Bailey’s POV
The palace was alive with whispers. Servants scurried through the halls, their voices hushed but urgent, carrying fragments of the storm that had erupted in Phantom’s chambers. I didn’t need to hear every word to know what had happened—the forged letter had struck exactly where I wanted.
Maryelle’s fury. Phantom’s jealousy. Their voices raised, echoing down corridors. The sound of a door slamming. The silence that followed.
I smiled to myself, slow and deliberate. The poison had taken root.
The corridors seemed brighter, sharper, as if the palace itself was aware of the fracture I had created. Every servant’s glance carried curiosity, every hushed tone carried speculation. They didn’t know the details yet, but they knew something had broken. And that was enough.
Later
