But Harlond… he was logical. Practical. And without evidence, he wouldn't entertain what he saw as paranoia.
"Jillian," he sighed, standing up, "you've been under a lot of stress. We all have. You're looking for someone to blame, but there's nothing to suggest foul play."
Jillian felt her stomach drop. He wasn't just doubting her—he thought she was imagining things.
"You think I'm making this up," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"I think you're seeing what you want to see," Harlond said firmly. "I won't have you chasing ghosts when we should be focusing on moving forward."
Jillian's hands trembled with frustration. Why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't he understand?
She swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. "You're wrong."
Harlond's gaze softened, but he didn't waver. "Go get some rest, Jillian."
Jillian turned on her heel and stormed out of the study, her chest burning with frustration.
Fine. If he wouldn't believe her… she would expose the true colours of Camilla Robbinson.
******
The gray sky hung low over the Smith family estate as mourners gathered in the private cemetery. A chilling wind whispered through the trees, making the sea of black-clad figures shudder.
Jillian stood at the front, her hands clenched into fists. She still couldn't believe it. Her mother—so full of warmth, so full of life—was now just a name on a gravestone.
Harlond Smith stood motionless beside her, his face unreadable, but Jillian could see it—the pain he refused to show.
As the priest recited his final words, the coffin was lowered into the ground. Jillian's chest tightened painfully.
Camilla Robbinson, standing just behind Harlond, placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.
Jillian's stomach twisted. She didn't belong there.
And yet, she stood so close, as if she were already taking Mother's place.
The moment the burial ended, Camilla let out a theatrical sigh and dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "She was such a wonderful woman," she murmured. "We will all miss her dearly."
Jillian's fingers curled. Liar.
As mourners started to leave, Jillian remained by the grave, staring at the fresh soil. Something wasn't right.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure watching from afar—a man in a dark coat, half-hidden by the trees.
Before she could move, he disappeared.
A chill ran down her spine. Was he here to pay respects? Or was this something else?
The days after Lillian's burial passed in a haze of whispered condolences and hushed mourning, but beneath the surface, a shift was taking place. Camilla Robbinson had already begun to settle into the Smith estate, her presence growing stronger with each passing day. What had once been a place filled with Lillian's warmth was now slowly molding into something else—something colder, something controlled. The staff, once loyal to Jillian and her mother, now turned to Camilla for direction. Harlond, lost in his grief, barely noticed the changes happening around him. He depended on Camilla more and more, seeking her advice, trusting her judgment, allowing her to take over responsibilities that Lillian once handled with grace. And Camilla, with her ever-calculating mind, ensured that every move she made brought her one step closer to absolute power.
Jillian could see it happening before her eyes, but every time she tried to speak to her father about it, he dismissed her concerns. He was too exhausted, too broken, to entertain her suspicions. Camilla was only trying to help, he told her. She was keeping the family together. Jillian wanted to scream at him, shake him until he saw what was so painfully obvious—Camilla wasn't saving them, she was taking over. But Harlond wasn't listening, and worse, he was starting to question Jillian's behavior instead. He believed Camilla's subtle implications that Jillian was struggling to cope, that she was overwhelmed by grief, that she was lashing out for no reason. Every time Jillian tried to protest, Camilla would tilt her head, sigh sympathetically, and tell Harlond that Jillian just needed time. It was infuriating.
Then, one evening, the final blow came. At dinner, in front of a select group of close associates, Harlond announced that he and Camilla were engaged. The words hit Jillian like a physical blow, the air stolen from her lungs. She looked around the table, expecting shock, outrage—anything. But there was only quiet acceptance, as if everyone had already known this was coming. Camilla, sitting beside Harlond, placed her hand over his and smiled, her eyes glinting with triumph. Jillian clenched her fists beneath the table, feeling the walls close in around her.
From that moment, Camilla no longer had to pretend she was simply a helpful presence in the house. She took full control of the estate, overseeing finances, hiring new staff, even making decisions about Celeste's care. Jillian found herself increasingly isolated. She was no longer included in household matters. The staff, once warm to her, now followed Camilla's lead. Even her father, though he still loved her, began treating her words with skepticism, as if she were a child who didn't understand the complexities of the world. And Camilla, ever the master manipulator, ensured that Jillian remained exactly where she wanted her—powerless, ignored, and growing more desperate by the day.
Jillian knew she had to fight back, but she also knew she was at a disadvantage. Camilla had already taken too much, had woven herself too deeply into the fabric of their lives. If Jillian was going to expose her, she would need proof—real, undeniable proof that Camilla was not the grieving, devoted woman she pretended to be. But time was running out, and Jillian had the sinking feeling that if she didn't act soon, she might lose everything—including her own place in the Smith family.
Jillian sat in her mother's old bedroom, now emptied of everything that once made it hers. The scent of Lillian's perfume had long faded, replaced by the sterile coldness that Camilla had brought into the house. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her chair as she thought about the announcement at dinner. Camilla was officially engaged to her father. The woman who had stolen her mother's life was now positioning herself as the new matriarch of the Smith family. Every instinct in Jillian's body screamed that something was deeply wrong, but no one would listen to her—not her father, not the staff, and certainly not the people in their social circles, who were already congratulating Harlond on "finding love again."
She had to find proof. Something that would expose Camilla for who she truly was. But how? The woman had covered her tracks too well. Every document, every decision, every action was perfectly aligned, leaving no gaps for Jillian to exploit. Even the forged letter she had once discovered—the one she was sure held answers—had been stolen before she could investigate further. Camilla was always one step ahead. It was as if she knew Jillian's moves before she even made them.