Chapter 51
NORA
Daniel's mother invited us to lunch the following week, one of her carefully curated gatherings at the family estate, the kind of event where every detail, from the seating arrangement to the wine selection, existed to project exactly the image Margaret Whitmore wanted the family to carry. I dressed carefully, arrived on time, played every part expected of me with the same practiced ease I'd been performing for months now.
I didn't expect the ambush until we were most of the way through the meal, Margaret setting down her fork with the deliberate precision of a woman who'd been waiting for the right moment to raise something she'd clearly been holding onto.
"Sophia mentioned something to me the other week," she said, her eyes finding mine directly, no preamble, no softe
