ndria

emarkably

head maid. Martha was a widow whose seven-year-old daughter, April, was dying of a severe lung feve

es, my stepmother had dismissed her with cold contempt,

ound. Not just a vulnerab

, tucked behind a thick, unpruned rose hedge. The thorns snagged my sleev

tly, twisting her dirty apron. Her eyes darted aroun

he point. "Your daughter April... the f

ollapsed into the damp soil with a muffled sob. "Miss,

n to pull her elbow. "I am not here t

m the sale of my biological mother's old jewelry-a brooch and a pair of earr

her breath hitching. "Why...

"A pittance for wages? A cold shoulder while your child co

dust on her cheek. My words hit the

ur daughter a real future. Or you can stay loyal

chest, her knuckles turning white. "W

ristal's maid to put Ashvi

ant death if she were caught. Seeing her hes

e dripping with lethal coldness. "Is Christal-th

hattered her last

whisper. "She was furious that Lord Estrada might still want you! She wanted to mar your face f

e architect; Christal wa

moothly. "Now, g

m-sent her maid, Holly, to fetch the remai

ed into Christal's bedchamber carry

thy rat?" Christal snapped, not l

e to clean, Miss," M

r her own skirts. The heavy bucket flipped, sending dark, f

g off her stool and launching into a scree

x on the vanity, slipping open a hidden compartment with a silent click. She snatched the wax-paper pack

t took less tha

d out of the room. The moment she crossed the threshold into the dark

the evidence

specting the dull grey granules. The acrid, bur

d place it directly on my father's desk in his study. Let him see t

r eyes gleamin

ic footsteps thundered down the hallway. The head butler b

his face. "Lord Daryle Estrada... he's here! He just struck the gate

an instant

sooner and far more vici

mons. Nothing like this-not a forced break-in, not a public confrontation right