The Quiet Observer
That night, Victoria couldn't sleep. The rain beat steadily against her window, and the echoes of the day played over and over in her mind.
She remembered Clara's calmness under pressure, the way she'd defended Eleanor when no one else did, the way she'd taken blame without shouting.
And then there was Isabella — always around, always whispering, always too perfect.
Curiosity won out. Victoria slipped out of her room and made her way toward the east wing, where Isabella's quarters were.
The door was slightly open. She froze when she heard voices.
"Everything is proceeding as planned," Isabella said smoothly. "He's suspicious of her again. Another few days, and he'll ask her to leave."
A man's voice replied — Marcus's.
Victoria's eyes widened.
"You'd better not fail," Marcus said sharply. "If she stays, everything falls apart."
"I never fail," Isabella purred. "By the time I'm done, Ethan will hate her — and everyone else will, too."
Victoria's pulse pounded. She backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound, then slipped into the shadows of the hallway.
When she finally reached her room, her hands were shaking.
She sat on the bed, her mind racing. Everything she'd believed — every cruel thing she'd said to Clara — echoed in her head like poison.
For the first time, guilt pricked at her chest.