The greenhouse was quiet except for the steady drip of water from misting pipes. The orchids shimmered under filtered sunlight—white, pink, and blood red.
Stella bent to clip a wilted leaf, breathing in the humid air.
She didn't hear the footsteps until the scent hit her—rose perfume and sharp envy.
“Funny," Rebecca said behind her, “I thought murderers preferred basements, not flowers."
Stella straightened slowly. “Is there something you need?"
Rebecca circled her like a predator. “I need a lot of things, darling. Respect. Order. Loyalty. But mostly, I need nuisances to know their place."
“I'm just here to work."
“You were warned."
Stella didn't move. “By who?"
Rebecca smiled. “You really are slow. You walk around here like a wounded dove, but doves don't survive in packs."
“I'm
