Victoria watched the disaster unfolding from the balcony. She saw Cross whispering to Isabella. She saw Malcolm dragging Beatrice away. The walls of the “Golden Cage” were collapsing.
Overwhelmed, she fled the ballroom and ran up the servant’s stairs to the Master Suite.
She burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. Alistair lay in the bed, exactly where she had left him, staring at the ceiling.
“They’re winning,” Victoria sobbed, sinking into the chair beside him. “Cross knows everything. Beatrice is breaking. We put on the dresses and the smiles, but it’s over, Alistair. He’s going to liquidate the company on Monday.”
She buried her face in the sheets near his hand. “I tried to save them. I tried to be the shield. but I’m not strong enough.”
Alistair listened. He felt the vibration of her weeping against his leg. He watched the woman who had showed him mercy when he deserved none fall apart. A surge of raw, volcanic fury ignited in his brain–not at her, but for her. The adrenaline hit his dormant nervous system like a lightning bolt.