By the time the car pulled into the private drive of the Ford-Summers estate, the sun had dipped beneath the skyline, and twilight bathed the property in a rich amber hue.
The mansion glowed like a lighthouse carved from glass and stone, each light inside flickering with purpose—as though the house, too, had been told it was hosting something rare tonight.
The moment Ava stepped out of the car—with a lot more help this time from a suddenly overzealous Butler Eduardo—the front doors opened.
There stood the household staff in formal formation, as if they'd rehearsed this. Every uniform was pristine, their postures as elegant as chess pieces. The air was thick with some kind of citrus-herb blend—lemongrass and basil, maybe. Clean. Fresh. The design is very human.
Ava blinked at them. "Did… someone call a parade?"
