The room was quiet except for the monitor's steady beep.
Amelia sat beside the bed, watching her mother sleep. The blanket rose and fell with each breath. A hand lay outside the quilt, paper‑light when she wrapped her fingers around it.
Per Miss Sophie's request.
The phrase from billing echoed in her head.
Four words, and the payments stopped.
Her throat burned. She pictured Sophie at a bright office computer, typing in that gentle, precise tone she used for everything: Mr. Turner has decided to terminate sponsorship; thank you for your understanding. Soft, polite, and lethal.
Anger surged up, sharp enough to make her stand halfway out of the chair. For one wild second she imagined striding into the villa, dragging Sophie in front of these bills and asking her, calmly, which part of
