The evening air was thick with tension. The Lancaster estate, usually a haven of luxury and tranquility, now pulsed with an undercurrent of unease. Moris stood at the massive glass window overlooking the vast gardens, his hands tucked into his pockets, his jaw set in quiet contemplation. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind—Sarah's presence had shifted something in his life, though he wasn't sure if it was for the better.
Duke, ever watchful, sat at his feet, ears perked as though sensing his master's conflict.
Sarah, in the meantime, was upstairs, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She had spent months trying to weave herself into Moris' life, and though her schemes had come close to success, Isabel and that wretched dog continued to stand in her way.
Her eyes flickered toward her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked perfect—her long auburn hair draped over her shoulders, her makeup subtle yet captivating. She had worked too hard to let it all slip away now.
A knock at her door startled her.
"Miss Whitmore?" A voice, soft yet firm. It was Mr. Reeves, Moris' personal butler. "Mr. Lancaster would like to see you in the study."
Sarah inhaled deeply, steadying herself. This was it. A chance to regain her ground.
The Confrontation
Moris sat behind his grand oak desk, Duke sprawled on the rug beside him. His piercing gaze met Sarah's the moment she entered, and something in his expression made her uneasy.
"You asked for me?" she said, keeping her voice light.
Moris leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced. "Yes. I've been thinking."
Sarah forced a smile. "About?"
He exhaled slowly. "About you. About Isabel. About everything."
Sarah's stomach twisted. Was he suspecting her? She had covered her tracks carefully, ensured that Isabel looked like the guilty one in Duke's poisoning incident. Moris had begun to doubt Isabel, hadn't he?
"I know what it looks like," she said carefully. "I know you're confused, Moris. Isabel… she's manipulative. You saw how Duke fell sick right after she spent time with him. She wants you to think she's perfect, but—"
"Stop."
Moris' voice was quiet but commanding.
Sarah bit her lip.
"I won't deny that I had doubts," he admitted, glancing down at Duke, who was now glaring at Sarah with unblinking eyes. "But I also know Duke. He never trusts the wrong people. And he's never liked you, has he?"
Sarah felt heat rise to her face. "Are you saying you trust a dog's instincts more than me?"
Moris was silent for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, his dark eyes burning into hers. "Yes."
Sarah's breath hitched.
His words cut sharper than a blade. How had it come to this? How had a dog managed to hold such influence over him?
The Shadows Deepen
That night, Sarah tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the humiliation of Moris' words. Her desperation was growing into something darker.
If Duke was out of the way, Moris would have no reason to doubt her. No reason to push her aside.
She sat up, her fingers curling into fists. She had tried everything—manipulation, lies, even subtle sabotage. But none of it had worked.
Maybe it was time for something more… permanent.
A slow, eerie smile spread across her lips.
Duke wouldn't see it coming.