Chapter 1

I'd been married to the Duke of the North for three years.

For three years, I managed his estate, cared for his aging parents, and used up every penny of my dowry to fund his military campaigns.

But when I was gravely ill, he brought home his beloved cousin, Eliza Fairwyn.

He said to me, calm and cold as winter stone, "You've held the title of Duchess for three years. It's time to give it back to the woman who actually belongs there."

As I lay dying, he was outside the city, watching the snow fall with Eliza.

I smiled as I signed the divorce papers. I died that very night, beneath the snow.

Later, he rose to fame in a single decisive battle. Victorious, celebrated, unstoppable. He returned home expecting to see me waiting at the gates. Instead, there was only a newly built grave.

He lost his mind, clutching my memorial tablet day and night, and hunted down everyone who had ever plotted against me.

What he never knew was this: I was standing on the city walls, hand in hand with the new Emperor, watching him perform his grief like a tragic farce.

*****

When Cedric brought her into the manor, I was leaning against the doorframe, coughing so violently I could hardly catch my breath.

She was wrapped in a luxurious white fur coat, her face delicate and fragile, like something out of a portrait designed to elicit pity.

Her name was Eliza Fairwyn, the daughter of the Lord Chancellor, the cousin Cedric had cherished since childhood.

The woman he had always held close, the one he'd cherished since childhood.

But Cedric brought this precious guest into my home, into the very space where I was supposed to recover.

When Eliza saw me, she gasped, then quickly covered her mouth in exaggerated surprise. She flashed a smile so sweet and innocent it almost made my blood boil.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Helena," she cooed. "It's been so long, I thought you were one of the servants."

Her voice was syrupy sweet, each word like a dagger wrapped in velvet, sinking deep into my chest.

Before I could say anything, the familiar itch in my throat flared again, and I was overtaken by another harsh coughing fit.

My maid, Lydia, rushed to my side, her hands soothing my back as I struggled to breathe.

Cedric frowned. Not at me. At the sound of my coughing.

He stepped forward and shielded Eliza behind him, as if my illness was some kind of contamination that might dirty her.

"Helena," he said, voice clipped, "Eliza's just come back from the south. She's frail, don't scare her."

I laughed bitterly. I scared her?

I, the Duchess, nearing death, was the villain in this twisted play. The one who disturbed his beloved.

Eliza peeked out from behind him, her eyes already filling with tears, her voice trembling. "Cedric, please don't be angry with Helena. It's my fault. I shouldn't have come."

She sniffled, her voice full of the most practiced sorrow. "I just missed you so much... I couldn't bear it. Helena, you're not upset with me, are you?"

How crafty. In a few soft words, she made it clear how close she and Cedric were, all while painting me as the bitter, unreasonable wife.

I forced myself to stop coughing, straightened my back, and locked eyes with Cedric. "My lord," I said, my tone even and dangerously calm, "is this the surprise you promised me?"

Three days earlier, he had told me he had a gift for me. Something that would bring a little joy to my sick, miserable existence. Something to make it more bearable.

So, this was it. This woman.

Cedric's face remained impassive. No remorse. No guilt. Just cold entitlement.

"Eliza will be staying here," he said. "She's just recovering from an illness. She needs peace and quiet."

He glanced toward the main house, where I had once been queen of the household.

"Your House of Quiet Grace is the most peaceful spot here, and it's nice and quiet. Let Eliza have it," he said, his voice cold and final.

My heart shattered. The pain was so sharp it knocked the breath from my lungs.

He'd chosen that name the House of Quiet Grace for me himself, right after our wedding.

He said he wanted me to have a life of peace and quiet.

Now he wanted me to give it to her.

"Then where should I go?" I asked. My voice was so unnervingly calm that even I was frightened.

Cedric avoided my gaze, looking away.

"There's a side wing on the west end. It's a bit isolated, but it's quiet," he said.

The west wing was the coldest, most desolate part of the estate. The place where servants were sent when they were punished.

"Fine," I said, my voice low and resolute.

Eliza's eyes lit up, and she beamed at me. "Thank you, Helena. You're such a good woman," she gushed, clapping her hands together. "I knew you wouldn't mind."

She reached for my arm, trying to link it with hers, but I stepped aside, avoiding her touch.

I turned to Cedric and asked, my words slow and deliberate, "My lord, do you remember what you said on our wedding day? You promised me this suite. That it would be mine, forever. That no one else would ever live here."

Cedric froze.

Even Eliza's expression changed.

For a moment, there was only silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was as cold as ice.

"Helena, stop acting like some scorned woman," he said coldly. "Eliza's always been delicate. This is only temporary. Don't make it into something it's not."