Chapter 81. What Happened That Night?

Camila perched on the edge of a plush, ivory armchair, her posture perfect but her fingers laced tightly together in her lap betraying her tension. She watched Blake as he poured himself a glass of vintage cognac, the liquid’s amber hue glinting in the soft light of the opulent drawing room.

“Blake,” Camila began, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her, “I need to know what happened the night my mother died.”

He turned, leaning against the mahogany bar with an air of nonchalance that clashed with the gravity of her question. “Camila, darling, we’ve been over this,” Blake said, swirling the cognac in his glass. His tone was dismissive, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“Indulge me one more time,” she pressed, her deep brown eyes locking onto his. “You were one of the last people to see her alive.”

“Indeed, I was,” Blake conceded, taking a leisurely sip. “But as I’ve told you before, there was nothing out of the ordinary that