With Derek's words hanging in the air, the final, undeniable proof of the conspiracy had been laid bare. The truth was as clear as the waxy, reddish residue on the Grand Duke's finger. Every eye in the ancestral hall, filled with a mixture of shock and dawning fury, turned to the kneeling, trembling form of the maid, Clara.
Marissa took a slow step towards her, her voice no longer loud, but a low, dangerous whisper that cut through the silence. "Why did you do it, Clara?" she asked. "Why did you frame me? Who put you up to this?"
Clara's eyes, wide with terror, darted instinctively towards her mistress, Lorena. Her mouth opened, a confession ready to spill from her lips. She was caught, and her only hope was to give them the bigger fish.
But she never got the chance. Lorena moved with the speed of a striking viper.
SLAP!
