Chapter 1 - THE SENTENCE DELPHINE COULD NOT UNSEE
For the next three nights, Delphine told herself she had read Camille’s lips incorrectly.
That was possible.
More than possible.
Lip-reading was never magic.
The retired teacher in Terrebonne had drilled that into her until Delphine could practically hear the warning in her sleep.
Light.
Distance.
Angle.
Context.
One wrong condition could turn certainty into imagination.
So Delphine waited.
She cleaned the west wing.
Scrubbed the marble beneath Camille’s balcony.
Changed linens in guest rooms where people discussed money as though it were weather.
And said nothing.
Then Thursday night came.
9:14.
Exactly.
Camille left the ballroom corridor alone.
No purse.
No coat.
She crossed the rear courtyard and disappeared toward the old carriage house.
Delphine followed only far enough to see the light switch on.
She told herself she was checking locks.
A lie.
Through the side window, she saw Camille facing a man.
Late fifties.
Gray suit.
Thin face.
One hand resting on a leather portfolio.
Not kissing.
Not touching.
Talking.
The light fell directly across his mouth.
Delphine stood perhaps nine feet away.
Too far for certainty.
Close enough for fragments.
She caught:
Ferraro.
Marriage.
Signature.
Then the man opened the portfolio.
A document.
Camille pointed to one line.
She spoke slowly.
Delphine read:
After he signs, Hion Ridge controls the note.
Her stomach dropped.
Hion Ridge.
The name from Aaron’s loan.
The name from Camille’s study.
Then the man said something Delphine could not read.
Camille answered:
He won’t ask questions.
Delphine’s pulse accelerated.
That part she was sure of.
The man tapped the paper.
Camille shook her head.
Then:
Not before the wedding.
The sentence from the balcony.
Same timing.
Same subject.
This was not an affair.
It was a transaction.
Delphine backed away.
A branch cracked beneath her shoe.
Inside, both heads turned.
She ran.
Not toward the house.
Toward the service road.
She made it thirty yards before headlights cut across the gravel.
A black sedan stopped.
Victor Russo stepped out.
Elias’s right hand.
No smile.
No gun.
Worse.
Recognition.
“Miss Aubrey.”
Delphine stopped.
Victor looked toward the carriage house.
Then at her.
“What were you doing back there?”
“Checking a window.”
“At 9:18 at night?”
“Yes.”
He stared long enough for her palms to sweat.
Then:
“Elias wants to see you.”
She felt cold.
“Why?”
Victor’s expression changed slightly.
“Because Camille just told him a maid has been following her.”
There it was.
May you like
Camille had seen her.
And by the time Delphine entered Elias Ferraro’s study, Camille was already standing beside him with tears in her eyes.
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