The storm had been building since dawn, a bruised purple wall of...

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2026-05-10 14:34:47 -

The storm had been building since dawn, a bruised purple wall of cloud rolling in from the Caribbean sea. By evening, it was upon Greyhall Manor, and the wind howled through the broken windows like a thing denied entry.

Eleanor Ashworth stood in the grand hall, her fingers clutching the unsent letter her husband had written the night he died. She had not read it. She could not. The wax seal was intact, her husband's elegant script staring up at her from the cream-colored paper. Inside the letter was something she feared more than her widowhood, more than the loneliness that had become her constant companion....

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