Chapter 85: Vanesa Witnesses Beatrice's Affair
Beatrice paced her bedroom like a caged animal, clutching the stack of letters in her trembling hands.
The papers felt heavy, not just in weight but in implication.
The sepia-toned photographs of her, Steven, and Helen at that doomed summer house were haunting enough.
But the letters—those jagged scrawls accusing her of her role in their deaths—were suffocating.
She hurled the photos onto her bed, her breath hitched as her eyes darted to the window.
The blinds were closed, but she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Someone knew.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
"Steven."
She snatched it up. "What did you do?"
There was a pause before Steven's smooth voice filled the line. "Beatrice. Lovely to hear from you, too."
"Don't play games with me," she hissed. "The package. The letters. The photos. Was this your idea of a sick joke?"
