The garden doors opened with a creak, sunlight spilling into the marbled foyer like liquid gold.
Adele stood just behind Charles, her hand resting on his shoulder as he tugged Jason inside. For a moment, everything stilled — the music, the chatter, even the wind in the hedges — as if the manor itself was holding its breath.
Then, a gasp. Heels on polished stone.
"My son!"
The Lady of Ashbourne swept into view like a vision from another era. Clad in burgundy silk and gold lace, her silvery hair pinned high and proud, she crossed the room in long, regal strides — but her composure cracked the moment she reached Jason.
She pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Three years," she whispered, voice shaking. "Three bloody years and not a word."
Jason stiffened in her arms before gently returning the embrace, resting his chin lightly atop her shoulder. His eyes found Adele for a split second. She looked away.
"Mother," he murmured. "I didn't think I'd be welcomed."
She swatted his chest lightly, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't be a fool. This is your home, Jason. It always has been."
From the corner of the room, Henry stood with a glass still half-full in his hand, unmoving, a slow boil behind his eyes. His jaw twitched, lips set in a hard, unreadable line. He said nothing.
But his silence screamed.
Leopold appeared next, emerging from the parlour with a well-rehearsed smile and a glass of champagne.
"Well, well," he said, voice as smooth as cream. "The prodigal son returns."
Jason tensed. "Leo."
"Still taller than me, I see. Disgraceful," Leopold added, kissing their mother's cheek before offering Jason his hand. Jason took it, stiffly.
Leopold's smile faltered for a breath as their palms touched — not from anger, but from knowledge. He felt it in Jason's posture, in his clipped breath.
A storm had arrived with him.
And they both knew exactly who stood at its center.
His eyes flicked briefly to Adele.
Then he leaned closer to his brother and murmured under his breath, "You know what you're doing."
Jason didn't answer.
From a high-backed chair in the far end of the room, the Ashbourne patriarch sat in dignified silence, wrapped in wool and velvet, his once-imposing frame now thinned with time. After his second stroke, Lord Ashbourne no longer spoke, no longer ruled — but his eyes remained sharp, piercing beneath heavy brows.
His face softened only when Charles ran to him, climbing into his lap and whispering secrets into his ear. The old man chuckled — a raspy, rare sound — and patted the boy's back with a trembling hand.
His love for his grandson was the only warmth left in him.
He didn't acknowledge Jason.
Not with words.
Not even with a look.
His silence was absolute.
Because in his eyes, there was only one true heir — Henry.
The room returned to motion. Music resumed. The staff moved like shadows carrying trays of cake and wine. Guests began to talk again, though their eyes flicked curiously to the tall man in black who had appeared like a ghost among them.
Jason stood close to Adele, not daring to speak.
Adele stood composed, every movement deliberate.
Henry watched them both, like a wolf circling the edge of firelight.
And Leopold, ever the observer, drank slowly — already calculating what this return would cost them all.
Because one truth lingered unspoken, yet thick in the air:
Jason's return would break everything.
And somewhere in the distance, unseen from the crowd, clouds gathered heavy above Ashbourne.
The storm had only just begun.
Then, Henry finally found his voice.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on his younger brother.
"Welcome, brother," he said, with a tight, cold smile. "How long are you visiting us?"
A hush followed.
Before Jason could speak, the Lady Ashbourne placed a protective hand on her son's arm and answered, her voice laced with subtle steel.
"He isn't visiting, Henry."
She turned her gaze toward the room — toward her husband, her guests, and then back to her eldest son.
"My son won't be leaving again."
And with that, she turned to Jason and gently ushered him toward the staircase.
"Come, darling. I had your room aired this morning."
Jason glanced once more at Adele — still frozen near the threshold — before following his mother into the house he once abandoned.
And Henry was left staring after them, glass trembling in his hand, as the walls of his perfect world quietly began to shift beneath him.
The storm had only just begun.