The Chateau Dubois loomed, a formidable stone edifice against the bruised twilight sky. Isabelle felt its oppressive weight pressing down on her, a physical manifestation of the secrets festering within its walls. The rose garden, usually a sanctuary, felt tainted, the fragrant blooms heavy with unspoken truths. Days had bled into nights as she and Henri pieced together fragments of information, documents unearthed from the stables painting a grim picture of corporate maneuvering and hidden debts, all seemingly leading back to Genevieve.