Chapter 156: Beatrice’s Satisfaction

Beatrice Whitmore stood alone in the east salon of Celestine Heights, her hands resting lightly on the back of an antique chair that had belonged to her mother. Morning light filtered through tall windows, softened by sheer curtains that muted the outside world into something manageable. The house was quiet in the way only power could afford to be quiet.

She had not slept much.

That was not unusual. Sleep was a luxury she had abandoned decades ago, when vigilance became instinct. But this morning carried a particular stillness that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with certainty.

The storm had passed.

Not the one that had darkened the skies the night before, loud and violent and brief. That had been nothing more than weather. Beatrice had lived through storms th