A cold sweat slicked down Samuel’s back as he waited. The air in the solicitor’s office was thick with the scent of old paper and dust. Across from him, his sister, Amelia, fiddled with the strap of her handbag, her knuckles white. Their father had left a complex estate, and the anticipation was a tightening knot in Samuel's throat.
The solicitor, a stern woman with a severe bun, finally looked up. “The will states… an unusual division.”
Samuel’s breath hitched. He hated surprises. He was not a fan of the unknown.
“Amelia, you are to inherit the family business, a thriving chain of florists.” The solicitor’s voice remained even, but Samuel’s heart began to hammer against his ribs.
Amelia's eyes widened. She had always been the artistic one, the one with the eye for beauty, not the one with the head for business.
“And Samuel,” the solicitor continued, “you are to receive… a small plot of land in the Scottish Highlands.”
Samuel felt his face flush. He was not good with the outdoors. He was not a fan of the unknown. He'd always envisioned a life in the city, the only life he'd known. Panic clawed at his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The cold, damp air of the Highlands sounded like a prison sentence.