Chapter 3: The House That Hates Her
The car ride was long and quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brought peace but the kind that crackled beneath the skin, heavy and unrelenting. The two assistants neatly dressed in Callahan black sat stiffly in the front seats. Neither looked back. Neither spoke to her.
Magnolia kept her gaze fixed on the window as the city blurred past. The further they drove from the heart of Arizona’s skyline, the more surreal it all felt. Her wolf hadn’t stirred once since she left Rhett’s office. It lay dormant, silent as if even it couldn’t decide if this was survival or surrender.
The car pulled through the second set of iron gates, these ones flanked by obsidian statues of wolves tall, snarling, and carved from polished volcanic stone. The driveway coiled like a serpent through pristine, manicured forest. And then, like something out of myth, the Callahan estate emerged from the trees.
It wasn’t just a house. It was a fortress.
Black granite walls stretched upward in angular precision. Massive glass windows gleamed in the early dusk. Ivy twisted across the wrought iron balconies like veins. It was beautiful. Cold. Untouchable.
The engine stopped.
Neither assistant opened her door. She let herself out and felt the weight of the building immediately like it was watching her. Judging her. Even the air here felt heavier.
The front doors opened.
A man in a slate-grey suit stepped forward. His beard was trimmed sharp. His eyes were flat. Not a smile in sight.
"Ms. Blake," he said curtly. "I’m Carlton. Estate administrator. I’ll show you to your quarters."
No welcome. No Luna. Just Blake, like she was still some outsider waiting to be tolerated.