me of the past, of times I didn't want to revisit.

"Welcome home, Miss Lena," the driver said as he handed me my bag.

Home. The word felt foreign on my tongue. This place had never been a home to me. It was just where I lived, where I existed. I looked up at the mansion, my heart heavy with a mix of dread and anticipation.

What awaited me inside? A father who had always kept me at arm's length, staff who barely knew me.

I straightened my shoulders, trying to shake off the unease. I was no longer a scared little girl; I was an adult now, and I would face whatever awaited me inside with the strength I had built over the years.

As I walked towards the entrance, I couldn't help but feel a sense of finality, as if crossing that threshold would seal my fate. This place, this town—it was in my blood, whether I liked it or not. And now, it seemed, I had no choice but to confront it.

I stepped into the entrance hall of the mansion, a rush of memories flooded back—some sweet, others tinged with the bitterness of loneliness.

The familiar scent of polished wood and old books filled the air, but there was something else too—an emptiness that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, and I was just too young to notice.

Mrs. Hawthorne fussed over me, taking my coat and asking about the journey, but my mind was elsewhere. I glanced around the grand foyer, noting how little had changed. The same antique mirrors, the same heavy curtains, the same silence that seemed to hang in the air like a shroud. It was as if time had stood still in this place, while I had changed so much.

"Your room is ready, Miss Lena," Mrs. Hawthorne said, her voice pulling me back to the present. "I've made sure everything is just as you left it."

"Thank you," I replied, though I wasn't sure I wanted everything to be the same. I followed her up the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing in the vast space. I could feel the weight of the mansion pressing down on me, as if it were a living thing, watching, waiting.

When we reached my old room, Mrs. Hawthorne pushed open the door, revealing a space that was indeed exactly as I had left it—right down to the worn stuffed strawberry sitting on the bed. It was almost unsettling how little had changed. The same floral wallpaper, the same lace curtains, the same childhood relics scattered about as if I had never left.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains, revealing the sprawling gardens below. They were overgrown now, wild and untamed, much like the feelings inside me.

I used to spend hours in those gardens, pretending I was a princess in a secret kingdom. But that was a long time ago, before the loneliness set in, before I was sent away.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," Mrs. Hawthorne said softly as if sensing my unease. "Your father is looking forward to seeing you."

I nodded, though the thought of seeing my father again after all these years filled me with a mixture of dread and anxiety.

Richard Stewart, my father, he had always been a distant figure, more concerned with his work than with me.

Even now, I couldn't help but wonder if my return was more of an obligation than a reunion.

"I'll be down soon," I said, offering Mrs. Hawthorne a small smile of gratitude.

As she left the room, closing the door behind her, I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on me.

This was supposed to be home, but it didn't feel that way. It felt like a museum of my childhood, a place frozen in time while I had been forced to grow up, far away from here.

I sighed, running my fingers over the faded quilt. I had been so excited to come back, to finally leave the stifling corners of boarding school behind. But now that I was here, all I could think about was how much I didn't belong.

As I stepped inside the grand entrance hall, I was greeted by the familiar scent of aged wood and lavender, just as I remembered. The house hadn't changed a bit, and yet, everything felt different.

"Welcome home, Miss Lena," said Mrs. Claire, the head housekeeper. Her warm smile was the first comforting thing I'd encountered since returning.

She looked just the same as I remembered, a bit older perhaps, but still the same kind of woman who used to sneak me sweets when I was little.

"Thank you, Mrs. Claire. It's...good to be back," I replied, though my voice wavered slightly. It was more nerve-wracking than I'd expected to be back in this place.

The rest of the staff greeted me as they took my luggage, and I offered polite smiles in return. But as I walked through the mansion, the emptiness of it all began to creep in.

The walls seemed to close in on me, each room a reminder of how lonely this place had been. A mansion, so grand and filled with people, and yet, it always felt cold.

When I finally reached the dining room, I found my father already seated at the head of the long, dark oak table. He looked up from his newspaper and gave me a nod. "Lena."

"Father," I replied, taking my seat at the opposite end of the table. The silence between us was almost deafening, broken only by the clinking of silverware as the staff began serving dinner.

I tried to find the right words, but what could I say to a man who had never really been a part of my life? We had exchanged letters, of course, and I visited during the holidays, but those visits were always brief and formal.

"So," my father began, his deep voice echoing in the large room, "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"It was fine, thank you," I said, pushing the food around on my plate. The awkwardness was unbearable, but I tried to push through it. "It's strange to be back after all these years."

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "You'll adjust soon enough."

I wanted to ask him why he sent me away all those years ago, why he kept me at such a distance, but I bit my tongue.

This wasn't the time or place for such questions, and I doubted he'd give me any answers anyway.

Just as I was about to excuse myself, he cleared his throat. "Lena, there's something we need to discuss."

I looked up, feeling a knot form in my stomach. "Yes, Father?"

"I've arranged for you to meet someone," he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather.

"Greg Collins. A young man from a respectable family. You'll have dinner with him tomorrow night."

I stared at him, unable to mask my shock. "You've set me up on a blind date?"

"Yes," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "You're twenty-three now, Lena. It's time you start thinking about your future, and how you can be of use."

My hands tightened around my fork as I tried to process what he had just said.

Useful? As if I were some sort of tool to be wielded for the family's benefit.

"You can't be serious," I finally managed to say, my voice shaking slightly with anger.

"This is what's best for you, Lena," he said with a tone that suggested the matter was closed.

I stood up from the table, unable to sit there for another moment. "I'm not hungry anymore," I muttered before walking out of the dining room, my heart pounding in my chest.