Suddenly, I felt drained, as though my body and soul had been hollowed out. Without a word, I turned and headed for the stairs.
Before I could take a step, Irene’s sickly-sweet voice stopped me again. “Amelia, your room is downstairs now.”
She pointed toward a small, inconspicuous door tucked into the corner of the villa. It was a storage room once—a place for forgotten things.
This villa had been a gift from my father, my name etched into the property deed. But since my imprisonment, Gilbert had taken over everything. Now, even my most basic right to a room was stripped from me.
I stared at the door for a long moment, swallowing the lump in my throat. For now, even this would have to do. As long as my father was alive, I could start over.
The room was cramped and cluttered, filled with discarded items. My belongings were tossed carelessly into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust, as though they too had been forgotten.
Determined, I grabbed a basin and set out to clean. As I passed by the study, faint voices drifted through the slightly ajar door.