The Shattered Truth
The Langford estate had grown quieter since Lady Bianca’s collapse, but it was not peace. It was the sort of silence that smothered like velvet — heavy, suffocating, concealing rage beneath its folds.
The east wing had been converted into her recovery suite. Nothing less than the best was permitted. A sprawling chamber with ivory walls and gold leaf molding, French drapes spilling in folds to the floor, and a bed so large it seemed to float in the center. On one side, an antique armoire gleamed with polished mahogany. On the other, a medical monitor hummed softly — discreetly built into a gilded cabinet, because Bianca Langford would never permit herself to be seen in a common hospital bed.
A private nurse hovered quietly in the corner, her white uniform crisp, her p
