At the De Molay estate, the mornings usually possessed a fragile, artificial peace. Elodie, Adelaide’s younger sister, was usually the first to stir. She moved with the grace of a young woman who had not yet been fully crushed by the occupation—beautiful, sharp-eyed, and as vibrant as a lotus rising from a stagnant pond.
Adelaide, however, looked as though she had been through a meat grinder. Sitting at the mahogany dining table, the dark circles under her eyes were impossible to hide, and her gaze held a simmering resentment directed squarely at her husband.
This scene left Elodie utterly bewildered. Her sister was the paragon of discipline, yet here she was, arriving at the breakfast table a full quarter-hour later than the student. It was unprecedented.
As they finished their meal, M
