Sophia
The Devil's Waltz.
The music was too polished.
It was a few days later, and yes, Sara was still living in the mansion. I hadn't found the guts to confront her, and worst of all, she'd decided to throw a party, claiming to have regained most of her memory.
It played low and slow from the corner speakers like it belonged in a ballroom, not inside a mansion built on the bones of blood money. I stood near one of the window panes, watching the glow of crystal chandeliers fall over the polished floors and expensive people.
Sara’s voice rang like silver in the air, laughing lightly with someone in a navy suit who had too many rings on his fingers. Everything about the night felt off. Like the walls were dressed in silk, but the air still stank of iron and something fake.
She called
