CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Penelope's POV

My breath hitched as Marie-Anne Laurent pinnes her intimidating gaze on me. The woman had a presence that was impossible to ignore—powerful, sharp, and impossibly poised. The kind of woman who could crush someone with a single glance.

I had to play this carefully.

Marie-Anne settled into the chair beside my bed, crossing her legs with effortless grace. She didn't speak immediately, letting the tension stretch between us like a tightrope I was bound to slip from.

Then, finally, she asked, "Where is she?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. I knew exactly who she meant.

"I—" My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, all the air sucked out of me. I tried to speak again, but my words faltered, caught in my throat like a scream that refused to escape.

Forcing myself to straighten, I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself. My heart was racing, my mind twirling.

"I don't know," I stammered, my voice shaking. "I got a call last night, from an unknown number. They said...they said she was dead."

Marie-Anne remained still, her expression unreadable. I couldn't tell if she was surprised or if she had already suspected it.

"Who called you?" she asked, her tone eerily calm.

I shook my head. "I don't know. They didn't say anything else."

A long silence followed. She studied me as if she were piecing together a puzzle only she could see. I clenched the silk sheets between my fingers, trying not to crumble beneath her scrutiny.

Then, desperate, I did the only thing I could think of—I started pleading.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don't tell anyone. I didn't come here to take her spot. I just—I thought maybe she would recover, and I could return everything to how it was. I never meant to—"

Marie-Anne's sharp, assessing eyes bore into mine, making me feel exposed. Stripped.

Then, to my utter shock, she murmured, "Who says it was her spot to begin with?"

The words sent a chill through me.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. Of all the things I had expected, this was not one of them.

Marie-Anne exhaled softly, leaning back in her chair. "Madison always spoke about you."

I stiffened.

"She talked about you at nearly every family gathering. Ranting on and on about how she was the better sister. How you were nothing compared to her."

A bitter taste coated my tongue. That sounded like Madison.

Marie-Anne tilted her head, watching me with something almost like amusement. "So, I got curious. What kind of person could make someone as cutthroat and competitive as Madison so… bitter?"

I swallowed hard.

She gave a slow nod, as if coming to a realization. "And now, I understand. Because only someone bold, someone willing to risk it all, would dare do what you've done."

I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or a warning. Maybe both.

Marie-Anne rose from her chair, brushing invisible dust off her pristine beige dress. Her elegance was effortless, her every move intentional.

"A word of advice," she said, glancing down at me. "Madison used to be chatty during family gatherings. Very chatty. You'd do well to remember that."

My pulse quickened.

"Talk. Engage. And if need be—insert Penelope into the conversation."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. She was helping me act like Madison.

Marie-Anne turned on her heel, making her way toward the door. Just as her fingers brushed the handle, panic surged through me, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out,

"Why are you helping me?"

She hesitated, her back still to me. Then, without turning around, she said,

"Because Madison did something to me. Consider this my revenge."

And with that, she stepped out of the room, leaving me drowning in a sea of all unanswered questions.