chapter 13

James reclined in the chair, fatigue pulling at his eyelids. Alfred, the butler, approached silently, a glass of water in hand.

"Here you are, sir," Alfred said, his voice deferential as always.

James accepted the glass with a nod of gratitude, parched throat relieved by the cool liquid. "Thank you," he murmured.

"You are welcome, master," Alfred replied, his tone respectful. "There's something you ought to know, sir. One of the maids overheard Tyla on a private phone call earlier."

James's brows furrowed as he processed the information. "Go on," he prompted.

"It seems staged, sir," Alfred continued. "The entire incident, her distress and your rescue—it all feels orchestrated, possibly by the person she spoke to."

James pondered the implications. "Who could be behind this, and what's their motive?" he mused aloud.

"We'll keep a close watch on her, sir," Alfred assured him, ever dutiful.

James nodded his head tinged with concern.

In the quiet routine of the past few days, nothing of no