Chapter 1

Winter, in the third year of the Aurelian Empire. Isabel Whitmore had been married to General Geoffrey Langley for three years. It had also been three years since her heart had quietly died.

Outside, snow poured down in thick, swirling sheets, wrapping the entire Langley Estate in a bleak, icy silence. Yet inside Geoffrey's study, the chill was even deeper than the storm outside.

"So, you think I pushed her?" Isabel's voice was so soft that it almost disappeared beneath the whisper of the wind outside.

Her hands clutched a small brass hand warmer that had long since lost its heat. Her knuckles had turned pale from gripping it too tightly.

Standing before her was her husband, Geoffrey, undefeated commander of the Aurelian Empire. He wore deep black robes, his posture as straight as a spear. His handsome face was as cold and unyielding.

He didn't reply, but the icy, scrutinizing gaze in his eyes said everything.

In his arms, Geoffrey held a fragile beauty, Adeline Montfleur. Her tears were falling like rain. She was the orphaned daughter of his late lieutenant, taken into the estate for care six months ago.

Just moments ago, Adeline had "accidentally" slipped on the thin layer of ice covering the corridor. The child she was carrying, just over a month pregnant, was gone. At that time, the only person nearby had been Isabel.

"Geoffrey, please don't blame Isabel... It was my own fault. I couldn't keep my balance. Maybe I was never meant to have such happiness..." Adeline sobbed in his arms, her words trembling.

But her words were like daggers laced with poison, stabbing straight into Isabel's heart.

Geoffrey's frown grew even deeper. He stared at Isabel, his voice icy and absolute, brooking no argument. "Adeline is weak, and you knew she was pregnant. Why did you take her to that frozen corridor?

"From this moment, you are under house arrest in House Isabel. You are not allowed to leave unless I say so. The estate's affairs will be temporarily handed over to Lady Archer."

He didn't even bother to ask if it was Isabel's fault. He'd already decided she was guilty.

Isabel looked at him, the man she'd loved for ten years, the man she'd been married to for three years. Ten years ago, Geoffrey was her father's most promising student, a young general full of ambition and fire.

She'd given him her whole heart and the full support of the Whitmore family, without holding anything back.

For three years, while Geoffrey defended the borders, Isabel managed the vast Langley Estate, cared for his elderly mother, and shielded him from all the troubles of the inner courtyard.

She waited for him through every season. She believed that even the hardest ice in his heart would melt for her eventually.

But when Adeline appeared, Isabel finally understood. It wasn't that his heart couldn't be warmed. He simply never wanted to let her be the one to melt it.

Geoffrey gave all his patience, gentleness, and rare smiles to the delicate, tearful Adeline. And all he ever gave Isabel was duty, and now, this cold, unquestioning suspicion.

Isabel felt a weariness that seeped into her bones. The heart she'd kept burning for Geoffrey for ten years was finally extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, dead ashes.

She slowly let go of the hand warmer. Her face became expressionless, no anger, no sadness, not even a flicker of emotion. She looked at him calmly, her gaze lingering for a moment, then bowed.

"Yes, General," she said.

She didn't call his name. Instead, she used that distant, formal title, one that spoke of power and the cold distance between them.

Then, Isabel turned and walked back to House Isabel, step by step. Her back was straight, like a lone stalk standing tall in the storm, ready to break, but refusing to bow.

Geoffrey watched her leave, feeling an inexplicable annoyance stir inside him. He hated that calmness. It was a quiet defiance, cutting deeper than any scream.

But he didn't give it much thought. He lowered his head and softly soothed the crying Adeline in his arms. He told himself, 'Isabel always knows how to behave. A few days locked away, and she'll figure it out and come to apologize.'

He didn't realize that this time, she would never look back.

The days she spent under house arrest were eerily quiet.

Geoffrey never came. Not even a single word was sent. It was like House Isabel had become a forgotten island, lost to the rest of the world.

Isabel didn't cry, didn't complain or protest. Each day, she simply sat by the window, reading, writing, or just gazing at the lifeless branches outside, lost in thought for entire afternoons.

Agnes Carpenter, her personal maid, was pacing anxiously.

"Miss Whitmore, are you really just going to let this go? Lady Archer is obviously pretending! Let's go talk to the General and clear things up!" Agnes pleaded.

"Explain?" Isabel gave a faint, self-deprecating smile. "Agnes, when someone's already convinced you're guilty, every explanation you give is just seen as an excuse."