Six weeks had passed.

Three long, surreal weeks since everything unraveled.

Her carefully constructed version of life, marriage, image, and power crumbled at her feet like a fragile tower made of sand.

This morning, Beth sat at her vanity table for the last time in the Rowe mansion, staring at her reflection in silence.

The morning light filtered in through the grand windows, casting a pale glow across the marble floors. The room was still, the quiet kind of still that came before ...