Chapter 7
The shadow lingered for a tense second before moving on, the rhythmic tap of the cane fading toward the grand staircase. Martha let out a long, shaky breath, wiping her palms on her apron. Arthur closed the ledger with a quiet snap, slipping it beneath a pile of spare linens on the cart.
"That was too close," Martha murmured, her eyes wide with lingering dread.
"She’s patrolling," Arthur observed, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit. "She knows the ground is slipping beneath her feet, and paranoia is her default setting. Keep the ledger hidden, Martha. If anything happens to me, make sure that book gets into David Sterling's hands."
Meanwhile, on the second-floor portrait gallery, Camille stood before the imposing oil painting of her great-grandfather, Arthur Vance the First, the founder of the shipping empire that built the estate. The portrait depicted a stern man with cold blue eyes and a hand resting heavily on a globe, symbolizing dominion over his world. Camille stared at the painted face, searching for any trace of humanity behind the aristocratic veneer, finding only the same ruthless ambition that had cursed generations of her family.
"Admiring the patriarch?" a smooth, familiar voice asked from behind her.
Camille turned to see Harrison leaning against the doorframe of the gallery, his arms crossed over his charcoal suit jacket. He wore a patronizing smile that grated on her nerves.
"I was wondering how many people he had to destroy to build this house," Camille replied coldly.
"That is the price of legacy, Camille," Harrison said, stepping into the gallery and walking slowly toward her. "You think you can dismantle seventy years of institutional power with a lawyer's letter and a sympathetic estate manager? Your grandmother built this dynasty through sheer willpower. If you cross her completely, she will cut you out of the will entirely. You'll leave this house with nothing more than the dress on your back."
"Money was never the point, Harrison," Camille said, holding her ground as he stopped a few feet away. "Grandmother thinks ownership gives her the right to treat human beings like furniture. But people aren't property. And the estate isn't hers to mortgage for her vanity."
Harrison chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You are terribly naive. Without the estate, you have no social standing, no protection, and no future. Sterling was a good match—wealthy, pliable, connected. You threw away your best lifeline out of some misplaced romantic notion of independence."
May you like
"I threw away a gilded cage," Camille retorted, her blue eyes flashing with quiet fury. "Just like the one my grandmother tried to lock me in. And if you think I'm afraid of losing my inheritance, you understand even less about me than she does."
Before Harrison could reply, the sharp tap of a cane echoed down the gallery hall. Eleanor appeared at the entrance, her pink skirt suit immaculate, her expression like carved granite. She looked between Harrison and Camille, sensing the charged atmosphere without needing to hear a word of their conversation.
