Evidence

Florette, the incandescent darling of footlights and flash-powder, once surrendered her yearning for matinee idol Walter Stanley so that her dearest Edith might bask in his spotlight; three seasons of applause later, the curtain rises on a new drama—an aristocrat’s heir, Phillip Rowland, beholds her radiance and kneels, offering not merely a ring but a coronet. Edith, now restless satellite, drifts back into orbit, trailing Walter like a comet of old embers. Against the hiss of dowager whispers and the marble chill of ancestral halls, Florette weds Phillip, believing love a sufficient armor. Yet Edith and Walter weave a gossamer snare: a misplaced letter, a shadowed corridor, a shutter-click at the witching hour—circumstantial shards that slice marital trust. Judge Rowland, Phillip’s kinsman and keeper of family heraldry, pronounces sentence: divorce. Florette, cornered feline, unsheathes wit instead of claws, swiveling the judge’s scrutiny upon his own hauteur, exposing the rot beneath gilt. Reputation, like a phoenix, re-ignites in her eyes as the family crest lowers its drawbridge once more.