CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The photograph trembled slightly in Elena’s hand as the first rays of true sunrise spilled across the cemetery, turning dew-covered headstones into glittering diamonds.
Three tiny babies stared up from the image…dark hair, lighter hair, and the soft auburn that belonged to Isabella.
On the back, Victoria’s elegant handwriting mocked them with its final taunt: the fourth spare, born free, already somewhere in the world.
Lila snatched the photo, eyes narrowing. “She’s lying. Another game. Another way to keep us looking over our shoulders.”
Isabella stepped closer, studying the image with the quiet intensity of someone who had watched decades unfold from inside a glass tube. Her fingers traced the auburn lock.
“No. This one feels different. Victoria kept meticulous
