The mansion’s formal sitting room felt less like a home and more like a guarded fortress. Two of Ronan’s warriors stood discreetly by the doors, eyes sharp and postures rigid. Strict supervision, as promised. Faith had argued for privacy, but Ronan had only conceded this much—no more.
Her parents arrived precisely at noon. Her mother, still frail from her long illness, clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers. Her father looked nervous in his worn jacket, eyes darting around the opulent room with its marble floors and heavy velvet drapes.
“Mom. Dad.” Faith rushed forward, pulling them both into a fierce hug. Tears stung her eyes as she breathed in their familiar scents—home, safety, love. “You’re really here. Are you okay? Is everything holding up?”
Her mother cupped her face, searching
