Isabella and Maria pov.
In another wing of the mansion, Isabella sat in her room, wrapped in a silk robe, hair still damp from a late shower. She tried to read, to distract herself, but her thoughts kept circling Damian's warning.
Her father.
Her mother's death.
The secrets whispered around her like ghosts.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," Isabella said.
Maria stepped in her loyal maid, her shadow since childhood.
Her expression was kind but hesitant, her hands twisting the edge of her apron.
"Miss Isabella," Maria began, her voice low. "There's something I should tell you… about your mother."
Isabella's heart skipped. "What about her?"
Maria hesitated, glancing toward the hall as if afraid of being overheard.
"She wasn't the woman you were told she was. There were… reasons she died so young. Reasons your father never spoke of."
Isabella stood abruptly, her pulse racing. "Maria, what are you saying?"
