The rain battered the roof of Cynthia Sharpe’s parked Jaguar. Seraphina Rivers sat in the passenger seat, shredding a tissue into snow-like confetti.
She looked manic. The carefully curated “dying swan” persona was gone, replaced by a jagged, frantic energy.
“He soundproofed the room,” Seraphina muttered, biting her thumbnail until it bled. “The music didn’t work. The fire didn’t work. He’s sleeping in the hallway, Cynthia. He’s acting like… like he loves her.”
“William is stubborn,” Cynthia said calmly from the driver’s seat, checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. “We just need to pivot. We need to prove she’s unfit legally. The court date is–“
“I don’t care about the court!” Seraphina screamed, striking the dashboard. “The baby is the anchor. As long as that brat exists, William is tied to her. If there is no baby… there is no bond.”
Cynthia went still. She turned slowly to look at Seraphina. “What are you suggesting?”
“Accidents happen in old houses,” Seraphina whispered, her eyes wide and glassy. “Stairs are slippery. Railings come loose. If she falls… if she loses the pregnancy… William will be devastated. He’ll need comfort. He’ll need *me*.”
Cynthia felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She was a corporate shark, a manipulator, a liar. But she wasn’t a murderer. This wasn’t PR spin; this was a felony.
“Seraphina,” Cynthia said carefully, sliding her hand into her purse. She tapped the screen of her phone, activating the voice memo app. “You are talking about harming Victoria. You need to calm down.”
“I am calm!” Seraphina hissed. “I’m the only one thinking clearly! I still have the key to the servants’ entrance from when I lived there. I can get in. I can finish this.”
“You’re going to push her?” Cynthia asked, her voice steady, ensuring the microphone caught every syllable.
“I’m going to set him free,” Seraphina corrected, a twisted smile spreading across her face. “And then I’m going to take back what’s mine.”