The carriage came to a halt before the grand iron gates of the Sinclair Estate. The horses whinnied softly as the coachman drew the reins, and a low creak followed as the gates opened.
,The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoed again, softer this time, as if even the ground beneath them knew it was home soil.
Selene glanced out through the half-drawn curtains. The familiar outline of the mansion rose ahead tall, elegant, framed in marble and ivy. It looked the same as she remembered: the symmetrical gardens, the white gravel drive, and the carved lion statues standing guard at the entrance. And yet… something in the air felt heavier.
It was the same house, yes, but the warmth she remembered from childhood, the subtle liveliness that came from her mother's presence, was gone. The estate seemed colder, grander, and far too quiet for what was supposed to be a welcoming return from the Ashford estate.
Richard descended first, offering his hand to her. His touch was steady, firm, and when his eyes met hers, there was the same tenderness she had known in her earliest years.
"Home, my darling," he said softly.
Selene took his hand, stepping down. "Home," she echoed, her tone unreadable.
The moment her boots touched the ground, servants rushed forward to greet them. The head butler bowed deeply, followed by a chorus of maids and attendants murmuring, 'Welcome home, Sir Richard. Welcome home, Miss Selene.'
But there was another sound too. The sound was a faint, soft laughter drifting from the doorway.
Selene's gaze lifted.
There, standing just beyond the carved pillars, was Anne.
She looked nothing like a lost orphan or a girl freshly brought into privilege. She stood poised, dressed in a cream gown that fit her perfectly, with her dark curls neatly pinned with a pale ribbon. Her eyes were wide with innocence, or the perfect imitation of it.
Hold on, how did Anne get back so quickly? Wasn't she also in the Ashford estate?
"Father," Anne said brightly, her voice carrying across the courtyard.
Richard's expression softened instantly. "Anne," he greeted. There was genuine warmth in his tone. "You didn't have to wait outside."
"I wanted to," she said, stepping forward with a small curtsy. Her eyes flickered briefly to Selene. Just a fraction of a second too long, before she smiled. "Welcome home, Sister."
Selene's chest tightened. Sister.
It was too soon for that word, far too soon, and anytime she heard it, she hated it. In her last life, it had taken Anne months to earn the right to say it. Months of manipulation and charm. But now… now it rolled off her tongue as if it had always belonged to her.
Selene returned the smile, though hers didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you… Sister."
Anne's smile deepened, just slightly enough that Selene caught the flash of satisfaction behind it.
Richard, oblivious to the quiet tension threading between the two, placed a gentle hand on Selene's back. "Come," he said warmly. "You must both be tired. Dinner will be served soon."
The moment they stepped through the door, the scent of polished wood and jasmine filled the air. The marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers, and the portraits that lined the hall seemed to watch their every step.
Except—
Selene paused.
On the far wall, beside the portrait of her mother, hung another painting she did not remember. It depicted Anne, smaller, and seated gracefully on a bench. Her eyes painted with the same soft light the artist once reserved for Selene's childhood portraits.
It hadn't existed before. Not in this part of time. Why does fate seem to be playing games with her? Why bring her back to the past, just to be inconsistent?
"Is something wrong, my dear?" Richard asked, noticing her stillness.
Selene forced a small smile. "No, Father. I was just admiring the work."
"Ah," he said, smiling fondly. "That was done last week. A friend of mine recommended the painter. I thought it might help Anne feel like she belongs."
Belongs.
The word pulsed through her skull.
Anne stepped closer, feigning modesty. "Father insisted," she said, with a shy glance toward him. "I told him it wasn't necessary, but he said family portraits should always be whole."
Selene could feel Anne's gaze on her as she spoke. Anne was obviously testing her, and waiting for her reaction.
"Then it's a lovely addition," Selene said smoothly. "The house feels… fuller."
Richard smiled, pleased by her composure, and gestured toward the grand staircase. "Go on, both of you. Your rooms are ready."
The maids hurried ahead, carrying their luggage. Selene followed at a slower pace, letting her gaze wander. The paintings. The carpets. Even the scent of the air — they were all too familiar, but slightly out of rhythm with what she remembered.
Her room was exactly as it had been: soft hues, tall windows, lace curtains that danced in the wind. But even here, something had changed.
On her vanity sat a vase of sunflowers now.
Sunflowers?
She hated sunflowers. Richard knew that. In her previous life, he'd never once allowed them in her room. They reminded her of funerals.
Selene reached out and touched a petal.
There was a knock on her door.
"Come in," she said.
Anne stepped inside, her hands clasped before her. "I hope you don't mind," she said sweetly. "I asked the maids to bring you sunflowers. They're Father's favorite, and I thought it might make you feel closer to him."
Selene's hand stilled over the vase.
"Father's favorite?" she repeated softly. "I didn't know."
Anne smiled. "He told me yesterday. I suppose you never asked."
The remark was wrapped in innocence, but it struck like a blade.
Selene turned slowly, meeting Anne's gaze. For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Selene smiled. It was faint, unreadable. "Thank you. That was thoughtful of you."
Anne's expression brightened immediately. "I only wanted to help. We're sisters now, after all."
Selene tilted her head. "Of course. Sisters."
Anne gave a graceful curtsy, then turned toward the door. "Dinner is at seven. Father asked that you wear something light. He's invited a few guests."
"Guests?" Selene blinked. Everything was throwing her off guard. Might she have forgotten this part of her memory, or it would be a new twist?
Also, why does Anne suddenly have more information than her.
"Yes," Anne said, pausing at the doorway. "Business associates, I believe. He said you'd remember them."