Chapter 142 – Estela POV
I close my eyes.
The wind brushes against my skin like a warm kiss. Somewhere below, I hear the faint rustle of leaves and the low rumble of distant conversation—probably the guards doing rounds again. I should go back inside. But I don't want to. Not yet.
I lean further over the marble balcony rail, arms folded, cheek pressed against cool stone. The sun's dipping low, casting everything in gold. It's the kind of view that belongs in movies, the kind you stare at right before something changes forever.
And yet—nothing changes. Not for me.
I breathe in deep. A hint of Daphne's cologne from earlier clinging to my shirt. It's one of her button-downs, oversized and soft, sleeves rolled up. I stole it because it smells like her. I miss her even when she's just downstairs, planning how not to die in this family civil war.
She always smells like power and comfort. I don't know how she does that.
But me?
