By noon, Diana arrived in a flurry of perfume, stylists, and rigid smiles. She moved through the house like she already owned it. “The flower girl needs to be dressed now,” she snapped. “No delays.”
In Emma’s bedroom, the pink satin dress lay untouched. Emma stood frozen, arms crossed. Diana entered without knocking.
“You will wear it,” Diana said coolly. “After today, some people won’t be living here anymore.”
Her eyes flicked toward María, sharp and deliberate.
Emma bolted past them, running into the garden, her small body shaking with something deeper than fear—anger. María followed, trying to calm her, but Emma wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“I have a plan,” she said, voice steady in a way no seven-year-old’s should be.
Maria’s heart pounded. “Emma, please. Don’t do anything dangerous.”
But something had already shifted.
At three o’clock, a scream echoed through the mansion.
Diana was trapped inside the master suite, pounding on the heavy wooden door. “Open this door right now!” she yelled. “This is unacceptable!”
Staff rushed in panic. Robert appeared in his tuxedo, confused, stunned. Then Emma stepped forward, holding the brass key tightly in her small fist.