The heavy walnut doors of the west lounge remained closed long after Derrick's footsteps had vanished down the marble corridor.
Elizabeth stood motionless by the mahogany bar, her hand still hovering inches above her empty glass. The silence in the Roys manor was absolute, cold, and suffocating. Her mind raced, picking apart every second of the confrontation, replaying the dangerous glint in Derrick's eyes when he realized how far she had gone to protect Jake.
'I forced his hand,' Elizabeth thought, her chest tightening as a cold sensation settled in her stomach. 'I thought pulling Father into it would buy me months. Instead, I gave Derrick a reason to take Jake seriously.'
She looked down at her hand, noticing the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers. She immediately pulled her hand back, curling her fingers into a tight fist. She couldn't afford weakness—not now, and certainly not here.
