The Laurent estate buzzed with the soft hum of morning rituals. Housekeepers swept through marbled corridors with quiet efficiency, their polished shoes echoing against the floors. The scent of lavender polish and freshly cut roses floated through the air, blending with the distant clatter of breakfast being laid out in the grand dining hall. Outside, the sprawling gardens were kissed by a pale golden light as the early sun broke through the summer clouds, painting the estate in a warm, serene glow.
Upstairs, Genevieve Laurent stood by the tall windows of her room, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe, her feet nestled into the silken rug beneath her. Her dark hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, damp from her morning bath. She sipped from a delicate porcelain cup, the steam of her coffee rising in wispy curls and brushing against her face, as she stared out at the blooming orchids and trimmed hedges that framed the view.
