A few servants scurried by, heads bowed, refusing to make eye contact. They moved like shadows, terrified of being caught in the crossfire of a war they weren't paid to fight.
The portrait of Isabella was a masterpiece of arrogance. She looked regal, as if she were the true architect of the empire Matteo had built, her painted gaze looking down on the living room with a silent, heavy claim.
"Ermm... the other Miss hung it there," Corazon whispered, stepping out from the dining hall, her eyes darting nervously between the picture and Anastasia.
"The other?" Anastasia didn't tear her gaze from the portrait. The word gnawed at her, a reminder of her uncertain standing.
Her voice came out low, a final command that should not have been questioned, but was questioned anyway. "Take it down. Right now."
"You will do no such thing."
Isabella stepped out from the shadows of the corridor, looking like she had spent hours preparing for this exact moment.
