The heavy silence from Carlos seemed to press down on Marissa's shoulders. Carlos stood silently, his chest heaving slightly from his dramatic announcement, his eyes darting away from hers. He had expected her to accept the narrative he had spun. But her challenge—her refusal to believe—had unsettled him.
Marissa stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. She gripped the broken locket in her hand so tightly that the jagged metal bit into her palm, a sharp, grounding pain that kept her from screaming.
She straightened her spine, drawing herself up to her full height.
"I'll get to the bottom of this myself," Marissa declared. Her voice was cold, final, and echoed off the marble walls.
She turned her back on him, her dress swirling around her ankles with a sharp snap of fabric. She began to walk toward the inner doors that led to the private wings of the estate. She kept her head high, her steps measured.
