The dining room table was set with fine china and crystal. Two tall candles had burned down to nubs, dripping wax onto the lace tablecloth. The roast duck was cold.
Sophie Laurent-Croft sat at the end of the long table, staring at the empty chair opposite her. It was 9:30 PM. Dinner was supposed to be at 8:00.
She checked her phone. No text. No call.
She stood up, the silk of her dress rustling in the silence, and walked to the window. From here, she had a clear view of the terrace.
She saw him.
William was standing outside in the cold wind, wrapped in a trench coat, his gaze fixed upward toward the Guest House. He wasn’t working. He wasn’t in a crisis meeting. He was indulging the “Magnet” that pulled him toward Victoria.
Sophie turned back to the cold dinner. She blew out the candles, plunging the room into darkness. She realized with a crushing weight that she wasn’t just the second wife; she was the invisible woman. She picked up her phone and texted Lucas: *You were right. I’m alone in a crowded house.*.