The Freeman estate was too quiet that morning. The kind of quiet that feels more like a warning than a peace offering. Tiania moved lightly through the house, her senses heightened. She had learned to listen to silence—how it could speak louder than a crowd. The glint of morning light bounced off the polished mahogany floors as she carried a watering can to the orchids in the east sunroom, the only part of the house that still felt like hers.
She was dressed simply, in a soft blue blouse and linen trousers, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. She didn’t want to stand out, didn’t want to draw attention—not from Ana, not from Henrick. And certainly not from the staff who had, increasingly, started to take their cues from whichever woman seemed more powerful at the moment.
