Chapter 2 - The Fire BelowDown in the old service wing—a damp, stone-lined corridor beneath the grand estate that hadn't been updated since the 1950s—Grace sat on the edge of a narrow cot, staring at the small, barred window.
She wasn't crying. She was angry.
And anger, for Grace, had always been a remarkably efficient tool for thinking.
Why the service cart? she replayed the moment in her head.
Vanessa hadn't just happened to find the box on the cart. She had placed it there while Grace and Lucy were occupied in the pantry. Vanessa knew the blind spots in the mansion's security cameras because she had spent the last two months "redecorating" the east wing.
Grace stood up, pacing the small room. She needed to find proof, or her reputation—and her livelihood—would be permanently destroyed.
Suddenly, a strange, acrid smell drifted beneath her door.
Smoke.
At first, Grace thought it might be from the massive fireplaces in the grand salon. But within seconds, the scent grew thick, heavy, and chemical—the distinct smell of burning synthetic insulation and old wiring.
She grabbed the brass door handle and pulled.
Locked.
They had locked her in from the outside.
May you like
Panic, hot and sharp, flared in her chest, but training and sheer survival instinct took over. Grace slammed her shoulder against the heavy wooden door once. Twice. The old frame groaned.
On the other side of the wall, trapped in the private study adjacent to the library, Elena Moretti woke up choking as dense gray smoke poured through her floor vents. Her wheelchair sat helplessly a few feet away, out of reach.
