Her eyes were wide, darting from me to Matteo, and then down to the papers in my hand.

She was no longer wearing the Celestia gown, but a simple dark silk wrap that she clutched tightly at her throat.

Without the structure of my mother’s dress, she looked smaller, stripped of the grand illusion she had tried to project downstairs.

“Vivian,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“What are you doing in here, Sloane?” I asked, keeping my voice low and level.

Matteo moved slightly, placing himself between her and the workbench where the remnants of his fabrics lay.

Sloane looked at him, then back at me, her gaze lingering on the glowing screen of the iPad.

“I saw Harrison’s car pull up to the side entrance,” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“He’s looking for you, but he stopped to speak with his mother first.”

“If you are here to defend him, you are wasting your time,” I said.

I tapped the paper in my hand.

“He has forged my signature to steal the Bennett Trust.”

Sloane shook her head, a strand of dark hair falling across her face.