Grace let out a cold laugh. She turned to Isabel and sneered, “Isabel, you mess things up and then try to pin the blame on me. Isn’t that a bit ridiculous?”
“You…” Isabel bristled, but as much as she hated to admit it, Grace had a point.
She just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Grace continued, “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone as clueless as you. If you went through all the trouble to lure Fidelia out, you should’ve washed your hands of it afterward. You could’ve played the innocent victim—just another casualty—rather than hovering around, terrified someone else would botch things.”
“If something really happened to Fidelia and you kept your nose clean, Effie would be the one in trouble right now. Think about that for a second.”
Every word landed like a knife, and Isabel found herself almost speechless from the sting.
“Grace, do you really think you’re blameless in all this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll expose what you’ve done online?”
Grace just laughed—a low, dismissive sound that made Isabel’s skin crawl.
“What exactly have I done? If you’ve got evidence, by all means, show it to me,” Grace replied coolly.
Isabel had nothing. She knew it. She hated herself for it.
Grace had dug this hole for her from the start, and she’d been foolish enough to walk right into it.
“Maybe you should try to keep a lower profile these days, Isabel,” Grace advised, her voice icy.
Isabel bit back her frustration. “Shut up! Mind your own business—and go take care of your crippled husband.”
That hit a nerve. Without warning, Grace hung up.
For a split second, Isabel savored what felt like a small victory, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
But the satisfaction faded fast; her smile looked more like a grimace.
……
Effie’s phone buzzed with yet another message from Fidelia:
*Effie, want to go shopping with me?*
Several similar texts had already piled up.
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