“I had no idea.”
He turned to Elizabeth, his gaze piercing.
“Elizabeth, is this true?”
The air between us thickened, every second stretching unbearably taut.
Her answer would mean everything.
A faint nod was her only concession, subtle yet weighted with all the unspoken words between us.
“Yes, Father.Thank you so much, Lord Hassan.I appreciate your hospitality and kindness.”
Her voice was steady, but I heard the tremor beneath it, the strain of maintaining the ruse.
I inclined my head, a brief, silent acknowledgment—our unspoken pact.
As I turned to depart, her voice—subdued, yet resolute—halted me.
“I’ll be retiring to my room, Father.”
“Nonsense.”Lord Alexander’s command cracked through the night, his tone brooking no argument.“Tell me how your day was with Lord Winston.And why did you choose to leave in such haste?You’d better have a convincing argument to justify your disgraceful actions.”
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Resignation.
Defeat.
She followed him inside, each step a solemn echo, a prisoner walking to the gallows.
And I—I was left alone with the night once more.
But not for long.
As silent as the mist curling through the garden, I circled the house, a ghost among the ivy-clad walls.Then, there?—
Her window.
Soft light spilled from within, a golden glow against the veil of darkness, promising solitude and sanctuary.
I let the shadows consume me.
And then I was inside.
Her room was warm, laced with the scent of lavender and old parchment.A few pieces of paper lay upon her desk, their ribbed texture a testament to craftsmanship long lost to time.
I grabbed the quill, the feathered end brushing against my fingers before the ink-kissed paper.
A single note.
A whisper of all I could not say aloud.
Forgive me, love.I wish things were different.
—Yours, A.
The note lay bare upon the desk, a token from me, a confession rendered in ink.
