Orla wobbled on the edge of the railing, her milk-stained dress billowing in the wind. Eleanor's heart hammered in her chest as she took another cautious step forward.
"Mom, don't come any closer!" Orla shrieked, leaning precariously outward. "I mean it—I'll jump!"
Eleanor froze, her hand still outstretched. "Orla, please. This isn't the way."
"Then help me!" Tears streaked down Orla's face, cutting through the dried makeup. "Call Sebastian. Tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Make them take me back!"
"I can't force the Covingtons to—"
"You can! You just won't!" Orla's voice cracked with desperation. "You've always liked her better anyway. Perfect little Lyra. She shows up married to Percival Covington, and suddenly I'm disposable!"
Before Eleanor could respond, the rooftop door burst open. Lachlan Moreau rushed onto the terrace, his face ashen.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, taking in the scene. "Orla, get down from there this instant!"
