The Thorns Beneath
Isabella waited in the drawing room, dressed in soft lavender silk — elegant, harmless, practiced. When Ethan entered, she rose to greet him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm glad you came," she said sweetly. "I heard about Eleanor. Such a tragedy."
"Don't waste time," Ethan cut in coldly. "What do you know?"
She blinked, feigning surprise. "Straight to business, as always. I just thought you'd want to know that Clara's been… keeping secrets."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Careful, Isabella."
"Oh, I'm not accusing her," she said with mock innocence. "But maybe you should ask her where she goes every evening. The staff says she's been sneaking out of the mansion."
He stiffened. "That's not possible."
"Is it?" Isabella tilted her head. "Maybe she's meeting someone. Or maybe she's not as helpless as she looks."
Ethan turned away, jaw tight. He hated that a part of him even considered it.
Isabella smiled faintly. The seed was planted — all she needed was time.
---
Meanwhile, Clara had left the mansion that evening — not for secrets, but for answers. She met Damien at an old café near the river, where the rain still whispered against the windows.
"Thank you for coming," she said softly.
Damien gave a small smile. "I could say the same. Ethan doesn't know you're here, does he?"
She shook her head. "He wouldn't let me. But Eleanor's bracelet… it means she tried to reach us. I need to help."
Damien studied her face — the quiet determination in her eyes, the strength beneath the fear. "You're risking everything," he said.
"I already have," she whispered.
He sighed. "There's one name that keeps coming up — Marcus."
Clara froze. "Ethan's brother?"
"Yes. And Isabella's been in contact with him. I think whatever happened to Eleanor started there."
Her pulse quickened. "Then we have to tell Ethan."
Damien hesitated. "Will he believe you?"
The question hit her harder than she expected. "He used to," she said quietly.