Lincoln’s POV
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion were already standing wide open when I carried a basket of freshly folded laundry down the grand staircase on Tuesday morning.
A woman stood in the center of the marble foyer.
She wore an immaculate camel-hair trench coat draped over designer trousers, her platinum hair cut into an artfully undone bob, oversized sunglasses pushed up into her hair. Two designer leather suitcases rested neatly beside her high heels. She smelled of expensive jasmine perfume, looking around the cavernous foyer not like a guest, but like someone inspecting property she used to own.
Archie stood five paces away from her, and I had never seen his posture so terrifyingly rigid. His jaw was clenched into stone, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets that
