The manor fell silent , with only distant murmurs of maids retiring to their rooms .
Charlotte lay in bed sobbing against her pillow as it held her cries and tears . She had almost died and almost escaped this place and life forced upon her by her own sister , it was clear now that she had failed and her her sister had won .
The truth hurt more than anything she'd ever felt before , her life was ruined by the one she thought was her sister.
A few rooms from Charlotte's room ,was the lord's study . He stood alone with one hand casually resting against the cold stone of the window frame.
Beyond the glass, the forest lay still too still and the wolves had returned to their posts, obedient as ever.
Scarlett had been many things on paper calculative ,cunning, fiesty and rebellious at times . The woman he had pulled from the dark had been none of those things. She had been terrified. Not calculating. Not defiant. Not reckless.
Just cornered.
She had looked at death and believed it deserved her.
That was not the expression of a woman doted and loved since birth.
He replayed the way she had collapsed and how the sobs had torn from her as if she had been holding them back for weeks. How she had flinched when he said her name.
Scarlett did not flinch at her own name.
His jaw tightened as a knock sounded.
"Enter."
The door opened silently, and his right hand stepped inside, Lucien. Tall, severe, eyes sharp with loyalty earned, not given.
"You summoned me, my lord."
"Yes." He did not turn. "I want a report."
Lucien waited.
"On Lady Scarlett's family," the lord continued. "Everything."
Lucien's brow furrowed slightly. "Her lineage has already been verified__ .
"I want more," he cut in calmly. "Birth records. Household staff. Travel histories. Correspondence. Finances. Siblings. Disputes. Illnesses. Deaths." He paused. "And inconsistencies."
Lucien understood at once. He always did.
"Discreetly?" Lucien asked.
"No," the lord said quietly. "Thoroughly."
Lucien inclined his head. "I will return with every detail."
When the door closed again, the lord finally allowed himself to exhale.
Something felt wrong.
Not scandal. Not betrayal—not yet.
But a fracture.
And fractures always widened.
He had met Scarlett in a few exclusive soirees and he quietly observed her unwillingly due to how her presence and traits stood out more than anyone else's.
She was a spoilt lady , dressed with grace , walked with pride and had a smile that left men and women in a daze .
But the woman he was living with did hold her face but not the posture , she didn't walk pridefully but rather as if she were walking on prickly nails , rarely smiled and when she did it didn't quite reach her eyes .
There was something strange about this lady and he was going to enjoy solving this riddle flesh by blood . A small devious curled on his face at the thought of uncovering bloody lies .