Abigail POV
The drawing room in my father’s mansion smelled of jasmine incense and aged opulence, a perfume of power and secrets.
Golden afternoon light bled through thick velvet drapes, pooling on the marble floor like honey.
But I didn’t bask in it. I sat stiff-backed in a velvet wing chair, arms crossed tightly over my chest, jaw clenched until it ached.
My girls; Vicky, Camille, Hannah, and Lily. They lounged around the white leather sectional like pampered cats, their laughter soft and musical. They were oblivious to the storm brewing behind my forced smile.
Vicky, always the bold one, finally broke the silence.
“Abby, what’s with the murder-face? You’ve been glaring at that vase like it owes you money.”
My eyes snapped at her. “It’s Diana.”
They perked up instantly, four shar
