CHAPTER 60: CHAPTER SIXTY

The next morning, the drawing room of the Thompson estate was cold. The air was heavy and still, all the windows closed, the heavy drapes drawn against the bright morning light.

Carlos and Ashlyn entered, arm in arm. Ashlyn was a picture of wifely devotion, her face composed in a mask of gentle, somber concern. She had spent the night in a state of smug, triumphant bliss. Her escape from Derek’s men had been a success, her bargain with Carlos a necessary, if disgusting, price. And today, she was here to watch the final, glorious act of her plan: the public, irreversible disgrace of her sister. She expected to see Marissa kneeling, stripped of her title, exposed as a murderer.

She was not prepared for the scene in front of her.

"Kneel down."

The voice was the Dowager Duchess’s, sharp and cold as ice. Beatrice was sitting in her high-backed chair, her face a grim, stony mask. But the command was not directed at Marissa.

In the center of the room, on the bare, cold marble floor, the maid Nora was kneeling. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back. She was trembling, her face pale and streaked with tears. Two of Derek’s guards, their faces impassive and their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, stood like statues by the door.

Marissa was not kneeling. She was standing, her arms crossed, slowly, silently circling the maid like a wolf studying its cornered prey.

And by the cold fireplace, Derek stood. He was not participating. He was observing, a silent, menacing promise of violence. He held a long, gleaming sword in one hand, and with the other, he slowly, methodically, drew an oiled cloth along the blade. The shing... shing... of the cloth on the polished steel was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic, terrifying whisper that grated on everyone’s nerves.

Ashlyn’s confident smile froze. Her hand, resting on Carlos’s arm, tightened in a sudden, convulsive grip.

Why is she here? Ashlyn’s mind screamed, her blood running cold with a sudden, dawning terror. They found her! Derek’s men found her! She was supposed to be gone! This was not the plan. This was a disaster.

Marissa stopped her slow, predatory circle and stood directly in front of the kneeling maid. "You kept insisting I killed Miss Lorena," she began, her voice not loud, but low and sharp, cutting through the silence. "You were a very important witness. The only witness. So why," she took a step closer, "did you run?"

Nora, who had been sobbing, flinched. She was terrified of Marissa, but she was more terrified of the woman standing by the door. Her eyes darted, just for a split second, to Ashlyn, a quick, desperate, silent plea for help.

"I... I..." Nora stammered, her mind racing to find a story, any story. "I only wanted to avenge Miss Lorena’s death. I pointed at the murderer. My... my revenge was done." She took a ragged, shuddering breath. "I... I wanted to leave this terrible place of trouble. I was afraid. I was afraid that... that I would be killed next, just like Miss Lorena was."

It was a good lie, a plausible lie. But Marissa’s expression did not change.

"A good story," Marissa said, her voice dripping with ice. "But the facts say something different." She began to pace again, her steps slow and measured.

"Two days ago, just before the Crown Princess’s visit, the head steward witnessed you, Nora, sneaking into my bedchamber. The very same day, my earring—the one you ’found’—and a strip of fabric from my dress both went missing."

Nora began to shake violently. "I... I don’t know what you’re talking about..."

"And on that same day," Marissa continued, ignoring her, "the servants’ daily log shows that you were away from the estate for three full hours. You signed out, claiming you were visiting a sick aunt in the city."

Marissa stopped pacing and leaned down, crouching so her face was level with the terrified maid’s. "I had the guards time the journey, Nora. It is a one-and-a-half-hour to the dark room where Lorena’s body was found. And a one-and-a-half-hour back. A perfect match for your three-hour absence. The exact amount of time needed to plant your ’evidence’."

Nora’s entire body was trembling, her teeth chattering so hard they clicked. She was caught. This was evidence she could not deny, a fact she had never known they would check.

Marissa stood up, a tall, imposing figure of judgment. "Since you refuse to speak the truth," she said, her voice turning hard, "then I will let the palace know about this. Murder, and framing a member of a ducal house, is a crime against the King himself. I will leave your fate to his personal interrogators."

This was the final, devastating threat. The King’s justice would be very brutal.

"No!" Nora shrieked, her voice cracking. "No, please! Don’t report it! I’ll speak! I’ll tell the truth, I swear!"

She looked up, her desperate, terrified gaze finding Ashlyn’s. It was a long, pleading, desperate look.

Tell me what to do. Save me.

Ashlyn, who had been standing frozen, her mind a whirlwind of panic, felt her husband’s gaze on her. She squeezed his arm, a sharp, convulsive grip. Carlos looked down at her hand, and then back at her pale, strained face, his own expression growing suspicious. Why is she so terrified?

Marissa saw it all. She saw Nora’s plea. She saw Ashlyn’s panicked grip. She saw Carlos’s suspicion. The connections were being drawn, link by link.

"Miss Lorena..." Nora began, her voice a low, broken sob. She had to confess. But she could not confess the truth. She looked at Ashlyn one last time, at her cold, impassive face. She knew, in that moment, that Lady Ashlyn would let her die. She had to find a third way. A lie that would save them both.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "...Miss Lorena was killed by her own hands."

The new lie hung in the dead, silent air of the room, as shocking and unexpected as a gunshot.

"She... she committed suicide."

Marissa, who had been expecting a desperate, fumbling accusation, stared at her, utterly stunned. This was not the move she had anticipated. Suicide? It was simple, and complete end to the entire investigation. It explained the death. It invalidated the witness. It cleared Marissa of the crime, but it also, and more importantly, allowed the real murderer to walk away completely, scot-free.

Across the room, Ashlyn, who had been holding her breath, slowly, almost imperceptibly, let it out. The terror in her eyes faded, replaced by a cool, triumphant relief. A small, secret smile played on her lips. Nora, the little fool, had just saved her.

By the fireplace, the slow, rhythmic sound of the cloth on the sword stopped. Derek, who had been watching the entire performance with a cold, predatory focus, lowered the blade. He looked at Nora, his head tilted slightly, one eyebrow raised in a look of suspicion. He didn’t believe it for a second.