Cynthia woke up to whispers.
The sun had barely touched the edge of the sky when she sat up in bed, her body heavy with unease. Something felt... wrong. The atmosphere around the mansion had shifted. It was no longer just cold—it was hostile.
She slipped out of bed, wrapping a silk robe around her trembling frame, and padded softly toward the hallway.
The maids passed by without greeting her. No cheerful “Good morning, ma’am.” No eye contact. Just lowered gazes and hurried footsteps.
Her stomach twisted.
Ava hadn’t returned her calls or texts since last night. That in itself was odd. Ava was her one constant, her anchor. But now, silence.
Then her phone pinged.
And pinged again. And again. Ten, twelve, fifteen notifications in less than a minute.
She unlocked it quickly, her pulse
