Chapter 1

The day the Sinclair estate was seized, Father clung to me, sobbing uncontrollably.

He was convinced that his concubine and her illegitimate son had fled under cover of night by his own secret arrangement, believing no one else had the slightest inkling of it.

I tugged at his beard, leaning close to his ear until my breath brushed his skin. "Father," I whispered, "Mother knew all along. She packed them three hundred gold coins for their journey."

His sobs caught in his throat, fading into stunned silence.

He whirled around to face Mother, his face rigid with shock and disbelief. Mother was calmly sorting through our valuables. She didn't glance up, her voice flat and unhurried. "My lord, it's time to go."

*****

The Sinclair estate was being raided. The noise was deafening, things crashing, women screaming, men barking orders.

My father, Edward Langley, the Marquess of Everstead, was holding me, a five-year-old, and bawling his eyes out on the cold floor. "Rose Langley, I'm so sorry."

His tears and snot were smeared all over my face. I was utterly disgusted.

He was bawling his eyes out, like the sky was falling.

Meanwhile, my mother, Charlotte Sinclair, the heiress of the Sinclair estate, was calm as ever.

She was crouched on the floor, methodically sewing gold and silver ingots, along with loose coins, into the linings of our clothes.

Her movements were smooth and practiced, her gaze unwavering, as if the vicious guards outside were nothing but annoying flies.

My father was still bawling his eyes out. "Rose, I'm so useless. I couldn't protect you or your mother. Poor William Langley... and my Vivian..."

He kept mumbling those names, his sobs growing even louder.

Vivian was his mistress.

William, his son with Vivian, was only a year older than me.

Father thought he'd smuggled them out of the city last night, without anyone noticing. He believed himself deeply devoted and cunning, protecting his beloved ones before disaster hit.

So now, his tears flowed for both us and them, half for our family, half for the ones he'd sent away.

I couldn't take it anymore, seeing him like that. I reached out with my tiny hand and tugged on his tear-soaked beard.

"Father," I called out in my baby voice.

He choked out, "Oh, my sweet Rose."

I leaned in to his ear, whispering so only he could hear. "Father, Mother knew all along. She had packed them three hundred gold coins for their journey."

His sobs were cut off instantly, like someone had wrung his neck.

The whole world fell silent.

The grief on his face froze, replaced by utter shock and disbelief.

His arms, still wrapped around me, were trembling.

After what felt like forever, he slowly, stiffly turned his head toward my mother.

She had finished her last stitch, bit off the thread, and carefully tucked the needle into a small pouch. She didn't look up at him. "My lord, it's time to go."

Her voice was calm, almost emotionless.

That icy calm made my father's face go from ghostly pale to dark and stormy. He fixed his gaze on her, lips quivering, looking like a fish out of water. "What... what did you say?"

At last, Mother lifted her head.

Her gaze was as cold as a midwinter pond.

"I said, it's time to go." She spoke slowly and clearly, each word hitting Father like an ice pick, stabbing right into his heart.

"No, that's not what I'm asking!" Father protested. His voice turned shrill, cutting through the silence. "Is what Rose said really true? You knew about Vivian and William the whole time? And you gave them money?"

Mother glanced at him, and a faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of her lips. That smile was stunning, but so icy it sent chills down his spine.

"Isn't it a little late to be asking now, my lord?" She stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt. "The guards are waiting outside. If we drag our feet any longer, they'll start cracking their whips."

Without sparing Father's contorted face a single glance, she walked straight over to me and reached out her hand. "Rose, come here. Let me hold you."

I wiggled free from Father's stiff arms and dove straight into Mother's embrace.

Her arms were warm, with a faint, fresh scent that made me feel completely safe.

Father was still sitting on the floor, frozen like a statue. He stared at Mother, his eyes burning with humiliation, anger, and a flicker of fear he probably didn't realize was there.

He probably never imagined that the graceful, dutiful wife he always saw beside him could reveal such icy determination.

Even more shocking was realizing that all his so-called clever plans and heartfelt devotion were nothing but a poorly disguised charade Mother had seen through from the start.

An impatient guard captain marched in, banging his sword against the doorframe with a loud clang. "Edward, quit dragging your feet. Time to move."

Father jolted, scrambled to his feet, and gave Mother one last, conflicted look before turning away. Then, head hanging low like a rooster that'd just lost a fight, he stumbled after the guards, looking utterly defeated.

The raiding party was finally on the move.

I rested my head on Mother's shoulder and looked back at the place I'd called home for five years. It was a total mess: priceless porcelain shattered all over the floor, and priceless paintings and calligraphy torn to shreds.

This was once Everstead Manor, the envy of all Capital City.

From today on, it was nothing. Everything was gone in an instant.

The raiding party marched down the long street, with crowds of onlookers lining both sides.

I spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, high-ranking officials and nobles who once curried favor with Everstead Manor.

Now, they wore smug, gloating expressions, pointing fingers and whispering among themselves as we passed by.

"Look, that's Marquess of Everstead!"

"Heard he's mixed up in the Sinclair Treason Case. Serves him right!"

"Poor thing, his stunning wife is Duke of Fortward's daughter, you know."

The rumors and whispers pierced us like needles.

Father buried his head even lower, looking more beaten and miserable than ever.

But Mother kept her back straight, eyes forward, walking on without a single glance to the side.

Her steps weren't fast, but each one was unwavering. It was as if she wasn't being exiled to some distant wilderness, but striding toward a lavish party.

I knew that from the moment I revealed that secret to Father, the balance of power in our home had shifted.

It was no longer my father's domain.

Now, it belonged to my mother.

Suddenly, Mother stopped in her tracks and turned to me, speaking softly, "Rose, hang on tight."

I didn't have time to react.

In the next second, chaos erupted.

A masked man burst out from the crowd, wielding a shiny knife, and swung it straight at Father.

The blade flashed right before my eyes.

I squeezed my eyes shut, scared out of my wits.