The sirens wailed outside the mansion as paramedics rushed through the gates. The air was thick with panic and disbelief. The golden light of celebration had vanished, replaced by flashing red and blue that painted the marble floors in chaos.

I stood frozen by the staircase, my entire body trembling. The image of the old patriarch lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs burned itself into my mind. Servants were crying, relatives whispering, and the matriarch clutched her chest in horror as Vincent guided her to a chair.

My throat felt dry, my lips shaking as I tried to explain, but no one wanted to listen. Every eye in that room was fixed on me — judgmental, accusing, hateful.

“Did anyone see her near the stairs?” one of the uncles demanded.

“I did!” someone shouted. “She was right there when Father fell!”

“That’s nonsense!” I burst out. “I was coming down from the hallway when I saw someone push him! There was someone else there—”

“Enough!” another voice barked, and when I turned, I met Vincent’s eyes.

He looked furious — not loud, but coldly furious, the kind that didn’t need words to sting. His usually calm face was unreadable, but the disappointment in his gaze crushed me more than anything else.

“Vincent,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “Please… I didn’t do this. You have to believe me.”

He didn’t respond. He just turned toward the police officer that had arrived. “She’s my wife,” he said flatly. “Alice Markston. She was near the scene when my grandfather fell.”

The way he said *my wife* sounded so formal… so detached. It hurt.

“I didn’t touch him!” I said again, louder this time, though my voice cracked. “I loved Grandfather. He treated me with kindness when no one else did. Why would I hurt him?”

The officer nodded slowly, jotting things down. “Mrs. Markston, please calm down. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

They led me toward the living room. The relatives followed, whispering behind me.

“I knew she was jealous of Lilian.”

“She’s always been a troublemaker.”

“She didn’t even bring a gift, maybe she wanted attention.”

I sat on the edge of the sofa, hands trembling. The matriarch sat nearby, still shaken. Lilian, who had returned with fake concern written all over her face, hovered beside her, pretending to console.

“Grandmother,” I said softly, my eyes blurring with tears. “Please… you know I’d never—”

“Stop talking, Alice,” Lilian snapped before the matriarch could answer. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

Her voice was calm but sharp. The satisfaction hidden behind her fake worry made my stomach twist.

Vincent approached, his tall figure casting a shadow across the room. He looked down at me, his voice steady, quiet, and cold.

“Tell me what happened.”

I met his gaze, desperate. “I swear, Vincent, I didn’t push him. I was on my way downstairs when I saw someone up there — I think it was a shadow or maybe—”

“You think ?” His voice tightened. “Alice, do you realize how serious this is? My grandfather might not survive that fall. You can’t just say you think.”

“I know what I saw!” I cried, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Someone pushed him, Vincent. I didn’t even get to see who before he fell. Please, you have to believe me.”

For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes — doubt, hesitation, maybe even the memory of who we used to be. But then his jaw hardened again.

“Then explain,” he said, his tone sharp. “Why did the housekeeper find your scarf at the top of the stairs?”

My eyes widened. “What? My scarf? I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, looking away as if it physically hurt to hear me. “Don’t lie to me, Alice. Not about this.”

“I’m not lying!” I pleaded. “Someone must have placed it there, Vincent. You have to know I wouldn’t do this.”

He turned away, hands in his pockets, staring at the darkened staircase where the paramedics had carried Grandfather out. His silence was worse than shouting.

Inside, I was breaking.

“Vincent,” I said weakly, “I’m part of this family. The Markstons took me in, and no matter what anyone says, I would never hurt Grandfather. I respect him too much for that.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath, then exhaled. “I want to believe you,” he said quietly. “I really do… but all the evidence—” he stopped, shaking his head. “Everything points to you.”

The words shattered something inside me.

I looked around the room, searching for any sign of understanding — but all I saw were suspicious eyes, cold faces, and Lilian standing smugly near the matriarch, her hand resting gently on the old woman’s shoulder like a caring granddaughter.

The police began taking statements, moving about the room, and I sat there silently. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. My scarf? How could it have been there? I hadn’t even worn it that evening.

When the officer asked Vincent for more details, he simply said, “She’ll cooperate,” his tone void of emotion.

That’s when I realized — he didn’t trust me anymore.

When the questioning ended, I stood up, weakly. The whole mansion felt suffocating. The noise, the whispers, the pity — it all pressed on my chest.

“I’ll stay here until Grandfather is stable,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone.

Lilian scoffed faintly. “Don’t trouble the family any further, Alice. The hospital doesn’t allow too many visitors.”

Her words were gentle, but her eyes mocked me. Everyone was watching. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t shout. I just swallowed the humiliation and nodded slightly.

“I understand,” I said softly.

As the police left and the relatives dispersed, Vincent walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine without stopping. He didn’t look back. He didn’t say a word.

I stood there, numb, the scent of lilies from the banquet table filling the air. The night that was supposed to celebrate life had turned into a nightmare.

And I was the villain in everyone’s story.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to calm my breathing, my thoughts spinning in silence.

Maybe someday, the truth would come out. But tonight, all I could do was endure.