The golden rays of dawn spilled across the sprawling gardens of the Ashford Estate, illuminating the dewdrops on the manicured hedges like scattered diamonds. Birds chirped lazily in the distance, and the scent of blooming lavender drifted through the crisp morning air.
Grace stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her bedroom, wrapped in an ivory silk robe, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn't slept much. Not after what she had overheard last night.
Whispers. Secrets.
She replayed the conversation in her mind: Vincent Ashford on the phone, speaking in hushed tones about a sealed agreement and a woman named Clarisse. A name Grace had never heard before. Yet the way Vincent had said it, cold, calculated, made her stomach twist.
Who was Clarisse? And what agreement had he
