The fabric softener in the laundry room suddenly smelled nauseatingly sweet, like crushed petals over a freshly dug grave. Rosa held Lily so tightly her knuckles turned white, her mind racing through the terrifying architecture of the Whitmore estate.

Midnight at Whitmore Manor was never truly quiet. The old timbers groaned under the weight of history, and the wind off the cliffs battered the stained-glass windows like a desperate ghost.

Rosa couldn't sleep. The velvet box Vivien had given her sat on her dresser like a box of scorpions. Inside lay a diamond brooch worth more than Rosa would earn in ten years of scrubbing floors. It was blood money.

Unable to stay in her cramped quarters another minute, Rosa quietly slipped out of bed, ensuring Lily was sleeping soundly under her patchwork quilt. She pulled a woolen shawl over her shoulders and crept down the servants' hallway toward the kitchen to brew some chamomile tea.

As she passed the master study, she noticed a crack of golden light spilling across the hallway floor. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar.

Julian Whitmore—the master of the house, a handsome man with silver-streaked hair and haunted eyes—was supposed to be away in the city on business. Instead, a low, heated murmur drifted out into the hall.

Rosa froze, pressing her back against the cool stone wall.

“...the police are still asking questions about the autopsy, Vivien!” Julian’s voice cracked with anguish and exhaustion. “They found bruising on my mother’s back. Deep bruising! That doesn't happen from a simple fall down carpeted stairs!”

Rosa’s breath hitched. She peered cautiously through the gap in the door.

Vivien was standing by the fireplace, her posture rigid, her face illuminated by the dancing flames. Gone was the sweet, fragile fiancée; in her place stood a cold, calculating predator.

“Accidents happen, Julian,” Vivien said, her voice dripping with venomous calm. “Your mother was old, her bones were brittle, and she opposed our wedding. She threatened to cut you out of the trust fund if you married a ‘gold-digging nobody.’ I merely... accelerated a natural process.”

Julian buried his face in his hands, letting out a ragged, tortured groan. “My God, Vivien... what have we done? We’re monsters.”

“You are a coward,” Vivien snapped, stepping directly into Julian’s personal space and grabbing his lapels. “You wanted her fortune. You wanted the control of the shipping empire. If you back out now, if you crack under the pressure, I will ensure the police find your fingerprints all over the banister. Do you understand me?”

Rosa stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

They were in it together. It wasn't just Vivien. Julian knew about his mother’s murder all along.