Faith
The heavy oak doors of Isabella’s bedroom had remained locked since the day she died. To the rest of Sutton Manor, the third-floor west wing was a mausoleum—a place where the air grew cold, the velvet draperies held two years of undisturbed dust, and Nicholas never allowed anyone to set foot without his explicit permission.
Tonight, with Victor’s chilling threat echoing in my mind, permission was a luxury I could not afford.
At eleven o'clock, the estate was submerged in a heavy, unnatural silence. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, but inside, the hallways were empty. Nicholas was down in the basement security center with Marcus, pouring over digital logs in a frantic attempt to find the employee who had betrayed us. Victor was staying in the east wing guest quarters, ostensib
