The Weight of Silence
The mansion had never felt quieter. The kind of silence that pressed against the walls and echoed in your chest.
Clara didn't leave her room that morning. She sat by the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass, thinking about every word she'd heard the night before.
Downstairs, Ethan stood by the fireplace, his expression unreadable. Marcus sat across from him, looking uneasy. Eleanor hovered near the stairs, wringing her hands.
"She won't talk to me," Ethan said finally, his voice low and strained.
"Can you blame her?" Victoria's sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. She had just arrived from her trip abroad, uninvited as always. "After what she's done, I'm surprised she's still under this roof."
Ethan's head snapped up. "Watch your words, Victoria."
Victoria smirked. "You defend her even now? You must be blind, brother. That woman's been nothing but trouble."
Mandaline entered the room quietly, her steps slow but steady. "Enough, Victoria. You don't know the full story."
Victoria's expression hardened. "I know she turned our family upside down."
"Your brother's choices are his own," Mandaline replied gently. "And Clara has stood by him when no one else would."
Ethan's gaze flickered toward his mother. For a moment, gratitude softened his eyes. But before he could speak, Isabella entered the room, her timing perfect as ever.
"I brought coffee," she said lightly, her smile practiced. "I thought you could use some warmth."
Her eyes found Ethan's, soft and sympathetic.
Clara came down the stairs just then, freezing when she saw Isabella standing so close to her husband. The look on Isabella's face was faintly victorious, though she masked it quickly.
"Good morning," Clara said quietly.
"Clara," Ethan began, taking a step forward.
She stopped him with a look. "I'll have breakfast with Mandaline."
Her tone was polite. Distant. But her eyes spoke volumes.
When she walked past Isabella, the woman gave her a small, knowing smile — the kind of smile that promised trouble.