Broken Faith
When Clara returned to the mansion, Ethan was waiting for her. The storm had ended, but his eyes were darker than thunderclouds.
"Where were you?" His tone was low, sharp.
She stopped at the doorway. "Out."
"With who?"
She flinched. "Does it matter?"
"It matters," he said coldly. "Because Isabella told me you've been leaving the mansion."
Her heart sank. "You listened to her?"
"I'm listening to you. So tell me the truth, Clara!"
She clenched her fists, holding back tears. "I met Damien. We were talking about Eleanor. He found something."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You met Damien behind my back?"
"He's helping you!" she cried. "He's helping us!"
Ethan looked away, running a hand through his hair. "You shouldn't have gone alone. You put yourself in danger."
"You don't trust me," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched like a wound between them — raw and deep. Clara turned away, her voice trembling.
"I'm still your wife, Ethan. Even if it's only by contract. But if love means nothing without trust… then maybe the contract is all we have left."
When she left the room, Ethan stood frozen — torn between anger and guilt.
Outside, the wind rustled through the garden, carrying with it a faint sound — a whisper, almost human.
A single piece of paper drifted onto the balcony floor, soaked by rain.
It bore one shaky line written in Eleanor's handwriting:
> "She knows everything. Don't trust the smile."
Ethan's blood ran cold.