She hadn't meant to linger outside the heavy oak door, the barrier to secrets whispered in hushed tones. But as fate would have it, her hand had slipped, and her phone—a sleek device that felt alien against the backdrop of old money and tradition—tumbled to the hardwood floor with a clatter that shattered the silence.
The sound was a gunshot in the quiet, and Marley froze, her breath catching in her throat. On the other side of the door, there was a moment's pause before two pairs of eyes found her through the crack—Sebastian, the patriarch whose mere presence demanded respect, and his butler, the ever-watchful sentinel.
"Miss Brooks," Sebastian said, his voice a low rumble, a storm brewing on the horizon.
"Grandfather," she managed to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew she shouldn't be here, listening to things not meant for her ears.
