Chapter 75: The Photo on the Table
(Alexander's POV)
By the time I reached Yvette's room, the rumor had already twisted itself into a hundred different versions.
Each hallway I'd crossed whispered something new — Isabella slept with Rose; Isabella was jealous of her; Isabella really is the cause of her death; Isabella had been caught and was finally breaking down.
By the time the last door shut behind me, I was sick of hearing her name on other people's tongues.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and Yvette's perfume. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, cutting pale stripes across the floor. Everyone was already there — Yvette sprawled across the bed, Eilidh perched on the edge of the desk, Arthur leaning against the wall, and Michael sitting beside the nightstand with his elbows on his knees.
And on the table between them lay it.
The photograph.
