Olivia's
fingers brushed over the roses, their thorns pricking her skin. She stared down
at the tiny beads of blood that welled up on her fingertips, a sharp reminder
that beauty could be as dangerous as it was deceptive. Just like Rachel. Olivia
turned, leaving the garden behind as she made her way back into the house. She
needed allies, and she needed information.
Antonio's
office was always locked when he wasn't around, but Olivia had long since
memorized where he kept the spare key—a habit born out of necessity when
dealing with a man as secretive as her husband. She slipped the key from its
hidden spot behind a framed photo in the hallway and unlocked the door,
slipping inside quietly.
The room
was exactly as Antonio had left it, papers strewn across the desk in organized
chaos. Olivia's gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail. She moved