Chapter 4

His face—so achingly familiar, yet strangely distant—struck me like a blow. My heart, numb for so long, clenched with sudden pain.

It was Henry—the brother I had called my own for fifteen years. He had once journeyed to the far south to find me a rare pearl, yet he was also the one to push me off a pavilion, for Isabelle's sake.

Three years had passed since I last saw him, yet the grievances I thought buried now surged up afresh. I drew a long breath, forced them down, and kept my face as calm as still water.

I walked toward Henry, and upon reaching him, I knelt and bowed. "My Lord," I murmured, my voice low and touched with distance.

Before coming, Henry had imagined our reunion a hundred ways. He had envisioned me flinging myself into his arms, weeping out the bitterness of these years, or turning away in hatred, refusing even to look at him.

What he had never prepared for was my perfectly detached approach.

This was the little sister he'd spoiled for fifteen years. My willfulness, my pride—every fault had been born of his indulgence.

But now, Henry felt as though invisible hands tore at his heart. His fists clenched behind his back; his throat seized tight. Drawing a breath, he forced the words out. "Grandmother longs for you dearly. Her Majesty the Queen, moved by her age, has granted you leave this place."

As soon as he spoke, Henry heard stiffness in his own tone. He frowned, then bent to lift me gently, his voice deliberately softened. "Come home with me, Lila."

All the way to Murray Manor, Henry spoke of home—of Grandmother's longing for me and of parents' remorse for their past decisions. But to my ears, his words were nothing more than hollow comforts, empty and false.

I gazed out the carriage window at the landscape rushing by, my heart as still as stone, as if I was just a bystander in my own life.

The moment we passed through the gates of the manor, I saw my parents waiting in the courtyard, their faces taut with anxious expectation. At the sight of me, they hastened forward.

"Lila, you are finally home! We have missed you so." Mother rushed forward, throwing her arms around me. Tears streamed down her face, her voice thick with guilt and regret. "You have suffered so grievously these past three years. This is all our fault. We were so foolishly blind. Please, will you forgive us?"

Father stepped forward, his eyes red. His hand rose as if to touch my head, then faltered midway. His voice came low and unsteady. "Lila, I'm so sorry. You've been wronged all these years. Come home with me. I promise I'll make it up to you."

Looking at them now, I felt only a bitter mix of mockery and pity. How many nights had I dreamt of their coming to fetch me home, of their love returned as it once was?

Yet now that it had come to pass, my heart was nothing but ashes—incapable of stirring even a single ripple.

Their tears, their pleas—mere theater. When I was framed, when I was pushed off from the pavilion, when I was cast into the laundry quarters to suffer, they had stood by, silent, without a shred of pity.

What gave them the right to believe a few words of apology could undo it all? That everything might return to what it once was?

I looked upon them with a cold, blank face and tore myself free of Mother's embrace. Stepping back, my voice flat and lifeless, I said, "Lord Murray. Lady Murray. Surely you mistake me for another.

"I am but a person you cast aside. How could I dare hope to return? This estate ceased to be my home long ago."

Mother's face drained of all color. She stared at me in disbelief, her lips trembling with unspoken explanations, until Father stayed her with a hand.

Father let out a deep, weary sigh, his eyes filled with anguish. "Lila, however you may feel, you will always be our daughter. That truth shall never change. The gates of this house will forever stand open to you."

I turned away, intent on leaving, when Isabelle appeared suddenly before me, her face arranged in feigned sincerity. "Lila, you are finally home. Henry and I have missed you dearly.

"It was my fault before. I was foolish, thoughtless, always vexing you. But you are generous of heart. Forgive me, will you not?"

I met her false smile with a rising wave of revulsion. With a cold laugh, I said, "My Lady, pray do not mock me with such words. I am but a servant now. How could I presume to stand at your side?

"Enjoy your life as the young lady of the house, and spare me this false affection."

With that, I didn't spare her another glance. I walked away toward my room, leaving the others behind in stunned, speechless silence.

Back at Murray Manor, I locked myself in my room, unwilling to face anyone. Memories of betrayal and past wounds haunted me relentlessly, like nightmares that clung to me, leaving me in torment.

As evening fell, a knock broke the silence. "Lila, it's me. Open the door. I need to speak with you." It was Henry's voice, weary and edged with urgency.

I had no wish to answer, but he kept knocking, his apologies spilling out one after another. "Lila, I was wrong. I was blind, fooled by Isabelle, and ended up hurting you again and again.

"These three years, I have never ceased to regret it. Please, Lila, grant me this one chance to be forgiven."

His voice broke with emotion, carrying a raw sincerity that was almost painful to hear.

Perhaps it was his persistence, or perhaps my resentment had finally found release, but at last I rose and opened the door.

The moment the door opened, Henry fell silent. He stared at me, eyes full of guilt and concern. "Lila... You've grown so thin, so worn." His hand lifted toward my face, then faltered midway, and a shadow crossed his face, as if struck by a painful memory.

I stared at him, cold and silent. Henry took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "Lila, I have had a great deal of time to reflect on the past three years. When Isabelle first joined our household, I was moved to such pity by her frailty that I neglected you.

"Later, she spoke ill of you constantly, and in my blindness, I believed her, hurting you again and again. I truly regret it, Lila. Can you forgive me?"

His words rekindled the fire in my chest. "Forgive you? Do you think a single apology could make me forget?" I laughed bitterly, scorn burning in my eyes. "Do you have any idea what my life was like these past three years? In the laundry quarters, I rose before dawn, my hands swollen and bleeding from the cold, beaten by the matron, tormented by hunger.