Nathaniel remained cautious. "We work together occasionally."
Victoria smiled. "Of course." Something about the smile felt dangerous. "Genevieve has always attracted loyal people. She is easy to respect."
Victoria's gaze shifted toward the distant fields. "That is what everyone says." Silence followed. Then, surprisingly, she laughed—not her usual polished laugh, but a different one: colder, more honest. "Do you know what it is like growing up beside someone who effortlessly becomes everyone's favorite?"
Nathaniel said nothing.
Victoria continued anyway: "Genevieve never even tries." Her voice remained calm. "Teachers adored her. Workers adored her. Tenants adored her." She looked toward him. "Even now..."
For the first time, Nathaniel saw genuine emotion behind the flawless mask: hurt, jealousy, years of accumulated resentment.
"Perhaps they have reasons," he said carefully.
Victoria's smile returned immediately; the moment disappeared. "Perhaps." Then she walked away.
Nathaniel remained on the terrace long after she left. The conversation confirmed something important: Victoria's actions were not random cruelty; they came from years of bitterness, years of feeling overlooked. That realization did not excuse her behavior; it explained it. Unfortunately, explanations often made people more dangerous, not less.
Two days later, another development pushed the mystery forward. Genevieve found him near the stables shortly before dusk, excitement bright on her face. "I found something."
Nathaniel immediately straightened. "About the bridge?"
She nodded. "A witness."
"Who?"
"The former maintenance supervisor." Her eyes shone with cautious hope. "He retired years ago and moved to a neighboring county. I found a forwarding address."
Nathaniel felt anticipation build. "Will you speak with him tomorrow?"
Then her expression darkened slightly. "Assuming someone does not convince me otherwise."
The remark lingered between them. Both knew exactly what she meant: someone inside Carter Estate seemed determined to keep certain truths buried, and with every new clue Genevieve uncovered, the resistance became more obvious.
As twilight settled across the estate, Nathaniel watched her clutch the folded address in her hand: determined, brave, unwilling to abandon the search. He admired her for it more than he should, more than was safe. Because somewhere between hidden records, summer storms, and long conversations beside stable doors, his feelings had become impossible to deny: he was no longer protecting an investigation; he was protecting Genevieve. And deep down, he was beginning to suspect that before this mystery finally ended, someone would force him to choose between the truth he had come to uncover and the secret identity he was desperately trying to keep hidden.
The following morning began before sunrise. A thin layer of mist drifted across the fields surrounding Carter Estate. Dew covered the grass. The world appeared peaceful. Yet Nathaniel sensed the calm would not last.
Genevieve stood near the carriage house holding a folded address and a leather satchel containing notes from her investigation. Determination radiated from her posture: she had spent years accepting uncertainty; now she was finally moving toward answers. Nathaniel found himself admiring her even before she noticed his presence.
"You are leaving early."
Genevieve turned. "The retired supervisor lives nearly fifteen miles away."
"Long trip."