The hours crawled.
Arielle wandered through the halls of the estate, each room as immaculate and impersonal as the next. Marble floors, glass walls, paintings that probably cost more than her childhood home. The staff moved quietly, bowing their heads when she passed, their expressions polite but distant. She wondered how many of them knew. How many had been there when Celine was alive. How many whispered behind her back, comparing her to the sister she’d unknowingly replaced.
She paused at a large window overlooking the garden. The sky was bright, but she felt none of its warmth. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and strained.
Celine.
The name pressed against her lips, but she didn’t let it out. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Her family had said nothing
