The morning sun broke gently through the clouds, casting a pale light over the Whitestone Estate. The storm that had shaken the night before had left everything damp and quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Catalina sat by her small window, watching the garden glisten with dew. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone cold.

She had not slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Frederick’s face, the disbelief in his eyes when he saw the proof of Isabella’s lies. The papers, the emails, everything Calvin had found. The truth had finally come out, but instead of relief,...