TWENTY TWO

The tension from the morning still hung in the room like leftover smoke.

The moment Wesley stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his neck and already halfway dressed in one of his crisp button-downs, I pushed the covers off my legs and stood.

“I’m gonna shower in my room,” I mumbled, already heading toward the door.

“You can just use this one,” he said, without looking up as he rolled his sleeves. “My mother’s probably still hovering. You know how she is.”

I paused, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, exactly why I’d rather not be here when she decides to peek in again. I think she got enough of a show this morning.”

Wesley said nothing to that. He didn’t need to.

I slipped out without waiting for a response.

The hallway was quiet, but I moved fast anyway, slipping back into the guest room like I’d never left it. My space. My air. My bathroom. Even if it technically wasn’t mine, I needed something that felt familiar right now.

The water came on hot, almost too hot, and I didn’t adjust it. Just stood under the spray and let it burn against my skin as my thoughts spiraled.

The file.

That damn red file.

I hadn’t even seen what was inside, hadn’t read a single word. And yet, it had taken up permanent real estate in my brain. The fact that it was gone? That did something to me. Shifted something. I didn’t know if Wesley had moved it because I saw it—or because someone else had.

Diana.

She moved like she owned the place. Maybe she did. Had she gone snooping? Had she already seen it long before I did? Or maybe she’d taken it altogether. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten curious.

And if it was Wesley… what did that mean?

Had he hidden it from me? Had he known I would go looking again?

The worst part was not knowing.

I leaned my forehead against the tile, water running over my back, my mind refusing to quiet down. The steam felt good, grounding, but it didn’t wash any of the thoughts away.

By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the mirror was fogged, and I still had no answers. Just more questions—and a sinking feeling that whatever was in that file wasn’t something he wanted me to know.

Which only made me want to know it more.

Breakfast was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where the clinking of a fork on porcelain felt like it echoed. The kind of quiet where everyone had something to say but no one wanted to go first.

Wesley sat at the head of the table, back straight, sleeves rolled just enough to look effortless. I was across from him, and Diana sat at the other end, perfectly composed with her black coffee and blacker stare.

I picked at my food, mostly pushing scrambled eggs around with my fork. My appetite had disappeared somewhere between the missing red file and the awkward wake-up. I tried to focus on my coffee instead, but even that tasted too sharp.

Then Diana broke the silence.

“I’ve invited Brooklyn over for lunch.”

Just like that. No lead-in. No explanation. Just the bomb dropped in the middle of the table like it was a casual update.

Wesley didn’t move at first. Then he set his knife down carefully beside his plate. “That’s not a great idea.”

Diana didn’t look up from her coffee. “And why is that?”

“She tried to blow up my house,” he said, voice low and clipped.

“And?” Diana replied smoothly, still not flinching. “I didn’t raise you to be whiny.”

The insult hung there like it had weight. Maybe it did.

“You’re settling this,” she went on. “One way or another.”

I was in the middle of a sip when I let out a short, involuntary scoff. I tried to mask it, but it was too late.

Diana’s eyes snapped to mine. “Something funny?”

I blinked. “No, I just…” I shrugged. “The last thing Wesley is, is whiny.”

A beat passed. Her expression didn’t change.

Then she smiled—but not the warm kind. The kind that felt like a blade.

“Well,” she said, “compared to your last husband, I suppose anyone might seem strong.”

That one landed.

I felt the hit in my chest, low and quick. My stomach tightened, and I set my coffee cup down slowly, careful not to show how hard I was gripping the handle.

I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say? That she wasn’t wrong? That Marco had made me smaller than I even realized?

Wesley didn’t look at me. He just took another bite of his toast like he hadn’t heard the whole exchange. But I could see the twitch in his jaw.

I chewed the inside of my cheek and forced myself to stay quiet.

The table fell back into silence.

But the tension?

It stayed.

The afternoon dragged like it knew something was coming.

I wandered the hallway, not really doing anything but pretending to be helpful—giving half-hearted directions to the maids, nodding at things I didn’t register, straightening picture frames that didn’t need straightening. Anything to avoid thinking too hard about what was waiting at lunch. Brooklyn. Diana. Wesley’s silence.

My stomach twisted every time I tried to imagine what that conversation was going to look like. Explosive? Civil? Publicly tense but privately bloody? All were equally likely.

I was halfway down the corridor, eyeing a crooked flower arrangement, when Roy appeared.

He didn’t say much. He never really did unless it was important.

“Ma’am,” he said, holding out a small cream-colored envelope.

I blinked, distracted. “What’s that?”

“Someone asked me to deliver this to you directly.” His voice was even, unreadable as always.

I reached for it, fingers brushing the smooth surface. No sender name. No return address. Just my name on the front—Catrina—written in small, clean handwriting. Unfamiliar. Tidy. Almost careful.

I looked up at Roy. “Who gave this to you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Didn’t see. One of the new staff. Said it was personal.”

That didn’t help. If anything, it made my skin crawl a little.

“Okay… thanks,” I muttered, already backing toward the window seat nearby.

Roy gave a single nod and turned to leave.

I sat down slowly, envelope in hand, thumb hovering at the seal. My heart had picked up speed without warning. It wasn’t panic exactly. Just that weird pull in your gut when you know you’re holding something that could change everything—even if you have no idea how.

It was light. No weight to it at all. But it felt heavier than it should’ve.

No clues on the outside.

Nothing but my name.

I flipped it over, staring at the seal, and for a long minute, I didn’t open it.

Didn’t even try.

I just sat there with the thing in my lap, the silence stretching around me like a tight thread.

Because whatever was inside… I had a feeling it wasn’t just a letter.

And something deep down told me—

I wasn’t ready to read it yet.