CHAPTER 45: THE WRITTEN TRUTH

Eva’s POV

​I woke up alone in the massive master bedchamber. The sheets on Lucian's side of the bed were crisp, unwrinkled, and ice-cold. He had never come back last night.

​Unable to bear the suffocating quiet of the room, I dressed in a simple morning gown and slipped out into the empty corridors. I needed a distraction—something, anything, to quiet the loud, anxious thoughts racing through my head.

​I made my way to Lucian’s private study, knowing it housed the estate’s grandest library.

​The heavy oak door creaked softly as I pushed it open. Sunlight streamed through the tall stained-glass windows, illuminating rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes. I began running my fingers along the mahogany bookshelves, trying to immerse myself in the titles, looking for any book that might take my mind off the cold reality of my wedding night.

​As I reached the far corner near his mahogany desk, my eyes caught a thick leather accordion folder stuffed carelessly onto a lower shelf. A single, crisp piece of parchment was sticking out, not properly tucked inside.

​My gaze fell on the ink at the top of the visible page.

​Eva.

​My heart took a sudden, violent leap into my throat. I froze, my hand hovering over the shelf. It is wrong to go through his private belongings, I argued with myself, my breath catching. It is improper. It is an invasion of privacy.

​I turned toward the door, taking a half-step back. But the silence of the room seemed to mock me. He wasn't here. He had abandoned me on our wedding night without a word of explanation. I owed him no courtesy.

​Glancing back over my shoulder, I swiftly closed the heavy study door, turning the key in the lock with a soft click.

​With trembling fingers, I pulled the parchment out from the folder and smoothed it flat against the desk.

​It was a contract. A formal, legally binding marriage agreement.

​My eyes scanned the elegant script, catching terms, clauses, and timelines. Near the bottom, right beside Lucian’s sweeping signature, was my own handwriting.

​I signed this? I thought, my mind spinning into chaos. We put this wedding on paper before it even happened?

​A sudden, blinding pain shot through my temples. I gasped, clutching the edge of the desk as my vision blurred with white heat. I closed my eyes tightly, staggering back as a violent rush of memory slammed into my mind.

​A dark room. Lucian standing over me, his face impassive, his voice cold as ice as he tossed a pen onto the table.

​"You will sign it, Eva. You will marry me so my mother ceases her endless plotting to bind me to Genevieve."

​The memory snapped like a dry twig. I opened my eyes, gasping for air, cold sweat dripping down my neck.

​I remembered. I remembered him threatening me. I remembered him forcing this bargain upon me so he could escape his mother's push to marry Genevieve.

​But why? I screamed inwardly, rubbing my throbbing temples. What did he have over me? Why did I yield to his demand? What leverage was he holding over my head?

​Before I could process the agonizing blank space in my memory, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

​Someone was approaching the study.

​Panicking, I shoved the contract back into the file, pushed it onto the shelf, and darted toward the high bookshelf alcove, pressing my back flat against the wall in the dark shadows just as the brass doorknob began to turn.

Lucian’s POV

​The wooden door yielded with a soft click as I unlocked it, stepping into the quiet stillness of my private study.

​My head was still heavy, my mind caught in the tangled fog of lingering desires and restless thoughts. After leaving the secluded lodge early this morning, the quiet solitude of my estate felt almost foreign. I strode over to my desk, sinking heavily into the high-backed leather chair.

​Before I could settle in, a soft knock sounded at the door. I looked up to see a maid hovering in the doorway, her hands nervously wringing the apron of her dress.

​I leaned back, resting my chin on my hand. "How may I help you?"

​"I... I need to speak with you, My Lord," she said softly, taking a hesitant step into the room.

​I reached for the crystal decanter on my desk, unstoppered it, and poured two fingers of dark amber wine into a glass. "Proceed."

​"It is about Lady Genevieve," she murmured, lowering her gaze.

​I held the glass halfway to my lips, my eyes narrowing slightly. "What about her?"

​"I think... I think she might have had something to do with your wife falling down the stairs at the Duchess's birthday gala," the maid confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

​I sat up straight, the glass hitting the desk with a sharp clink. The lingering tiredness in my chest vanished, replaced by an instant, dangerous alertness. "Wait... what? What evidence do you have?"

​"I do not have physical evidence, My Lord," she stuttered, shrinking back slightly under my gaze. "I just... I think I saw her push Eva down the steps."

​A cold beat of silence stretched between us. "And why are you telling me this only now?" I asked smoothly, leaning forward. "Why wait until after the wedding?"

​"I... I did not think it was my place," she stammered out, her pulse visible in her throat. "I thought Lady Genevieve would leave the estate once the wedding was over. But since she is still here, I felt... I felt you ought to know."

​I studied her face closely, taking a slow sip of my wine. "What is your name?"

​"Laura, My Lord."

​"Are you new here?"

​Laura let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking her head. "No, My Lord. I have served in this estate for three years now."

​"Hmm," I hummed quietly, resting my elbows on the desk. "I will look into it. You may go."

​Laura stood still for a second, a flicker of fright crossing her features as she hesitated.

​I arched an eyebrow at her lingering figure. "Is there something else you want?"

​"N-No, My Lord," she squeaked, dropping into a deep, trembling curtsy. "Nothing. Forgive me."

​She backed out of the study hurriedly, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind her. The lock clicked into place, leaving the room in absolute silence once more.

​I let out a heavy sigh, leaning back into the soft leather of my chair. I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my crisp white shirt, resting my head against the headrest, my mind racing over Laura's strange, convenient confession.

​Genevieve? Pushing Eva?

​As my eyes aimlessly traced the shadows near the far wall, a sudden detail caught my attention.

​In the dark alcove behind the tall mahogany bookshelf, the hem of a gown was visible, pressed tight against the paneling. Someone was hiding in the shadows.

​My brows furrowed, my jaw setting into a tight, dangerous line as I stared into the dark corner.

​Who on earth is spying on me?