CHAPTER 35

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GENEVIEVE

I stepped out of the room, my steps slow and deliberate. The walls were adorned with gilded portraits, tapestries, and opulent antiques, and I took a deep breath, realizing where I was: Roman’s mansion—the infamous Blackwell mansion.

The realization settled over me like a shroud, heavy but oddly invigorating. My heels clicked against the polished marble floor as I descended the grand staircase, my gaze scanning the space with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

At the bottom of the stairs stood a regal older woman with cold, piercing eyes—Roman’s grandmother. Her posture was straight, and her face was set in a hardened scowl.

I paused for a moment, meeting the older woman’s eyes with an unreadable expression of my own. The tension between us was thick, almost palpable.

She was not happy to see me.

“You,”

the grandmother spat out, her voice dripping with disdain.

“You think you can waltz into this family, marry my grandson, and play the lady of the manor? You ar