CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE - THE MATRIARCH’S TRAUMA

The silence in the manse was deafening. The usual bustling activity of servants scurrying about, the rhythmic clang of pots in the kitchen, even the distant barking of the pack seemed to have vanished. The weight of the revelation hung heavy, a storm cloud threatening to unleash its fury at any moment. Zaya remained cloistered in her room, the normally vibrant young woman withdrawn into a shell of grief. Gwen, her face etched with worry, attended to Lady Becky, a task that usually fell upon Nancy, who was strangely absent. Whispers of the Lady's outburst and the forbidden pregnancy echoed amongst the remaining servants, their heads bowed and voices hushed. In John's room, a similar tension crackled between him and Karina. John paced like a caged animal, frustration etched on his features. Karina sat by the window, a ray of sunlight catching a stray tear rolling down her cheek. John stopped his pacing and knelt beside her, taking her hand gently in his. "Karina," he began, his voice