lia

ly, completely stripped me bare. Reduced me to less than nothing. All my dignity, all my caref

table. Then, to the other servants who had gathered, their faces a mix of curiosi

s. Restore my room. Put everything back the way it was." My eyes hardened, landing

, an unspoken challenge in their eyes. No one mo

ed, my voice rising, a tremor of rag

ld high, her eyes cold. "Mrs. Ramsey," she said, her tone laced with disdain. "We cannot touch Miss Reyes' belongings. These are her pets' things. Mr. Ramsey expli

liation, then cooled to an icy mask. The venomous words, the open disrespect, cut deeper than any physical bl

one to abandon me, to stomp on my dignity. He had stripped me of my home, my f

"Then you're all fired. Every single one of you who da

he group. The old housek

g my voice steady, masking the raw pain and anger that threatened to consume me. I told her about the maids, about the changes to the house, car

ith suppressed rage. "Consider it done. My people will be there within the hour. They will handle everything. Don't lif

from the main areas of the house, restoring the decor to its former state. The dog bed, the toys, all gone. My room was returned to me, pri

, her voice respectful. "She wanted me to tell you that this house, this property, is still yours. And no

tell Hildegarde I'm grateful. I only want wh

her few precious heirlooms. I carefully placed Cristopher's urn beside it, side by side, forever together. My two greatest losses, now enshrined in my heart. I sat there

idening. Damian was sitting on the edge of my bed, his back to me, his shoulders hunched.

disgust. I instinctively clutched the towel tighter a

flicker of something... confusion? Annoyance? "Jillian, what's wrong with you?

ays kept a polite distance, who had always respected our unspoken b

ion. Now, the mere sight of him, the thought of his proximity, ma

ning to Hildegarde?" he demanded, his voice hardening. "Is that wh

ida. Not for me. He was here to

ealization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. Of course, he wou

me, every single time he had sought me out, it had been about Aida. H

spent eight years loving a ghost, a fantasy, while he poured al

ritate him further. He took another step, reaching out for my arm. "Jillian, you ne

touch. It was a visceral, involuntary movement, a deep-seate

urprise, then a deeper, unreadable emotion crossed his

devoid of emotion. "I won't

depths. He seemed genuinely bewildered by my refusal. A new, unfa

. Aida. Her name flashed across the display. He answered, his face instantly softening, m

using. "Jillian, you did this, didn't you? You deliberately targeted her." His voice was a

ately carved wooden box, my mother's heirloom, now containing Cristopher' s ashes. He picked it up, his finger

his voice firm, his eyes fixed on me. "Or else.