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Each element of my sanctuary had been selected for a specific purpose—the Rothko positioned to catch afternoon light at precisely four-fifteen, the Baccarat crystal arranged with mathematical precision, the first-edition legal texts organized by subject and publication date.
I poured two fingers of Macallan 25—a ritual as immutable as the sunrise—and moved to the windows. Beyond the glass, London sprawled in organized chaos, millions of lives intersecting in patterns I couldn't predict or control. The thought unsettled me more than it should have.
"To another flawless victory," I murmured to the empty room. The words echoed briefly before being absorbed by the specialized acoustic dampening built into the walls.
But the victory felt hollow, as they increasingly did.
At thirty-four, I'd achieved more than most barristers managed in their entire careers.
The Meridian case would grace The Times's front page tomorrow, my name linked to yet another corporate triumph. My partnership at Pemberton & Associates had made me the youngest senior partner in the firm's history.
The penthouse, the country house, the investment portfolio—all markers of success that meant precisely nothing when night fell and silence pressed against me like an accusation.
I found myself studying a framed photograph on the sideboard—the last family portrait before Father's death. Hestood behind Mother and me, his hand resting on my sixteen-year-old shoulder with proprietary satisfaction.
Even then, I'd carried the weight of Grosvenor expectations, the unspoken mandate to exceed his considerable achievements.
Mission accomplished, I thought bitterly.
Yet I doubted he'd intended for success to feel quite so much like solitary confinement.
The Macallan provided no answers, only the temporary illusion of warmth in a space designed for everything except human comfort. I'd been standing at these windows for nearly twenty minutes—an unprecedented waste of billable time that would have horrified my younger self.
My mobile buzzed against the silence. Daphne's name appeared on the screen—my sister, whose calls commanded immediate attention despite the chaos they invariably brought.
"Edward, darling!" Her voice carried that distinctive blend of Received Pronunciation and American informality she'd cultivated during her university years.
"Please tell me I haven't caught you in the middle of conquering some helpless corporation."
"I recently liberated the Meridian acquisition from regulatory obstacles," I replied, settling into my reading chair—a concession to comfort Father would have scorned. "What crisis requires my immediate intervention?"
"Not a crisis, precisely. More of a delicate situation." She paused, and I could envision her tucking an escaped curl behind her ear—a nervous habit unchanged since childhood. "I'm returning to the manor for a few weeks."
"How delightful." My tone carried just enough sarcasm to register disapproval without appearing overtly hostile. "Mother will be beside herself with joy. She's been lamenting your absence at the Weatherby Foundation gala for months."
"Yes, well, I'll make appropriate amends."
Her laugh carried an edge I recognized—the sound Daphne made when preparing to request something she knew I'd resist. "The thing is, Edward, I'm bringing a friend."
The statement hung in the air like a challenge.
Daphne collected friends across the social spectrum, but she rarely introduced them to our family circle. The Grosvenor estate operated according to protocols refined over four centuries—certain standards, certain expectations, certain unspoken rules about who belonged within its walls and who didn't.
"A friend." Not a question.
"From university. Lili Anderton—I've mentioned her dozens of times, though you never listen when I discuss anything that isn't legally binding." Her defensiveness sharpened her accent, making her sound more like Mother during charitable committee meetings. "She's American."
"Ah." I managed to inject considerable meaning into the single syllable.
"Texan, specifically. And before you adopt that dreadful tone you use for discussing 'colonials', she's absolutely brilliant. She's been working in television sales since graduation—started in her company’s Austin office, but they've expanded to London recently. She's always dreamed of working abroad, and I offered her our staff quarters while she finds her bearings."
I processed this information with growing unease. A television company crossed my desk mere hours ago in connection with a potential acquisition. Surely the coincidence was too precise to be anything but chance.
"She sells products on television?" I couldn't prevent the slight elevation of my eyebrow that accompanied the question—a gesture Daphne had always found insufferable.
"It's not as mundane as you're making it sound," she shot back, her protective instincts fully engaged. "She has a genuinepassion and she's remarkably good at what she does. The point is, she's nothing like Mother's usual circle, and I need you to ensure things go smoothly."
"Define 'smoothly.'"