The morning after Xaviere removed Evelyn's portrait from his master suite, Zeraida received another anonymous envelope in the estate post. Unlike the previous threatening deliveries that had disrupted her routine, this slender parcel contained no surveillance photographs or ominous notes.
There were only several yellowed pages folded carefully inside the heavy paper lining, their edges worn smooth with age.
Zeraida instantly recognized the delicate, flowing handwriting covering the sheets. She had studied that exact penmanship days ago within the old documents recovered from the locked western wing.
These pages belonged directly to Evelyn, she realized, her pulse quickening in her chest as she held the delicate sheets.
She carried the pages directly into Xaviere's private study, stepping past the double doors without pause. He sat reviewing quarterly corporate reports behind his massive mahogany desk, looking up as she crossed the floor.
