When Sylvia woke up again, someone was standing by the bed, watching her with cold, sharp eyes.

She blinked, heart pounding, as the person's face came into focus. Instinctively, she sat up, tense and wary.

It was Fiona.

But she looked nothing like the polished, graceful Mrs. Fiona Sylvia remembered. Maybe the fall of the Carmichael family had hit her too hard-the streaks of silver in her hair, the heavy shadows under her eyes, that unmistakable air of defeat. She'd always seemed frail, but now she looked downright haunted.

Sylvia slid off the bed and took a cautious step backward. "Mrs. Fiona, what do you want?"

Fiona said nothing. She smoothed her hair, lowering herself elegantly into the chair opposite Sylvia-still carrying herself like the lady of the manor.

Once she settled, she lifted her eyelids and looked Sylvia up and down with unconcealed disdain.

"We were so close, you know," Fiona sneered. "You and Rupert-if things had gone just a little differently, you both would've been ruined for good."

Sylvia froze. Suddenly, it all made sense.

you that night," she

at Fiona's face, memories of

season. Fiona had reserved a seafood feast at a hotel owned by the Garcias. The Garcias threw family banquets all the time, and as the eldest daughter-in-law, Fiona always did

the crab, everyone warmed

went black right after that first

no idea how she'd ended up in Rupert's

Garcias accused her of drugging Rupert and crawling into his bed, she couldn't defend

same bottle-why had only she

the drinks. I just slipped a little something special into the dipping sauces-one for

she once respected, a tide

ever do to you? I never

laughed softly, eyes narrowing

was foolproof-Rupert would be forced to take responsibility, and your relationship would turn him into a joke Tristan would do anything to get rid of you, and the two of

Rupert, the whole Garcia family would be left in Warren's hands.

face draining of

life—had been nothing but pawns

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