Last night, while chaos erupted at the Gonzales estate, Hannah and Fortune Kensington were out at a friend’s house, playing cards.
Neither of them had witnessed the incident firsthand, but the moment they walked through the front door, Keira pulled them aside and filled them in on everything that had happened.
Hannah didn’t bother to hide her disdain. In her opinion, Amanda had brought this on herself.
If Amanda had only listened to Caitlin!
What did they call that? Poetic justice.
Keira, still fuming from the night before, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Last night, when Freya tried to help Ann, not only did you refuse to trust her, but you physically blocked her from even touching Ann. And now you’re crying? What’s the point? Tears aren’t going to fix anything.”
She’d known something like this would happen.
Amanda, stung by their scolding, turned pleadingly toward Caitlin, who was standing quietly beside Fortune. Her voice trembled as she begged, “Freya, you’re so skilled—you must have a way to help Ann. Please, I’m begging you. Save her. I’m her aunt, and I’m begging you.”
Caitlin shook her head. “I’m sorry, Aunt Amanda. Ann’s leg has missed the window for proper treatment. There’s nothing I can do now.”
There was no emotion in Caitlin’s voice—just plain fact.
But Amanda couldn’t accept it. She rushed over to Caitlin and grabbed her hand, desperate. “Freya, I know you can do something. You must have a way! Please, help Ann! She’s your cousin, after all!”
Amanda hated having to beg Caitlin, but what choice did she have? She was consumed by regret—regret for not listening to Caitlin when it mattered.
“Aunt Amanda, it’s not that I don’t want to help. I simply can’t.”

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