The first thing Willow noticed was the light.
It was not the soft, forgiving kind that blurred imperfections. It was deliberate, engineered to flatter money, ambition, and consequence. The Starlit Gardens shimmered beneath it, a monument to precision and excess. Limestone columns framed panels of glass that gleamed like liquid silver. The driveway curved through manicured gardens where jasmine and rain hung heavy in the air. Every hedge, every flowerbed, every reflection on marble announced wealth with restraint, the kind that never apologized for being watched.
The car rolled past the gate. Security guards in tailored black uniforms nodded them through while valet personnel stood ready along the circular drive, their posture attentive and practiced. A fountain dominated the center of the approach, marble horses frozen mid gallop, water arching in perfect symmetry beneath the chandelier glow spilling from the house.
Willow stared through the glass.
