Clara walked up the grand staircase. Her heels sank into the thick wool carpet.
As she rounded the corner to the second floor, she nearly bumped into Helen Mercer. Her adoptive mother was holding a silver tea tray.
Helen's eyes darted away. A flash of guilt crossed her face. She couldn't meet Clara's gaze.
Clara gave a single, tight nod. She didn't offer a warm smile. She didn't try to please her. She walked straight past Helen toward the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Clara pushed the door open.
A heavy, synthetic rose scent hit her nose. It was Bria's signature perfume.
Clara stepped inside and locked the door behind her. Her eyes scanned the room like a thermal camera, searching for anything out of place.
She walked toward the walk-in closet. The sliding door was slightly ajar. A thin line of disturbed dust marked the metal track.
Clara crouched down.
In the dark corner behind a row of old shoeboxes, a single pearl earring rested on the floor.
She didn't touch it with her bare skin. She pulled a tissue from the vanity, wrapped it around her fingers, and pinched the pearl.
It was the antique earring Eleanor had bought at auction last week. Bria had been parading it around the house for days.
Clara's mind processed the data instantly. Bria hid the jewelry in her closet. Next came the police.
A frantic knock rattled the bedroom door.
"Clara? Are you in there?" Helen's soft, anxious voice filtered through the wood.
Clara shoved the tissue-wrapped earring into her vanity drawer. She walked over and twisted the lock.
Helen stepped inside. Her eyes immediately went to the open suitcase on the bed. Her eyes watered.
"Clara, please..." Helen started.
Clara kept pulling clothes from the hangers. She gave short, empty replies. Her distance made Helen's chest tight with panic.
Helen reached out and grabbed Clara's arm.
"Why did you act like that downstairs? Did Bria do something to you?"
Clara stopped packing. She turned her head. She stared at the woman who had raised her, yet always chose blood over loyalty.
Clara didn't complain. She walked to the vanity, pulled open the drawer, and took out the crumpled tissue.
She unfolded the paper right in front of Helen's face.
The antique pearl earring sat in the center.
Helen gasped. She stumbled back a step. "Why... why is that here? Bria said she lost it in the garden."
"Did she?" Clara's voice was laced with pure mockery. "Then tell me why a priceless heirloom magically appeared in the darkest corner of my private closet. A closet the maids aren't even allowed to clean."
Helen's face drained of color. She knew how the wealthy operated. The realization of what her biological daughter had done hit her like a physical blow.
"Maybe... maybe a maid kicked it in by accident," Helen stammered, her voice shaking.
"The carpets were deep-cleaned yesterday," Clara stated, crushing the excuse. "And there isn't a single speck of dust on this pearl."
Helen's mouth opened, but no words came out. She pressed both hands over her face, torn between her bloodline and the ugly truth.
Clara grabbed Helen's hand. She shoved the tissue and the earring into Helen's palm.
"I don't accept parting gifts," Clara said coldly. "Deal with your own mess."
Helen clutched the warm pearl. She stared at Clara's rigid back. For the first time, a deep, sickening doubt about Bria took root in her chest.
A low, aggressive roar of a sports car engine vibrated through the window glass.
Clara walked to the window. She pulled back the edge of the blinds and looked down.
A fleet of black, bulletproof Maybachs idled by the fountain.
The door of the lead car swung open. Preston practically sprinted out, looking frantic.
Then, the rear door of the second car opened. A man stepped out. His presence alone seemed to suck the oxygen out of the courtyard.
