Just then, Sara entered the room. Without sparing me a glance, she scooped Elise into her arms, pressing a palm to her back to calm her down.
She looked at me then, her voice bitter. "So all these years... you were just pretending, weren't you?"
Elise didn't wait for her to finish. She raised the eyebrow razor one last time and hurled it straight at me.
It hit my chest and clattered to the floor. It didn't hurt. But the look in her eyes—that raw hatred—cut far deeper than any blade. If she could've killed me in that moment, I have no doubt she would have.
The door slammed behind them.
Silence fell again. I stood there in the middle of the chaos—fabric scraps scattered like broken feathers—staring at the pile as if something vital had been ripped from me.
I didn't know how long I stood there before Emily, the housekeeper, entered, carrying a small laundry basket. She knelt down without a word and began quietly gathering the ruined clothes.
After a moment, she looked up at me. "Sir, Madam and Miss Elise have already eaten. Would you like to come down and have something?"