A few days later, Gregory sat at his grandfather's large writing desk in the family estate's library. It was positioned near a big window and offered a panoramic view of the Estate's expansive grounds. A half glass of whiskey rested on the desk, its amber liquid catching the warm light of the room. Beside it, a laptop and a stack of papers were neatly arranged, while an old globe stood in one corner.

Soft light from a chandelier cast gentle patterns across the sizable Persian rug on the floor, while tall windows framed by heavy velvet drapes let in narrow beams of daylight, creating moving shadows with the breeze. At the end of the room stood a large fireplace, its mantlepiece adorned with intricate carvings. Though there was no fire, it still emanated a sense of warmth and history. Comfortable armchairs and leather sofas were arranged invitingly around the room, urging anyone to sit and enjoy a book.

His gaze wandered to the shelves lined with books, each seemingly holding endless secrets. Memories flooded his mind of the countless hours spent in the company of his grandfather and Marianne lost in conversation or simply enjoying each other's presence. Yet, as he reminisced, his facial expression hardened, remembering how his marriage to Marianne had strained and damaged their once-close friendship.

Lost in thought, Gregory ran his fingers along the edge of the desk, feeling the smooth wood beneath his touch. The memories that flooded his mind brought a mixture of nostalgia and longing. He missed the simpler times when life seemed less complicated, and the future held endless possibilities.

A sudden knock broke his reverie, and Martha, his longtime housekeeper, entered with a tea tray. The comforting aroma filled the room as she set the tray on a low table near the fireplace.

"You know, Martha," Gregory began, his gaze fixed on the rising steam from the teapot, "there's something else I'm yearning for more than just tea."

"And what might that be sir?" she asked, her tone soft with understanding.

His eyes shifted to the half-empty glass of whiskey before him, signaling that he wasn't planning to respond. Martha sighed softly, a blend of warmth and resignation coloring her demeanor.

"Tea is good for you, Mr. Lawson. It helps clear the mind."

He rose from the desk and approached her, settling into one of the chairs in front of the table. Accepting the cup she offered, he took cautious sips of the hot, aromatic liquid. She lingered nearby, her expression conflicted, prompting him to raise an eyebrow.

"What is it?" he finally asked, sensing her hesitation.

She sighed heavily as if she had been holding her breath, then reached into the folds of her apron and produced an envelope.

"She is back in town," Martha said, her voice weighted with concern.

Gregory's gaze shifted to the envelope, recognizing the familiar Wright family seal. Time seemed to stand still as he processed the implications. Her disapproving look snapped him back to reality.

"This," she emphasized, gesturing with the envelope, "is from the past. It's unwise to open an old wound. You're married now and should focus on your wife."

He nodded, not necessarily because he valued her advice but out of courtesy. Accepting the envelope, he held it in his hands, feeling the weight of its contents and the gravity of his past.

Overwhelmed by the revelation of Jane's return—a piece of news that shook him to his core, Gregory remained in a daze as Martha's words washed over him, his attention fixated on the weight of the envelope in his hands. She had been banished from the Estate years ago, her exile enforced by his grandfather's decree. The reasons behind her expulsion remained shrouded in mystery.

Jane. Gregory's thoughts inevitably drifted back to their last moment together despite his efforts to move on.

"Let's run away together," Jane had pleaded, her desperation evident as he escorted her towards the gate of the Lawson's Estate. "We could move to Europe. Your grandfather won't come after us."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replied doubtfully. "Besides, I can't…"

"Why?" her confusion had pierced through his defenses. "Don't feed me excuses about your obligations."

Gregory had fallen silent, for her accusations held a grain of truth.

"It's not fair, Jane," he had finally admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I can't abandon Clara. Or my mother. They depend on me."

"Your mother can take care of your sister," she had countered, her anger evident. "And your grandfather spoils her enough as it is."

He pulled her into his arms, feeling her body trembling against his. Their hearts raced in unison, the pain of their imminent separation flooding the air.

"I love you," she pleaded, her teary eyes searching his face, hoping it would help convince him.

"I love you too," he whispered, gently tracing her tear-streaked cheeks.

Martha cleared her throat, pulling Gregory back to the present. Her eyes searched his face. 

"Is everything okay?" 

"Yeah, no." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm fine." 

He felt awkward under her gaze before she finally conceded. 

"If there's anything else I can assist you with, please let me know," Martha offered, her concern evident.

"Right." He nodded absentmindedly, his attention drifting back to the envelope.

After what felt like hours of contemplation, Gregory finally reached for the letter opener resting on the elegant mahogany table nestled in the heart of the library's sitting area. With deliberate care, he slit open the envelope, revealing the handwritten message inside. As he read the familiar script, a rush of memories flooded back, enveloping him in nostalgia.

"My dear Greg,

It has been a long time, hasn't it? I have returned to town, and I would love to catch up. Let's meet at the Crossroad Country Bar for a few drinks and a chat, for old times' sake. Don't let an old friend hang.

love,

Jane"

With the letter in hand, Gregory eased himself into the plush leather armchair nearby, the soft creak of the aged wood beneath him. His fingers absentmindedly traced the intricate carvings adorning the table's edges as he wrestled with his thoughts. The faint echo of alcohol still lingered on his palate, a lingering reminder of past indiscretions. Emotions swirled within him—a potent blend of nostalgia, guilt, and an undeniable curiosity that tugged at his resolve.