The Edge of Truth
That night, the mansion was too quiet. Even the rain had stopped.
Victoria sat with Damien in the conservatory, the only light coming from the glass chandelier above them.
"She's been hiding correspondence," Victoria whispered. "Letters from Marcus — dating back months."
Damien frowned. "So Marcus has been helping her all along."
"Yes. I think Isabella promised him something in return — maybe control of part of Ethan's business, or the estate."
"And Eleanor?"
Victoria's eyes darkened. "She must have found out. That's why she was taken."
Damien leaned back, exhaling slowly. "We need to tell Ethan — but we need proof first. Real proof."
Meanwhile, in the hall, Ethan stood near the staircase, overhearing fragments of their conversation. His chest tightened — not with anger, but with realization.
All the small inconsistencies — Isabella's convenient timing, her half-truths, her sudden appearances — lined up like puzzle pieces.
He whispered to himself, "Eleanor was right."
---
Upstairs, Clara was pacing the room, her thoughts spinning. When Ethan entered, she looked up, startled.
"Did you know?" he asked quietly.
"About Isabella and Marcus?" She shook her head. "No. But I felt something was wrong."
Ethan stepped closer. "You always see what I miss."
Her lips trembled faintly. "Then why don't you trust me?"
His answer came softly, almost broken. "Because I was afraid to lose you again."
The confession hung heavy between them. But before either could speak again, a loud crash echoed from downstairs.
They rushed out — and found one of the servants trembling beside the broken vase.
"She—she came back," the girl stammered. "Eleanor—she's at the gate."