Emma POV

Am sorry, ma’am, you can’t be allowed to see Mrs Ryder,” Daniel the butler said.

His voice was firm. Polite. A wall between Clara and the tall iron door. The late

afternoon light bled through the windows — soft, cold — falling across the marble floor. I stood in the hallway, a damp cloth in my hand. My fingers raw from scrubbing. My back burned.

Clara’s voice reached before her face did. “Daniel, it’s me. Clara.”

Her tone—sharp, surprised. A little ...