It was the kind of afternoon Isabel used to think of as perfect — before the truth revealed itself like rot beneath a polished floor.
The house was warm, filled with the smell of fresh roses. Victoria loved roses. She said they reminded her that beauty came at a cost — thorns hidden just beneath the bloom.
Isabel sat curled up on the plush velvet sofa in the sunroom, flipping through old family ledgers she'd found tucked away in a dusty cabinet. She was twenty-four then, bright-eyed, eager to prove she could help run the business her father had built — the same business Victoria had taken over after his "accident."
Back then, she still called her aunt Victoria — though they weren't blood. Victoria had come into their lives like a fairy godmother when Isabel's mother died — the perfect friend, the mentor, the shoulder to cry on. Isabel had trusted her with everything.
A sharp rap of heels on marble pulled Isabel from the numbers. She looked up as Victoria entered, radiant in an ivory silk blouse and tailored slacks, a glass of wine balanced in one elegant hand.
"You're working again?" Victoria's smile was dazzling but her tone carried a hidden edge. "Sweet girl, you'll give yourself wrinkles before you're thirty."
Isabel grinned sheepishly. "I just wanted to understand Dad's old accounts. They're a mess. Some entries don't match the bank statements."
She held up a ledger, pages fluttering like wounded wings. Victoria's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment before her smile returned, smooth as glass.
"Oh, darling, those old files are riddled with errors. Your father — God rest him — was never much for details. That's why he needed me."
She moved closer, her perfume — roses and something sharp beneath — filling Isabel's nose. Victoria slipped the ledger from her hands, closing it with a soft thud.
"You don't need to worry about these things. You should be out enjoying yourself. Meeting people your own age."
Isabel frowned. "But if something's wrong, we should fix it. Some accounts have money missing. Large amounts."
Victoria's laugh was musical, like wind chimes in a summer breeze. But her eyes didn't match the sound.
"Sweet girl, you worry too much. I've told you, haven't I? There are always creative ways to make the numbers work. Your father trusted me to handle this — you should too."
She reached out, brushing a stray hair from Isabel's cheek. The touch was gentle but the hand behind it was iron. Isabel felt her skin prickle under Victoria's fingers.
"I know, but…" Isabel hesitated, her chest tightening. "It's just… Dad left everything to me, Victoria. I want to make him proud."
The softness in Victoria's face shifted. Something steely flickered in her eyes — so quickly Isabel almost missed it. The hand in her hair paused, a fingertip tapping lightly on her temple.
"Your father wanted what was best for you," Victoria said, voice low and honey-sweet. "And what's best for you is to let me handle the big things. You're not ready for this world yet, Isabel. It's full of snakes."
Isabel forced a smile, but her insides twisted. She wanted to trust Victoria — she needed to. The woman had raised her, protected her. And yet, as she sat there, she couldn't shake the feeling that the conversation wasn't as innocent as Victoria's words suggested.
Victoria laid the ledger on the side table and picked up Isabel's wine glass. She pressed it into Isabel's hands.
"Drink," she murmured. "Relax. I'll have the files reviewed by a professional. You have my word."
Isabel stared at the dark red wine swirling in the glass. She hadn't even poured it — Victoria had. Suddenly, the scent made her throat tighten.
"I'm not thirsty," Isabel said, placing the glass down.
Victoria's smile didn't slip, but her fingers drummed once, twice, on the arm of the sofa.
"Darling," she said, and her voice was no longer honey but something closer to ice, "Don't let your imagination get the better of you. We're family. And family trusts each other."
Isabel's skin prickled with goosebumps. She forced herself to look away from the wine, pretending not to notice how Victoria's eyes flicked to it and then back to her.
A moment later, the tension was gone — as if it had never been there at all. Victoria leaned down, kissed Isabel's forehead, and laughed again.
"You're too serious, sweet girl," she said, straightening her blouse. "Promise me you'll come to the gala tonight. There's a new donor I want you to meet. He could be very… helpful for your future."
Isabel nodded, numb. She didn't remember agreeing, but she must have. She watched Victoria leave, the sound of her heels clicking away like a ticking clock counting down.
She waited until the house was silent, then snatched the ledger off the table and stuffed it into her bag. She didn't know what she was looking for — or if she was imagining things — but she knew she had to find out.
Later that night, she stood in her father's old study, the moonlight catching dust motes like falling stars. She flipped through the pages by torchlight, heart thudding with each suspicious entry. But before she could get too far, the study door creaked open.
Victoria stood there, framed in shadow, her lips curled in that same too-sweet smile.
"Isabel?" she said, voice dripping with concern. "What on earth are you doing in here? You should be dressed for the gala."
Isabel snapped the ledger shut, trying to hide it behind her back — but she knew it was too late. Victoria's eyes flicked to her hands. Her smile never wavered.
"Darling…" She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. "Some secrets aren't meant for innocent eyes. Let me take care of that."
And in that moment, Isabel understood — truly understood — that she'd been living in the mouth of a snake all along. Victoria's arms wrapped around her in a mock embrace, the scent of roses filling her lungs like poison.
That was the night the seed of suspicion rooted itself in Isabel's mind. She would try to run — and she would pay the price. But she would also survive — and now, years later, those same memories flared inside her like a battle cry.
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