The gates of the Saint-Claire estate opened slow, like the house itself was deciding whether to let him back in. Nicky stepped through, his chest tight, every inch of marble and gold reminding him of what he'd lost or what had been ripped from him.
The foyer was alive with murmurs when he entered. His family always gathered like vultures circling a fresh wound.
Andrei spotted him first, lounging with a drink in hand, eyes narrowing. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Nicky didn't answer. He didn't have to.
"Where is he?"
Before anyone could reply, Antoinette appeared at the top of the grand staircase, wrapped in silk, every gesture soaked in disdain. She lifted a brow. "The prodigal Saint-Claire returns."
Nicky's mouth twisted into a smile that wasn't a smile at all. He shot her a look of pure venom, and she only arched her brow higher, entertained.
