I rose slowly from the garden soil, brushing dirt from my hands as I turned to face Natalie. Her silhouette was sharp against the moonlight, her perfect posture a stark contrast to my hunched form among the flowers.
"These gardens belonged to Matriarch Genevieve," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "She invited me here."
Natalie's laugh was like ice cracking. "Genevieve isn't here to protect you anymore, is she? Just like your daughter."
The casual cruelty of her words sent a jolt through my body. I'd endured five years of her subtle barbs, her calculated humiliations. But this—bringing Violet into it so callously—was different.
"Don't you dare speak about my daughter," I warned, straightening to my full height.
"Your daughter," Natalie mocked, stepping closer. "The one Julian could barely look at? The one he couldn't be bothered to visit on her deathbed?"
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. "Stop it."
