Chapter 3 - Arrival at the Costa Fortress
The Costa estate in Westchester County looked less like a home and more like a fortress wrapped in manicured lawns and ancient weeping willows. Iron gates swung open automatically as the convoy of black SUVs approached, revealing a sprawling stone mansion that commanded a sweeping view of the Hudson River.
When the vehicle came to a stop in the grand circular driveway, Abigail stepped out into the biting winter air. She looked up at the towering oak doors, the sweeping stone staircases, and the tall, dark windows that looked like unblinking eyes.
"It's big," Abigail murmured, her breath pluming in the cold air.
"It's empty," Samuel corrected quietly, staying close to her side as Leonardo retrieved her battered suitcase from the trunk.
As they walked up the front steps, the heavy oak doors swung open. Standing in the grand foyer was an elderly woman with sharp grey hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing a tailored navy dress. This was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, who had managed the Costa household since Leonardo was a boy. Behind her peeked several younger faces—curious, suspicious, and wary.
"Mr. Costa," Mrs. Gable said stiffly, her eyes darting immediately to Samuel, then sweeping over Abigail with a gaze that could peel paint. "You're back. And... you've brought a guest."
"This is Abigail Turner," Leonardo said, handing his overcoat to a waiting valet. "She is not a guest, Mrs. Gable. She is staying."
Mrs. Gable's eyebrows arched sharply. "Staying? For how long, sir? The agency didn't mention a new placement arriving today."
"The agency didn't send her," Leonardo replied smoothly, walking past them toward the grand staircase. "Samuel, go wash your hands and report to your study hall. Julian! Bianca! Get down here."
The sound of footsteps echoed from the upper landing. A tall, broad-shouldered seventeen-year-old boy appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a prep school blazer unbuttoned at the collar. Behind him stood a fifteen-year-old girl with dark, expressive eyes and a posture that screamed teenage defiance.
"What's going on, Dad?" Julian asked, his voice cracking slightly on the last syllable as he eyed Abigail standing in the foyer next to his younger brother.
"Meet Abigail," Leonardo announced, turning back to face his children. "She is going to be living with us."
Bianca scoffed loudly, leaning against the banister. "Another one? What happened to the French lady? The one who cried because Theo put a live frog in her teacup?"
"She resigned, Bianca," Leonardo said flatly.
"Because she was an idiot," Bianca retorted, descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. she stopped a few feet from Abigail, looking her up and down—from her damp, unstylish shoes to her knitted hat and simple wool coat. Bianca’s lip curled in disdain. "Let me guess. Another charity case? Or did you find her on a bus, Dad? She looks like she belongs in a bakery in Ohio, not running a multi-million-dollar household."
Mrs. Gable cleared her throat, clearly approving of Bianca's assessment, even if she wouldn't voice it aloud.
Abigail didn't flinch. She slowly unbuttoned her coat, folded it neatly over her arm, and met Bianca's hostile gaze with calm, steady warmth.
"Ohio is actually very lovely this time of year," Abigail said smoothly. "And while I may not look like I belong in a high-society magazine, I can tell you one thing for certain, Bianca: respect isn't earned by wearing a designer skirt. It's earned by how you treat the people around you."
Bianca's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're fifteen, you're trying very hard to push everyone away so you don't have to feel the hurt of losing your mother, and you use sarcasm as a shield because you're terrified that if you let anyone close, they'll leave too," Abigail said softly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that silenced the entire foyer.
Bianca froze. Her mouth opened to fire back a sharp retort, but the words caught in her throat. She looked at Abigail, startled by how effortlessly the stranger had read through her armor.
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Leonardo watched the interaction in absolute silence. A low, dangerous glint of satisfaction crossed his dark eyes. For months, his children had run circles around every professional caregiver he hired. Within ten minutes, Abigail Turner had completely disarmed his oldest daughter without raising her voice.
"Show Miss Turner to the guest suite on the second floor," Leonardo instructed Mrs. Gable, whose face had turned a pale shade of shock. "And prepare tea for everyone in the solarium. We have a lot to discuss."
