The sound carried lightness, amusement, and a disturbing absence of tension, as though no suffering existed within proximity. Then a man’s voice, confident and careless, echoed through the entry hall.
“Relax,” he said casually. “She is just our overly dramatic housekeeper.”
Something within me solidified completely.
Moments later, Peter Callahan emerged into view, adjusting his cufflinks with effortless composure, stepping past Juliette without acknowledgment, his movements reflecting habit rather than hesitation. Behind him stood a young blonde woman in a striking crimson dress, her expression curious, entertained, almost intrigued by the unfolding scene.
Peter finally noticed me standing motionless inside the doorway.
Color drained instantly from his face.
Juliette stirred weakly, lifting her head with visible effort, her eyes unfocused until recognition slowly replaced confusion. “Caroline?” she whispered faintly, disbelief trembling through every syllable.
“Good evening,” I replied calmly, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice. “I hope I am not interrupting anything essential.”