My soul drifted toward the bath. Alexander was in the water, his body a map of jagged scars.

Victoria's eyes darted away in fear.

I floated to Alexander's side, hoping he could sense me. My body was still buried in the Sterling garden.

If he would avenge me—I would be grateful. If not, at least burn my body. I preferred warm places.

Victoria knelt. "My mother was ill, so I went back for a few days."

She was explaining my absence—the days Victoria had spent starving and poisoning me before burying my body in the garden.

Alexander studied her. "You went back to the Sterling estate and didn't send word?"

"I... didn't want to trouble you, my Lord."

"You always send word. Even when you visit the market."

Victoria's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She recovered quickly.

"I was worried about Mother. I forgot."

Alexander said nothing more. But his jaw tightened—a tell I'd learned to read over three years of marriage.

On our wedding night, he'd said, "Do not expect an ounce of pity from me."

In three years of marriage, beyond intimate moments, he spoke little to me. But I'd learned his silences. Each one meant something different.

This silence meant suspicion.