The first sound Epha heard was not the thunder outside, but a man’s voice inside the house. Calm, sharp, like the edge of a knife. She froze in the dim corridor, a silver tray of glasses balanced in her hands. The mansion was quiet except for that voice. She leaned closer. “It will be easy,” the man said. She is alone now. 50 years old.
No husband, no child. Her money belongs to the family. I am the family. Tonight we finish it. Epha’s heart kicked against her ribs.
The voice was Patrick’s. Madame Veronica’s brother-in-law. Patrick lived like a king inside Madam’s house, though he owned nothing. He drove her cars, poured wine for her guests as if he bought the bottles himself, and often boasted about connections he didn’t have.
But this voice was different. It wasn’t playful or proud. It was cold. If pressed her back to the wall, every muscle stiff. She heard him laugh softly. She trusts me too much. That’s why it will work. A simple drink. The doctor will call it heart stress. No one will suspect. The tray in her hands trembled. The glasses clicked against each other.
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