Vincent’s POV
The moon hung pale above the manor when I returned that night, its light cutting across the garden like silver blades. From the driveway, I could already see her, Delilah kneeling by the flower beds, trimming stems that didn’t need trimming.
She looked up when the car stopped. “You’re home,” she said brightly, as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.
I stepped out, unbuttoning my cuffs. “So it seems.”
Her hands trembled slightly, though her smile stayed fixed. “I thought I’d refresh the flowers for Myra’s window. She likes roses.”
I glanced at the pale blooms. “They’re wilting.”
The color drained from her face. “I’ll replace them in the morning.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, already turning toward the entrance.
Her voice followed, soft, uncertain. “Did she… have a
