Page 7 of The Last Morgan

Lucy stepped forward entering the grand entrance of the house looming before her like a challenge.

It was exactly as she remembered — high ceilings, polished marble floors, and a sweeping staircase that curled upward like something out of a fairytale. It was breathtaking, cold, and painfully familiar.

This was her home.

At least, it had been — before it became someone else’s.

To the left, in the lavish sitting room, her aunt, uncle, and their two children — Jackson and Sarah — were seated. Picture-perfect in appearance, their bodies stiff with unease.

They looked up the moment she entered. Jackson’s gaze dropped to the floor. Sarah turned her head. Her aunt and uncle simply stared, caught between shock and something closer to dread.

Lucy paused — not to gloat, not to make a scene — but to show grace, just once.

She cleared her throat and offered a quiet nod.

“Good evening.”

They didn’t respond.

“I know this is… unexpected,” she continued, keeping her voice level. “But I’m here now. I’m not looking for a fight. I just want to settle in.”

Still, nothing.

She took a step forward, the click of her heel echoing through the space.

“This house belonged to my family. I understand you’ve been here for years, and I’m not here to throw anyone out.”

Her uncle stood slowly. His voice was calm, but there was a blade hidden beneath it.

“Lucy… we weren’t expecting you.”

“No,” she replied evenly. “You weren’t.”

Her aunt rose next, her smile brittle.

“It’s been such a long time. We thought maybe…”

“You thought I was gone,” Lucy said, cutting gently through the lie.

Her aunt hesitated.

“We thought perhaps… you’d found peace elsewhere. That you’d moved on.”

That did it.

Her jaw tensed. Whatever softness she had arrived with, she let go of now.

“I didn’t move on. I was placed in protective custody because someone murdered my entire family — in this house. My house.”

The air changed.

Silence tightened around them, thick and suffocating.

Then Lucy straightened her shoulders, her tone turning matter-of-fact.

“I’ll be taking the master bedroom. You’re welcome to remain — for now.”

Her eyes scanned the room. Calm. Clear and cold.

“But I’ll need to speak with whoever has been running the household. There are things that need to change, starting immediately.”

Her uncle’s mask of civility cracked.

“My wife oversees the staff,” he said stiffly.

“Good,” Lucy replied. “Then we’ll meet first thing in the morning. I expect a full breakdown of household operations, financials, and anything else you’ve been handling in my absence.”

Her aunt stiffened. Her uncle’s fingers curled subtly at his sides.

They hadn’t expected her to be composed. They certainly hadn’t expected her to be prepared.

Carter stepped forward, his tone clipped and professional.

“Lucy will be settling in tonight. See that her room is prepared.”

Her aunt opened her mouth — maybe to argue, maybe to protest — but stopped short and gave a tight nod instead.

“Of course.”

Corey leaned in close, his voice full of amusement.

“This is going to be fun.”

Lucy didn’t respond, but she agreed.

This was only the beginning.

The house fell into a hush.

Not eerie silence, but that uneasy quiet that settles when people are unsure how to behave. Her so-called family had decided — conveniently — to spend the night at a hotel. Claimed it was to “give her space.”

She knew better.

They needed time to regroup. To whisper, plot, call lawyers. Let them.

Lucy wandered into the kitchen, barefoot, the marble cool beneath her feet. Staff moved quickly, efficiently, eyes flicking toward her then back to their tasks. No one asked questions. But curiosity lingered.

They remembered the child who once played in these halls — and now here she was again, older, sharper, harder to read.

She requested food for herself and Corey while they waited for their rooms to be prepared. The request was met with immediate movement.

Carter had already left. He was back on the inside, chasing the last threads of a case that had long grown cold. He believed the corruption ran deep, maybe even into law enforcement itself.

That thought sat uneasily in her stomach.

Later, once she had settled in her room, Lucy decided to walk around the house, tracing old footsteps. The halls seemed longer than she remembered. The walls, somehow taller. Her fingers brushed furniture she hadn’t seen since she was eight.

She paused at her brothers’ old room.

The door was just as it had been — dark wood, slightly scuffed at the bottom from where one of them used to kick it open. She reached out, fingers grazing the surface.

She waited for grief. For sorrow. For the ache that should have come.

But nothing did.

Only the heat of anger. Not the kind that flared and faded, but the kind that stayed buried and kept you sharp.

She stepped away, her jaw set.

They had taken everything from her.

But now… it was her turn to take everything back.