The Heiress Who Hated Summer

Sunrise hit Villa Veyre in bright slices, like the house had been cut open on purpose. Ada Veyre stood in the exterior courtyard with a folder under her arm and a heat that made her linen cling to her skin. She told herself it was just weather. She did not tell herself about July.

Her phone buzzed again. Another notification. Another clip. In the latest video, someone’s voice said, “It’s her fault—she signed off on unsafe restoration.” Ada stared at the frozen screen long enough for her jaw to ache. The caption under the clip used her name and the villa’s name in the same sentence.

She walked toward the courtyard gates anyway. Her steps were measured, the way she used to walk through family rooms where smiles came with rules. Two men in dust-colored uniforms blocked the entrance with orange tape and a sign that read RESTORATION IN PROGRESS—NO ACCESS.