The mansion felt like a museum; beautiful, untouchable, and empty.
I wandered the halls, my fingers trailing along the dark wood banisters of the grand staircase. The air smelled like polished mahogany and something faintly floral, probably the fresh roses in the entryway. Every step I took echoed, like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for me to slip up.
I wasn’t Erica. I didn’t belong here.
But I had to pretend.
Mrs. Beatrice had left me alone after breakfast, her polite smile never quite reaching her eyes. She’d asked if I needed anything. I’d said no.
What I needed, who I needed, wasn’t in this house.
Gerald hadn’t come home last night. Again.
I told myself it didn’t matter. That I deserved his absence. That I’d broken his heart five years ago, and now I was livin
