Just sharp, low, irritated.
I follow the sound.
Not too close. Just enough to hear.
She’s in her room with the door cracked, talking to someone in that clipped whisper she uses when she’s losing control.
“…I don’t care what she said,” she hisses. “If she starts remembering again, we have a problem.”
My stomach drops.
She continues.
“No,” she says. “She cannot come home. Absolutely not. Keep her there. Do you understand me? She stays put until this wedding is done.”
I inch closer.
There’s a rustle of papers. A drawer opening. A hand slamming it shut.
“Just keep an eye on her. If she tries to leave campus again, I want a call immediately. If she reveals anything she thinks she saw…” Another pause, softer, darker, “we will deal with it.”
A beat passes.
“I am not losing another husband over this.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Another.
Not the first.
Not the last.
Her voice drops even lower. “You get paid to keep this quiet. So do it.”
She ends the call.
I step back just as she opens the door. She doesn’t see me—she wipes her expression clean, slides on her perfect smile, and pulls out her lipstick like she didn’t just threaten someone.
She walks past humming again.
My pulse is a jackhammer.
Minxy saw something. Something dangerous. Something she “buried.”
And Mom’s not just hiding her because she’s a nuisance—she’s hiding her because she’s a threat.
I grab the wall and breathe once. Twice.
Then my phone vibrates.
A message from Gideon.
Gideon: We’re taking care of her today. She’s safe. We’ll talk soon.
I stare at the screen.
Something in my chest loosens.
