“My grandmother was the one who orchestrated it,” Dahlia said softly, her gaze steady. “She wove the first threads between the Spencers and the Lockwoods—careful, deliberate. It was a connection entirely separate from the centuries-old ties the two families had maintained. And through marriage, that bond eventually reached the Morettis as well, quietly threading our lives together across generations.”
Dahlia’s gaze remained steady.
“By my grandmother’s wishes, the Lockwoods never spoke of our Harrington blood. Not openly. Not to anyone—especially not in front of the Spencers or the Morettis.” She let the words hang for a moment, letting their weight settle. “It was never denial. It was protection.”
Slowly, she sat beside Maya, folding her hands loosely in her lap. The movement was quiet
