Dominic’s POV

The house smells like dust and memory, That’s the first thing that hits me when I unlock the door.

It’s been years since I’ve stepped into my father’s old study, the one room my mother never changed, the one room I never wanted to.

The curtains are still drawn, the air still faintly laced with cigar smoke and sandalwood polish. His presence lingers here, even though he’s been gone nearly a decade. I tell myself I came to look for records.

That’s what I told ...