The Laurent estate loomed before her, grand and imposing, just as she remembered. The sprawling mansion stood as a testament to old money, with its towering ivory columns and gilded accents, nestled within the pristine, manicured gardens of Manhattan's elite. It had been five years since she had last set foot here, yet it seemed untouched by time.
Anastasia Laurent took a deep breath, smoothing out the creases in her silk blouse before stepping out of the sleek black town car. Five years away from home. Five years without the weight of the Laurent name pressing down on her shoulders. But the moment she stepped onto the familiar marble driveway, the past rushed back in like a tidal wave.
The double doors swung open before she could even knock.
A piercing shriek split the air.
"MON DIEU! Someone catch me—I'm about to faint! My granddaughter has returned from the dead!"
Anastasia barely had time to brace herself before a blur of fine silk and expensive cologne threw itself at her.
"Grandfather!" she gasped, barely containing a laugh as the man dramatically clutched her shoulders, staring at her as though she were a ghost.
"My darling Anastasia," Hugo Laurent, the ever-theatrical patriarch of the family, placed both hands on her cheeks, shaking his head in disbelief. "I was beginning to think you had renounced us! Gone off to become a starving artist, living in some tiny attic in Paris, painting portraits of strange men with tragic pasts!"
"Grandfather, I went to Harvard, not to a Bohemian artist colony." Anastasia sighed, rolling her eyes.
"Bah! Same thing," he scoffed. "You abandoned your poor old grandfather to waste away in this soulless house while you lived your life—without me!"
She bit back a laugh. "Are you saying you missed me?"
He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Missed you? I was on the verge of calling the Interpol! How could you leave for five years without returning even once?"
"I was busy with my studies."
Hugo let out a loud, exaggerated sniff, dabbing at his eyes with a silk handkerchief. "Busy, she says. Did you even think about me?"
Anastasia sighed, amused but fond. "Every day, Grandfather."
"Hmph. I shall forgive you— but only if you promise never to leave me again!"
Before Anastasia could respond, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the moment.
"Father, you're being ridiculous."
Anastasia froze.
The warmth from her grandfather's embrace dissipated as she turned her gaze toward the entrance of the grand hallway.
Her mother.
Genevieve Laurent, the ever-impeccable, ever-unyielding woman who had spent Anastasia's entire childhood sculpting her into the perfect Laurent heiress. Dressed in a pristine white Chanel suit, her mother stood with an air of effortless sophistication, her icy blue eyes assessing Anastasia in a single glance.
"I assume you're back for good this time?" Genevieve asked, her tone smooth, yet carrying the weight of expectation.
Anastasia met her gaze evenly. "I haven't decided yet."
Her mother's lips pursed slightly—a barely noticeable sign of disapproval. "Then I suggest you decide quickly. Your place is here, Anastasia. There are responsibilities waiting for you."
Ah, yes. The Laurent responsibilities.
A carefully curated life of charity galas, business mergers, and strategic marriages. A life that had never felt like her own.
Before Anastasia could formulate a response, another familiar voice—softer, yet just as urgent—echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
"Stassi!"
A blur of curls and pastel fabric came rushing down the stairs before crashing into Anastasia's arms.
"Juliette!" Anastasia gasped, wrapping her arms around her cousin.
Juliette Laurent—her childhood partner-in-crime, the only person in the family who had never judged her, never expected her to be anything but herself.
"I can't believe you're really here!" Juliette grinned, pulling back slightly. "I thought you'd gone off and married a cowboy or something by now!"
Anastasia laughed. "A cowboy?"
Juliette shrugged. "You were always talking about running away and living a free life."
"That was when I was twelve."
"Still." Juliette pouted. "You never came back! I had to deal with all the stuffy luncheons alone!"
Anastasia smiled, guilt tugging at her chest. "I missed you too, Jules."
"Good, because I have so much gossip to tell you," Juliette whispered mischievously.
A loud cough interrupted them.
"Must we continue this dramatic display in the middle of the foyer?" Genevieve sighed, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. "Father, if you're finished with your theatrics, can we please have a proper welcome inside?"
Hugo huffed, muttering something about cold-hearted women, but he extended an arm toward Anastasia with a flourish. "Come, my darling. Let us dine like the aristocrats we are! We have five years of lost meals to make up for!"
Anastasia chuckled, looping her arm through his as they entered the grand dining hall.
Despite the tensions, despite the suffocating weight of family expectations… there was warmth here, too.
She had missed this.
As the staff began serving the extravagant lunch—an array of delicacies that likely cost more than a college semester—her grandfather leaned forward with a glint in his eye.
"Now, tell me, Anastasia," he said, sipping his wine. "Did you break any hearts while you were away?"
Anastasia hesitated.
Break any hearts?
She only ever broke one.
And if the rumors were true, Dante Alexander Montgomery was back in New York.
She just prayed she wouldn't run into him.
Little did she know—fate had other plans.