Scarlett stood in front of the drawer; her eyes fixed on its wooden surface as her mind raced. The photographs she'd shoved back inside moments earlier seemed to burn through the wood, demanding her attention. Her thoughts spiraled, an uneasy mix of confusion and betrayal tightening in her chest.
"I'm coming," she called out sharply, her voice steadier than she felt.
She descended the stairs quickly, each step echoing in the quietness of the house. When she reached the bottom, Ellen turned to her, the start of a sentence on her lips, but Scarlett cut her off with a glare that stopped her cold.
"Explain," Scarlett demanded, her tone low but firm. "The photos upstairs. The surveillance. What the hell is going on?"
Ellen sighed, her expression calm but laced with a sadness that only deepened Scarlett's frustration. "I hired someone to watch over you," she admitted softly.