Celeste did not turn around immediately.

She slowly took a sip of her tea, her movements graceful and deliberate.

Then, Celeste turned her head, her gaze locking onto Vivian.

It was a warning look, cold and sharp.

“That is a serious accusation, Alexander,” Celeste said smoothly.

“I am not accusing Vivian of administering it yet,” Alexander said, his eyes never leaving Vivian’s pale face.

“But she was trying to flee the estate with a bag full of cash and jewelry.”

“I was scared!” Vivian whimpered, her arrogant facade cracking.

“Scared of what?” Alexander asked.

“Of this place,” she said. “Of what happened to Eleanor.”

I watched Celeste’s hands.

She had set her teacup down on the side table.

Her fingers were perfectly still, but her jaw was tight.

“Vivian,” I said, my voice quiet but clear in the silent room.

Everyone looked at me.

“The medical reports from Eleanor’s final weeks show a highly specific chemical in her blood,” I said.

“A chemical that mimics heart failure.”

Vivian’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t give her anything,” Vivian stammered. “I wasn’t even here the week she died.”