The Impossible Truth

Bea’s POV

I stood at the window of the west wing, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the black sedans line up like a funeral procession in the driveway below. I was dressed in emerald silk, the color of envy, or perhaps just the color of a woman hiding a suspicion that felt like poison in her veins. My hands were shaking so violently that I had to lace my fingers together to keep