The night was heavy, thick with silence that pressed against the mansion's walls. Even the wind, gently brushing the windows, seemed to whisper secrets too dark to be heard. The moonlight bled through the curtains in fragile beams, casting silver streaks across the cold floor, their pale light barely reaching the bed where Belle lay. Her eyes rested on Macbeth, the older woman sleeping beside her—a guard, a shadow, nearly 48, who never left her side. Macbeth wasn’t cruel; in her moments of rare kindness, she made Belle feel safe. But that safety felt like a prison. Belle needed more. She needed freedom. If only for a fleeting moment.
It had been days since that night, and still, the memory of his icy grey eyes haunted Belle. Their coldness pierced her, chilling her to the core. The way hi
