I watched Genevieve freeze at Mrs. Beaumont's words, her face draining of color. The accusation hung in the air like a live wire.
"What nonsense are you spewing?" Genevieve finally recovered, her voice shrill. "Of course Elara is my daughter. My unfortunate, disappointing daughter."
Mrs. Beaumont stepped closer, her eyes sharp and calculating. "Strange how you shower Fiona with affection while treating your supposed daughter like dirt. I've watched you for years, Genevieve. The way you look at Fiona—that's a mother's look."
"I treat Fiona well because she's actually worthy of respect, unlike this ungrateful wretch!" Genevieve pointed at me, spittle flying from her mouth.
"You're overexplaining," Mrs. Beaumont said calmly. "Guilty people always do."
