Mr. Kingsley’s presence was like a switch being flipped in the dimly lit room. His voice was a blend of authority and disbelief as he looked from Bianca to Evelyn, the latter still on her knees, hands trembling, eyes downcast.
“Mrs. Hart, please stand up,” he said gently, helping Evelyn to her feet. His touch was respectful, as though handling a delicate artifact of dignity that had been carelessly shattered.
Bianca’s face turned crimson, a storm of fury and panic clouding her features. “Who do you think you are, barging in here uninvited?” she spat, yet her voice wavered, betraying her unease.
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