Chapter 4 - THE SEWING BOX
The town car pulled through the iron gates of a sprawling, heavily wooded estate in Milton. Unlike the Ashfords' Newport mansion, which was designed to show off wealth to anyone driving past, Drake’s home was built for privacy and protection. It was a beautiful, ivy-covered stone manor that felt ancient and quiet.
Drake led Cora into a massive library filled with leather-bound books and the scent of woodsmoke.
Sitting on a Persian rug near the fireplace was a little girl, no older than seven. She had dark hair and pale blue eyes—Drake’s eyes. She was aggressively trying to push a thick needle through the torn fabric of a stuffed rabbit, her small face scrunched in frustration.
"Mia," Drake said, his voice softening entirely.
The little girl looked up. "Uncle Drake! You're back." She noticed Cora, her eyes dropping to the torn lace in Cora’s hair. "Your dress is broken."
"It's a little broken," Cora agreed, kneeling gracefully despite the bulky wedding gown. "I'm Cora. Is your rabbit hurt?"
Mia nodded solemnly. "Barnaby fell down the stairs. The stuffing is escaping. I can't get the thread to stay."
"May I?" Cora asked. Mia handed over the rabbit. Cora’s fingers, which had spent decades mastering textiles, moved with blinding speed and gentle precision. Within seconds, she had woven a perfect, invisible ladder stitch, sealing the tear. She bit off the end of the thread and handed Barnaby back.
Mia’s eyes widened with awe. "You're magic."
"Just practice," Cora smiled warmly. For the first time all day, her heart felt light.
Drake watched them, a profound stillness settling over him. He gently ushered Mia off to the kitchen for a snack, then turned to Cora.
"My brother and his wife died in a car accident four years ago," Drake explained softly. "Mia is my whole world. Thank you for being kind to her."
"She's a sweet girl," Cora said, standing up.
Drake walked to a heavy oak table and laid out the small square of fabric from the watch. Cora unpinned the shredded ribbons of lace from her hair, laying them out next to the square.
She stared at the cuts Marguerite had made. As she aligned the pieces, a cold realization washed over her.
"Look at this," Cora whispered, tracing the jagged edges. "Marguerite didn't just cut the veil randomly to destroy it. Look where the shears went."
Drake leaned in closely.
"She specifically cut out the embroidered swallows," Cora noted, pointing to the ruined motifs. "In traditional lace-making, the swallow represents a safe return from the sea. Marguerite deliberately targeted the ships and the swallows. Why?"
Before Drake could answer, the heavy oak doors of the library slammed open. Jonah, Cora’s makeup artist and best friend, stood there, breathing heavily, flanked by two of Drake’s massive security men.
"Cora!" Jonah gasped. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holloway, they brought me straight here."
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"What's wrong, Jonah?" Cora asked, rushing to him.
"It's your apartment," Jonah said, his eyes wide with fear. "I went back to get your everyday clothes. The Ashfords sent men. They kicked the door in. They were tearing your grandmother's sewing room apart. They kept screaming about finding the 'ledger'."
