Echoes of Betrayal (4)

The garden of Lady Evelyne's estate was practically dripping in wealth—marble fountains gurgling like they had secrets, white peacocks strutting like royalty, and flowerbeds curated to look effortless. But nothing ever outshone Helen D'Angelo.

She sat at the head of the tea table like it had been carved just for her, sunlight laced through her silver hair, head tilted in just the right angle to seem thoughtful but superior. Watching her was like staring at the finest jewel in a museum—distant, untouchable, and a little tempting if you looked too long.

"I heard Viscount Merrill sent you another bouquet, Lady Helen," Lady Cecile chirped, voice sugar-sweet and venomous as ever. "That makes five this week."

Helen lifted her teacup, elegant fingers curled around porcelain. "Six, actually. But I had the last one fed to my gardener's goats. The poor creatures were looking thin."