Before Violet could respond, Lydia was already talking, her tone bright and falsely warm. “Julian’s in the backyard with the others. Come on, I’ll grab you something to wear.”
She sounded friendly enough, but her eyes quietly scanned Violet from head to toe—smiling, yet full of silent judgment.
Violet’s loose, casual outfit hid every curve, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail. To someone seeing her for the first time, she might’ve looked more like a housekeeper than the wife of Julian Ashford.
Lydia bit back a laugh. If she weren’t halfway pretty, people would probably mistake her for staff.
“Thanks,” Violet said politely, unaware of the malice flickering behind Lydia’s smile. She followed her through the sprawling house, turning corner after corner, passing a massive living room before
