Chapter 8

I lay on top of the covers fully dressed, the programme on the pillow beside me, staring at the ceiling until the light outside turned white.

The circle in ink kept pulling my eyes back to it.

Clean. Deliberate.

At some point footsteps passed in the corridor. Slow. They stopped outside my door just long enough... then moved on without knocking.

I didn't move.

At seven a knock came. A woman I hadn't met opened the door a crack. Neat uniform. Eyes to the floor.

"Mr. Blackthorn asks if you'll join him for breakfast, ma'am."

"Tell him I'll be down in ten minutes."

I folded the programme and buried it at the bottom of my bag. Then I stood in front of the mirror and put Lila back on. Shoulders in. Chin down. The look that said nothing and asked for less.

I'd worn it for six years. It still fit.

Damien was already at the table when I came downstairs. No Victor. Just him, a cup of coffee, and the morning papers beside his plate.

He didn't look up immediately. Which told me he'd heard me on the stairs.

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

"You didn't eat last night," he said.

"I wasn't hungry."

He turned a page. "Mrs. Hale said your light was on until past three."

I reached for the coffee pot. "I was getting used to the room."

"And?"

I poured my cup. "It's a big room."

He looked up then. The same unhurried look from last night... like he was reading something in my face that I hadn't said out loud.

"Did you find everything you needed?" he asked. His tone didn't change. The question did.

"Everything was fine," I said. "Thank you."

A pause. He picked up his coffee.

"Victor will want to go over the household schedule with you this morning," he said. "Which parts of the house are being renovated. The usual orientation."

"Renovated," I said.

"The east wing. Has been for months." He set his cup down. "You'll want to avoid it."

I looked at him steadily. "Because of the renovation."

"Yes."

He held my gaze just long enough... then went back to his paper.

I drank my coffee and said nothing. Outside the window the grounds sat manicured and still. Another camera on the garden wall. I counted it without moving my eyes. Same placement as the one by the gate. Same angle.

Victor arrived at half past eight.

He came in warm, as always. Good morning, Lila. Did you sleep well. His voice filled the space the way it always did... easy, practiced, leaving no gap for anyone else.

I smiled at the right moments and said the right things.

Damien watched us from behind his paper.

"I thought we'd do a brief tour this morning," Victor said, pulling out the chair beside me rather than the one at the end. Close. Too close for a table this large. "Help you get your bearings. It's a big house. Easy to get turned around."

"I'd like that," I said.

"Wonderful." He smiled and poured himself coffee without being offered any. "We'll start after breakfast. I'll show you everything you need to know."

Everything you need to know.

I kept my smile in place.

Across the table, Damien turned another page.

He hadn't looked at me once since Victor walked in.

But just before I stood to leave, I glanced back.

Damien's eyes were already on me. Not on the door. Not on Victor's back.

Not curious. Not surprised.

Waiting.

He looked away the second I caught it.

But I'd seen it.

I turned and followed Victor into the hall.

The tour was what it was. Room after room. Victor naming everything with the same warm efficiency, hands clasped behind his back, never rushing.

I followed. I listened. I counted doors.

It was in the study corridor that it happened.

Victor's phone rang. Brief, apologetic. One moment. He stepped ahead to take it.

I slowed and let my eyes move the way they always did when no one was watching.

The study door was open... Just slightly. Enough.

A desk. A stack of papers. A file folder sitting open on top.

I didn't move closer. I didn't need to.

My name was on the tab.

Not Liora. Not a stage name.

Lila.

And beneath it, a date.

Eight months ago.

Eight months before the lawyer came. Eight months before the hallway. Eight months before any of this was supposed to exist.

Victor ended his call and turned back, smiling.

"Sorry about that. Shall we continue?"

"Of course," I said.

I smiled back.

Eight months.

Someone had been building this for eight months.

And I was only just finding out.