Chapter 2
Three days before the wedding, the entire Sinclair Estate sank into a frenzy of activity. Servants rushed back and forth, and the halls were piled high with red silk and festive paper decorations.
The air was packed with the smells of wedding clothes, sweets, and the noise of strangers. But my world had been cut off by Mrs. Sinclair and turned into an island.
She sent me to the storage room.
"Sort through all those old things tucked away at the bottom of the chests. Consider it adding to your younger sister's dowry."
On the surface, she said I was helping. In truth, she was just pushing me far away so I wouldn't get near all that celebration.
I stayed alone in the cold, damp storage room, where the dust made my throat tighten. The chests were crammed with old fabric, yellowed account books, and dusty ornaments.
As my fingertips sorted through those old things, memories rose with them. I found a yellowed scrap of cloth, and the second my fingers touched it, my heart clenched hard.
It was a piece my mother had left behind, a tiny scrap of cotton with a faint pattern on it, still marked by the clumsy stitching from my childhood.
I had treasured it all these years. And Mrs. Sinclair had shamelessly slipped it into Charlotte's dowry list.
It had been tucked beneath a bolt of expensive silk and crossed off without a sound.
My mother.
My real mother.
Even the last thing she left behind had now become a tool for Charlotte to climb higher.
My fingers tightened, gripping that scrap of cloth so hard it nearly crumpled. My nails almost dug into my palm.
I stood there for a long, long time. I didn't try to take it back. I only folded it carefully and put it back where it had been.
At that moment, my heart turned completely hard, like a stone polished smooth, with not one trace of softness left.
On the wedding day.
The firecrackers started exploding at dawn, shaking the whole Sinclair Estate. I was assigned to the kitchen to prepare the banquet.
Scalding steam rose from the pots, turning my face red. But my eyes were cold as ice.
From far away, I saw the bridal carriage leave through the estate's front gate. The bright red curtains swayed in the wind, flashy as a burning flame.
The ground was covered in thick red scraps, like a blood-red road straight to hell. My gaze passed through the crowded courtyard and landed on that departing carriage.
The wedding dress was not mine. The bride was not me either.
But all of it should have been mine.
The guests bustled with noise and laughter. I carried tray after tray of dishes through the crowd.
Hearing all those flattering, envious voices, my expression didn't change in the slightest.
Some people pointed and whispered.
"How come the Sinclair family's eldest daughter isn't around?"
One nosy guest lowered their voice, though not enough to keep me from hearing.
"Come on, with the way she is, she'd never fit in at a place like this. Hiding is only natural."
My heart didn't stir one bit. I had heard too much of this already.
My steps never paused. I simply kept walking straight ahead without looking around.
As I passed an elderly woman, she suddenly grabbed my arm. Her sharp gaze landed on the scar on my wrist.
"Miss, how did you get that scar on your wrist?"
I pulled my arm back gently, but there was no questioning the strength behind it. My tone was flat, without any emotion.
"An old injury. It's nothing."
The elderly woman frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she swallowed it.
I didn't turn back. I kept moving, setting dish after dish steadily onto the banquet tables.
After the wedding ended, night fell. Mrs. Sinclair came into the kitchen.
She had a delicately embroidered pouch in hand and tossed it to me.
"You've worked hard. This is for you."
Her tone was casual, like she was tossing a reward to some ordinary servant.
I took the pouch and lowered my head. "Thank you, Madam."
The pouch was light. I knew there were only a few copper coins inside, nowhere near enough for all the work I'd done these days.
Mrs. Sinclair's figure disappeared from the kitchen doorway. I set the pouch down by the stove without a second thought.
I didn't even open it. As if it were nothing more than some worthless rag bag.
Late that night, Maggie snuck into my room. Her face carried a hint of excitement.
"Miss Sinclair, I heard from the people in the front courtyard that General Warren stayed calm through the whole wedding today."
She kept her voice low, full of mystery.
"When he drank the wedding wine, he didn't even look at the bride once!"
My heart gave a sudden thump. Calm. He hadn't looked at the bride even once.
That man...
For one brief moment, something in me loosened.
But the faint emotion was quickly crushed back down.
I only looked quietly out the window. The night was deep and heavy, just like my mood.