Chapter 3
The mahogany-paneled library offered a stifling kind of sanctuary. Rows of leather-bound books stood in silent judgment behind glass doors, while a low fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the Persian rug. Julian gently seated Clara on the velvet settee before walking over to pour two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass. He didn't drink it; instead, he held it, watching the amber liquid swirl as he gathered his thoughts.
"You need to tell me what you saw right before you leaned over that railing," Julian said without turning around. His broad shoulders were tense beneath the black shirt, the fabric pulling slightly with every breath.
Clara stared into the fire, her hands resting tightly in her lap. The shock was slowly giving way to a cold, burning anger. "I heard a noise," she began, her voice steadying. "It sounded like glass shattering, but muffled, coming from the west wing. When I went to look down to see if Martha needed help in the hall, I reached for the wood. The moment my weight hit it, the railing gave way as if it had been sawed through."
Julian turned, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "It was sawed through. I inspected the wood when I carried you back up. Clean cuts, polished over with dust to hide the tampering." He walked over and handed her a glass of water, his fingers briefly brushing hers. The touch was warm, offering a grounding anchor in a house full of deception.
"Arthur was downstairs within seconds," Clara noted quietly, taking a small sip of the water. "And Martha was right behind him. But neither of them was in the west wing."
"No," Julian agreed, pulling up a heavy leather armchair and sitting opposite her. "Which means someone else was in this house tonight. Someone who knew our routines, knew the blind spots of the security cameras, and knew how to manipulate the estate's architecture to look like a tragic accident."
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"My father's will," Clara whispered, the realization hitting her with the force of a physical blow. "The reading is in three days. If I die before then, the entire estate defaults to Arthur as the surviving trustee."
Julian’s jaw tightened. "Then we don't have three days to play their game. We need to find out who else has access to the master keys before dawn."
