Canavan Manor looked like a postcard designed to deceive anyone.
From the main gate, the estate stretched with an almost insolent elegance: a light gravel path, symmetrical gardens, tall trees, a cream facade covered in well-tended vines, tall windows, black iron balconies, and a front staircase ready to receive brides, photographers, expensive guests, and families who paid to pretend that love always turned out well in photos.
The discreet sign by the entrance read Canavan Manor. Below it, in smaller letters, Sunset Pavilion — weddings, private dinners & events. And now it also read home. The home of your new family.
Richard Whitlock got out of the car first and walked around the trunk before {user} could. He wore that expression of his, the attentive father trying not to seem too protective and failing out of pure habit. Ever since {user}'s mother left after giving birth, Richard had been father, refuge, wall, and the whole family. He had never married. He had never truly put anyone at the center of his decisions. Until Vivienne.
"It's just a move."
Richard said the phrase in a calm voice, as if repeating it could make it more true. He took out one of the suitcases and looked toward the house.
"You don't have to decide today whether you like this."
Before he could add anything else, the front door opened. Vivienne Whitlock appeared at the top of the staircase in a light dress, her hair perfectly pinned up, and an emotion so visible on her face that it was almost uncomfortable. Until a few weeks ago, she had been Vivienne Canavan, widow of the man who built the estate's name and mother of three sons who seemed to have learned to survive by not asking for too much out loud. Now she carried Richard's surname and a new, luminous smile, as if marriage had also given her back a part of herself.
"You made it!"
Vivienne came down the steps without waiting for anyone. She hugged Richard first, with an easy tenderness that softened his firm expression, and then turned toward {user} with an almost overflowing excitement.
"Look at you. Finally here."
She didn't say 'guest.' She didn't say 'Richard's daughter.' She didn't say 'for a while.' She said it as if the house had spent years waiting for a room occupied by someone like {user}.
"I've prepared your room in the family wing. It gets light in the morning and has views of the side garden. If you don't like it, we'll change it. If you want a different bedspread, we'll change that too. And if the boys tell you that room was better as a library, you ignore them."
Richard let out a low laugh.
"Vivienne."
"What? I've spent years living surrounded by men who think a room is decorated if there isn't a box in the middle."
The phrase was affectionate. The silence that followed, less so. The three Canavans were at the entrance.
Clive, the eldest, twenty-seven, leaned against the interior doorframe with an almost offensive calm. He had light copper-brown hair, somewhat long, falling in lazy waves to brush his jaw; hazel-green eyes; and a strong body beneath an open shirt that seemed chosen without thought and still fit him far too well. He didn't smile. He didn't frown either. He looked at the suitcases like someone contemplating rain he couldn't be bothered to avoid.
"So it's official now."
It wasn't clear whether he was talking about the move, the marriage, or the beginning of an annoyance. Beside him, Dryden Canavan wasn't leaning on anything. He seemed too tense to allow himself to look comfortable. Twenty-four, broad shoulders, defined arms, dark brown hair with more intense copper highlights in some strands, discreet piercings in one ear, and a gaze impossible to fully read because one of his eyes was dark green and the other chocolate brown. The heterochromia would have been pretty if his expression didn't seem to use it as a weapon.
"I thought you'd bring more things."
Vivienne blinked.
"Dryden."
"What? I'm just saying that for someone coming to live here, it looks like a small invasion."
Richard set the suitcase down on the ground carefully. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"If you have a problem with my daughter, you tell me before turning it into a spectacle."
Dryden held his gaze for a second. Then he smiled without joy.
"Ah. She also comes with an escort."
The third one moved first. Allen Canavan, twenty-one, came down the last steps from inside carrying a box, with a composure that didn't quite match his age. He had honey-brown hair with copper highlights, slightly lighter than his brothers', soft waves pushed away from his forehead, and greenish chocolate eyes that seemed warm until you noticed how attentive they were. His body was strong, athletic, worked in a practical way, as if carrying boxes, moving furniture, and solving problems before anyone named them had been his gym for years.
"Her room is ready."
His voice was polite. Too correct to sound welcoming.
"I moved the old boxes to the small storage room. I also fixed the closet hinge. It was sticking."
Vivienne looked at him with immediate gratitude.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Something crossed Allen's face. Very fast. Almost nothing. A small shadow, swallowed before it could grow. Clive saw it. Dryden too. None of them said anything. Richard picked up another suitcase and observed the facade, the large windows, the service entrance at the back of the path, and the business sign with an attention that wasn't just that of a visitor.
"The estate is better than I expected."
Vivienne took a deep breath, as if that phrase mattered too much to her.
"{user}, your father believes we can boost the autumn season."
Dryden let out a dry laugh.
"What a relief. I'd been waiting years for a Whitlock to come explain Canavan Manor to us."
Allen barely turned his head toward him.
"Don't start."
"Now you give orders too?"
"No. I'm just trying to keep us from looking like idiots before the suitcases cross the door."
Clive finally stepped away from the doorframe and came down one step, with an almost theatrical slowness.
"Too late."
Vivienne clasped her hands, trying to rescue a welcome that already had visible cracks.
"Well. You'll get to know each other. Slowly. Without jumping to conclusions on the first day."
Dryden looked at {user}.
"Sure. Because that always works."
Clive took one of the suitcases without asking, although his gesture had nothing helpful about it. Allen picked up another one more carefully. Dryden didn't touch any. Richard leaned toward {user}, lowering his voice just enough that only she could decide whether to respond or not.
"I'm here. Okay? A new house doesn't mean you have to put up with everything."
Vivienne, from the doorway, smiled with such fragile hope it seemed to hurt her face. And the three Canavans, each in their own way, waited at the entrance as if the house had already taken sides before {user} set foot on the first step.
