He tried to speak—but only a faint breath came out.
He hadn’t gone to Vermont.
He had been hidden away.
For five days.
With almost no light. Hardly any food.
Sofia felt her stomach twist.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Swiftly, she slid the painting back into place just as Victoria’s heels tapped sharply along the hallway floor.
“Everything alright, Sofia?” Victoria asked, her voice now stripped of its sugary tone.
“Yes, Mrs. Whitmore. Just adjusting the frame—it seemed slightly crooked.”
Victoria stepped closer, her cold eyes ringing on the wall.
“Make sure everything in this house remains flawless,” she said gently. “We wouldn’t want anyone noticing things they shouldn’t.”
The warning was quiet—but unmistakable.
Sofia understood then: she couldn’t quietly alert security. She couldn’t risk being dismissed or silenced.
She had one opportunity.
Moments later, back in the grand ballroom, Charles Whitmore lifted his glass to begin a toast.
Before he could utter a word, Sofia stepped forward and picked up the spare microphone.
“May I have a moment, please?”
For illustration purposes only
Her amplified voice carried across the glittering room.
Leave a Comment