Greg's pov
Eight Years Ago
The drive back to my parents house felt shorter than I wanted it to be. The snow diminished as we neared the estate, replaced by well-cleared roads, iron gates, and the kind of pristine silence that wealth brings. Nathan leaned forward slightly, eyes widening at the sight.
"Whoa." I said nothing. The place always felt... cold and gleaming, as if it were a museum where nothing ever lived. The gates opened automatically upon recognizing the car's license plate, and my stomach tightened. I hadn't been here in months, well not since the last fight.
As we drove up the long driveway, I immediately noticed the details my family was passionate about; the wreath on the front door, which was more expensive than some people's monthly rent, the meticulously arranged white lights around each tree, and the professionally applied fake snow on the hedges, because heaven forbid winter appear natural. Nathan let out a low breath.
"So… you grew up here?"
