Chapter 4 — The Sketchbook

Evelyn

The mansion felt colder today.

Evelyn’s soft footsteps echoed faintly as she crossed the vast expanse of marble, each step swallowed by the unnatural stillness. The air hung heavy with an almost oppressive quiet, the kind that seemed to press down on everything, like the house itself was holding its breath. She felt it in her bones—the weight of things unsaid, unresolved. As she passed Gabriel’s office, the door slightly ajar, the low murmur of his voice filtered through, steady, controlled. Deadlines. Numbers. His world of transactions and precision, so far removed from the fragile, quiet turmoil that swirled around Sophie. The contrast gnawed at her.