The Thompson estate was draped in white. It was a week since the news of Derek's death had arrived, and the manor had been transformed into a house of mourning.
Heavy white ribbons hung from the iron gates, the pillars, and the stone lions guarding the entrance. They fluttered in the cold wind, like bandages on a wound that wouldn't heal.
Marissa walked out of the main doors. She was wearing a simple grey dress, her hair pulled back tightly. She hadn't slept properly in seven days. Her eyes were shadowed, her face pale and drawn.
She stopped at the top of the steps. She saw the ribbons. She saw the white cloth covering the bushes. She saw the funeral wreath on the door.
Something inside her snapped.
It wasn't sadness. It wasn't grief. It was a hot, blinding rage that surged through her veins like fire.
"What audacity!" Marissa shouted.
