Chapter 8

• His, no, our house is huge and I pause midstride to admire, fully take in its beauty. My hand slides across the wooden bannister as I resume the journey to the dinning.
• Lights filter in through the window, casting a soft glow on the chandelier hanging low from the white ceiling. The walls of the staircase are covered with paintings and portraits of unfamiliar faces. There’s not one single picture of Brandon, our wedding or anyone who closely resembles him.
• The plush, red rug at the centre of the staircases stifles any sound my feet make and the first sound that floats into my ear at the contact of my feet with the marble floor is the click-clack of my stiletto heels.