That weekend, Andres and Maeve went to the White family's main estate as planned.
Fixing the house's poisoned luck was only part of it.
The other reason was obvious: they were there to see the real Mrs. White—Sofia.
Compared to the last visit, Sofia looked vastly better.
Seeing her son and daughter-in-law arrive together put her in an unmistakably bright mood.
Even Andres hadn't expected it.
Every time he came to see her before, his mother's face had been pale, drained of life.
Today, there was color in her cheeks.
He praised her sincerely. "Mom, you're glowing. What happened—some good news? Come on, share with us."
Sofia shot him a scolding look, though her eyes were warm.
"I'd love to have some good news," she said, "but that depends on you two satisfying me."
"You got married in secret and didn't even throw a wedding. Tell me—where's my joy supposed to come from?"
"If you'd just make it public, I'd stand up out of this wheelchair tomorrow."
Andres laughed, caught by her exaggeration.
"Fine. I'll have Hans start preparing our wedding."
"For your legs alone, I'll make it a proper celebration."
He turned to Maeve, clearly waiting for her answer.
If she nodded, he'd redo the wedding immediately—make sure all of Stramont knew Andres White was married, and Maeve was his wife.
Maeve looked up toward the ceiling, deliberately refusing to bite.
Andres was trying to corner her with a tactic. A sly one, at that.
Sofia exchanged a look with Andres as if to say: "I've done what I can. The rest is on you."
Andres understood her intentions—and he understood Maeve too.
Maeve didn't want their relationship public. She had her reasons and her boundaries.

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