جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 20

I followed Uncle Hui up the grand staircase. Every step was a battle of will. I could feel August’s gaze on my back slicing through my dress. He was waiting for the Old Master to look away so he could strike.​"Madam, Young Master, the room is ready," Uncle Hui said, bowing as we reached the East Side. "You can move there now. I’ll have someone bring your things shortly."​"Thank you, Uncle Hui," I whispered, my voice sounding small in the vast hallway.​I turned to look at August, hoping for a sliver of direction, but he didn't even acknowledge I was standing there. He turned his back on me. He stood by the railing, staring down into the foyer where Grandpa was still pacing, his cane hitting the floor with an angry thok-thok-thok.​"You’ve done enough for one day," August muttered, though it wasn't clear if he was talking to me or the walls.​I followed Uncle Hui to the doors of the Master Suite. Behind me, I could hear Grandpa’s voice rising again from downstairs, a muffled roar o

Ever since we returned to August’s estate, the atmosphere in the house had shifted. It was a subtle, chilling kind of change. The air was no longer overt malice of Martha’s taunts. Instead, it was filled with terrified silence. ​Martha no longer looked me in the eye. When she spoke to me, her voice was low, filtered through a layer of forced respect that sounded like gravel grinding together. She bowed her head when I passed, her hands trembling slightly against her apron. It was the behavior of a dog that had seen its pack members mauled and knew the alpha was watching. ​Later, Luba told me how Fanel had carried out August’s orders in the cellar. She described the screams that had bled through the floorboards and the way Sarah and Elena had been dragged out, broken and sobbing, forced to return to their knees to scrub the floors where they had once mocked my pain. ​Even the bodyguards, men who had previously treated me like a nuisance or a piece of furniture, began to step as

The air in the grand ballroom had turned into a vacuum. Every crystal on the overhead chandeliers seemed to vibrate with the frequency of a thousand judgmental whispers, shattering the last of my composure. The walls were shrinking, the floor was tilting, and I was on the verge of a total, public collapse. ​Then, a sudden, heavy warmth wrapped around my shivering shoulders.​A coat!​For a split second, a flicker of a thought crossed my mind—a desperate, foolish hope. August? Had he finally seen me? Had he decided that the cellar deserved a shred of dignity in the light?​I looked up, my eyes blurred by unshed tears, only to find a face that was becoming a recurring anchor in my chaotic life. It wasn't my husband.​"Ashford?" I breathed his name in a soft exhale of shock.​He didn't look at me with pity, which I was grateful for, but there was a sharp, focused intensity in his gaze. He stood tall, his frame acting as a human shield between me and the prying eyes of the high-society

As the crowd began to filter toward the exit, August stood up. He reached under the chair and pulled out a black designer bag.​He held it out to me. "Change into this before we leave."​I froze, my hand hovering mid-air. I looked from the bag to his face, searching for the catch. ​"I... I already have a dress," I stammered, thinking of Ashford’s midnight-blue silk.​"Consider it a reward," August said, his voice lacked its usual edge of ice. "For giving me a helping hand. I don't like owing debts, even to you."​Beside him, Tricey stood. I could hear her teeth gritting together. To her, It was August publicly acknowledging that I had value.​"August, surely you aren't serious," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "You’re rewarding her for a lucky guess?"​August didn't even turn his head toward her. "It wasn't a guess, Mother. It was an observation you were too blind to make."​I took the bag and retreated to the dressing room. Inside the bag was a coat of pure cas

The return to the manor after two days of sterile hospital felt like stepping into a different version of the same nightmare, yet something had changed. The air didn't feel quite as heavy when the front doors swung open. August didn't look at me, but he signaled to Luba, who led me toward the west wing.​"The Master has moved your belongings," Luba said.​When she opened the door to the new room, I gasped. It was large, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the southern gardens, where the morning mist was currently dancing over the roses. Most importantly, the silver-framed photograph of Winter—the woman whose frozen smile had judged me every morning for the days was gone.​A wave of profound gratitude washed over me. First, he had saved my life in those woods, and now, he was finally letting me breathe. He was giving me a space where I wasn't a shadow living in a dead woman's light. I touched the the new duvet, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips. Maybe, I thought, he d