The mansion's foyer, with its cold marble columns and thick rugs, was an antechamber to exile for Sophie.
She crossed that wide space without looking back, the yellowish lights of the chandeliers swaying slowly while, from the garden, the echo of laughter and conversation could still be heard, everyone ignoring the weight of her escape. Her light dress clung to her back, cold sweat from unresolved emotions dripping down her neck. Every step was a farewell.
At the entrance, under the oblique light of an old lantern burning against the dusk, Madame Bernadette appeared, discreet, holding a piece of paper.
The housekeeper seemed like she had stepped out of an old portrait, her posture always upright, but her voice — when she spoke — carried a hint of tenderness wrapped in discipline.
"Mademoiselle Sander, forgive me, but where do you think you're going at this hour? Did you not appreciate the hospitality of this house?"
Sophie stopped, feeling the words cut through her chest.
"I don't want to be any more trouble. I think I've already caused enough confusion for the Grant family."
The housekeeper smiled, without much warmth, but with a certain compassion.
"I understand, but before you leave, I need you to read this. I have orders from Mr. Grant to deliver it to you."
She handed Sophie a neatly folded piece of paper. Sophie hesitated before taking it, fearing its contents as one fears a sentence.
She opened the note under the housekeeper's watchful eyes. The handwriting was firm, masculine, without flourishes:
"I don't want you to leave.
Besides the monthly payment, I'll cover all the costs of your son's treatment, whatever is necessary, with no restrictions.
I only ask that you trust me and stay."
The note weighed heavy in Sophie's hands. She folded it, her eyes misting over with a soft haze: the promise of salvation for Lucas on one side, the abyss of continuing with that lie on the other. She took a deep breath, feeling doubt burning slowly in her chest.
"Do you need time to think, mademoiselle?" Madame Bernadette asked, not really waiting for an answer. "If I may offer some advice: sometimes life demands courage, but it becomes much more flavorful with a healthy dose of drama. And you, if I may also say, seem to have a real talent for... acting. Excuse me." The housekeeper withdrew in her polished manner.
Sophie smiled faintly, a silent gratitude on her lips, before seeing the housekeeper's silhouette disappear through the mansion's front door.
Meanwhile, in the garden, the atmosphere had changed: dense, heavy with unspoken promises. Daniel walked quickly, seeking refuge in the farthest part of the grounds, where the trees formed dark tunnels and the air felt cooler, almost outside of time. Veronica caught up to him without haste, her heels sinking gently into the manicured grass.
"Daniel," she called, his name hissing low, like someone offering poison in a crystal glass, "what was that scene? Why did you say Flora can't be your sister?"
Daniel turned, his face shadowed by the garden's lanterns. His voice came out low but intense:
"Because... I already knew her before. Her name isn't Flora, it's Sophie. We...," he hesitated, searching for the least scandalous way to say it, "had a thing, something brief, but it happened. I don't believe she's my sister, I just can't."
Veronica listened with quiet attention, her eyes narrowed, her hands crossed under her chest, as still as a sphinx.
"A fling, huh? What an incredible coincidence! But do you know anything about this... Sophie's family?"
Daniel shook his head, impatient:
"No, I don't, I never asked anything. What we had was too fast, I never wanted to get too involved."
Veronica lifted her chin, her eyes lighting up as if she could see, far off, the beginning of a solution.
"Then, from this moment on, you will start to care! I want you to get close to her, Daniel. Let her believe in your remorse, act like a vulnerable man, a bit lost — women are drawn to that type. Get the truth from her. If she really is your sister, you'll know. And if not, all the better for you."
Daniel recoiled, uncomfortable:
"You want me to... seduce my supposed sister? That's—"
"Daniel, pay attention," Veronica interrupted, her voice velveted with command. "If this Flora — or Sophie, whatever her name is — gives in to you, then she's not really your sister. Men and women recognize their own blood, even if they're not sure of the bond. Go to her, find out what she wants and what she's hiding, because that may help us understand what your father is up to."
Daniel nodded, glancing over his shoulder toward the illuminated house.
"All right. I'll try."
Veronica touched his arm lightly, in a gesture almost maternal, though there was more calculation than affection.
"I trust you, Daniel. Do what it takes, your inheritance is at stake."
For a second, both were silent in the damp darkness of the garden, accomplices in a drama whose ending they could not yet see. In the distance, the mansion cast beams of light across the lawn, promising even more secrets being woven behind every glowing window.