Aria Voss had never been one for funerals. She avoided them with the same deliberate precision she used to avoid office birthday parties or sentimental speeches at corporate retreats. Feelings were messy, unpredictable, and rarely productive. But when the black and gold envelope arrived on her desk hand delivered by a courier who looked both terrified and honored she knew this was one. Aldergrove Estate, her grandmother's estate… and the place Aria had fled from at seventeen, vowing never to return.
She didn't open it right away. She had a board meeting in eighteen minutes, three acquisitions on the line, and a hostile competitor sniffing for signs of weakness. Her schedule didn't have room for nostalgia.
But the envelope sat on her desk like a living thing, pulling at her attention even when she tried to ignore it. At last, with a sigh that was more resignation than grief, she slit it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper on creamy stationery.
To my granddaughter, Aria Voss:
You are hereby requested to appear for the reading of my will. Aldergrove Estate, Monday, 9:00 a.m. sharp.
There is much you do not know.
No signature. No warmth. No explanation.
Aria stared at the letter for a long moment, her throat tightening despite herself. "There is much you do not know." What an unnecessary thing to say. Her grandmother had always been a cryptic woman, speaking in riddles as if normal conversation were beneath her.
A chime sounded from her office wall panel. Her assistant's voice filled the room. "Ms. Voss, the board is ready for you."
Aria folded the letter with military precision and slipped it into her bag. "I'll be there in a moment."
As she walked to the meeting room, her composure returned. This numbers, negotiations, decisions was her realm. Voss Dynamics was her kingdom, and she ruled it well.
But all morning, something tugged at the back of her mind: a memory, soft and persistent, like a ghost tapping its fingers.
The garden.
That impossible garden behind the iron gate.
Its scent sweet, strange, alive had followed her into adulthood no matter how fiercely she tried to forget it.
She shook it off as she entered the boardroom.
Twelve faces turned toward her. Her board half ambitious allies, half silent adversaries sat in their plush seats like judges waiting to deliver a verdict.
Damien Cross's name flashed across her mind. He was CEO of CrossTech, her company's greatest rival. And rumor had it he'd been courting two of her board members.
"Let's begin," she said, taking her seat.
She opened with updates acquisition projections, revenue models, growth strategies. Aria spoke with the calm certainty of someone who understood power as fluently as breathing.
But halfway through her presentation, her phone vibrated.
Another message from the estate.
Attendance is mandatory.
Aria's pulse quickened. Mandatory? Who enforced something like that?
She forced herself to ignore it and continued the meeting. But the atmosphere shifted as if her distraction had cracked a façade. Several board members exchanged looks. Her CFO, Edward Lang, watched her a little too closely.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Edward lingered behind.
"Everything alright?" he asked, voice smooth, unreadable.
"Personal matter," she said. "It won't affect operations."
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I hope not. CrossTech is tightening its pressure. Damien's been very active this week."
"I'm aware," Aria said coldly.
And she was. Too aware.
Damien Cross had been a thorn in her side for years brilliant, charming, and ruthless. He played the corporate game like chess, always three moves ahead. And lately, he'd been circling her company with predatory patience.
Edward gave a polite nod and left the room.
Aria exhaled slowly.
The estate, the message, the timing none of it felt accidental.
She checked her calendar. Monday was two days away. A trip to Aldergrove would mean leaving the company vulnerable, even if only for twenty-four hours.
But the message had said mandatory.
She couldn't ignore that.
By evening, she was sitting alone in her penthouse overlooking the city its lights glittering like a thousand artificial stars trying to justify not going. But every rational argument crumbled beneath a quiet, persistent truth.
Her grandmother, Isolde Voss, had shaped her childhood more than either of her parents. She taught Aria how to think sharply, defend fiercely, and never bow to fear. And though they'd grown apart, though silence had grown between them like a forest of thorns… she owed the woman a final acknowledgment.
Aria closed her laptop. Decision made.
She would go.
The drive to Aldergrove Estate took three hours three hours of winding country roads and memories she wished she could bury. The air deepened as she drove farther from the city, filled with the scent of pine and something older, wilder.
The estate appeared through the trees like a relic carved from another century. A manor of stone and ivy, tall windows glimmering beneath the morning sun. It looked almost exactly as she remembered.
The front door opened before she knocked. An elderly man her grandmother's lawyer, Mr. Hawthorne stood waiting, his posture straight despite his age.
"Ms. Voss," he greeted. "My condolences."
Aria nodded stiffly.
He led her into the old study. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, scattering color onto the bookshelves. A single envelope sat on the massive oak desk.
"This," Hawthorne said, placing a hand on it, "is your grandmother's final directive."
Aria took a seat. Her heart beat faster.
Hawthorne broke the seal and began reading aloud:
"To my granddaughter, Aria Voss.
You are the sole heir to Aldergrove Estate.