The mansion no longer felt like a home. It felt like a stage. Every corridor, every polished floor, every set of watching eyes belonged to Vanessa now.
Sierra felt it the moment she stepped from her bedroom that morning. Mrs. Alden, the housekeeper, was dusting the banister, her gaze sliding over Sierra with unusual sharpness. The butler paused longer than necessary when taking her breakfast plate. The maids whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear.
And through it all, Vanessa floated like a queen surveying her court, calm, graceful, untouchable. She didn’t need to accuse Sierra directly. She only had to let suspicion bloom in the silence, and the staff would do the rest.
By midday, Sierra’s nerves were fraying. She caught sight of Damien in the corridor, his jaw tight, his eyes st
