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His face hardens, just slightly. Enough for me to see that he isn’t indulging my impulses tonight.
“Did you tell her, Edwin?” he asks.
I tear myself away before he can say more. There’s no answer I can give him that won’t sound like guilt.
I go back for her and pull her from the room.
The manor darkens as we move through it. Each corridor narrows by degrees. The ceiling gets lower. The polished beauty of the main floor gives way to something older and less concerned with appearances. The house stops being merely grand and starts feeling like what it really is. A fortress. A maze meant to keep intruders guessing.
My hand stays wrapped around hers as I lead her down to the basement. This time when her grip tightens, I know it isn’t only nerves. She understands now that what she saw upstairs was only the face the house wears in public.
We stop in Elias’s den. A time capsule with cigar smoke burned into every book. They're packed shoulder to shoulder on the built-in shelves lining the far wall. Important history disguised as simple family records. Secrets labeled as lies and neatly bound.
She looks around, taking all of it in. Questions move behind her eyes, but she doesn’t speak them. Then she notices me watching and straightens her spine.
“I enjoyed getting to talk with your family tonight.”
I scoff. “Which part?”
She blinks. “I just meant—”
“Their condescension? Their lack of faith in you?” I step closer. “They doubted you, and you let them.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. I watch the calculation happen. The instinct to placate. To survive by shrinking.
“I didn’t want to be rude,” she says finally.
“Rude?” I take another step. “They didn’t care about politeness. They were testing you. Seeing how easily you bend. You need to fight back.”
She sucks in a breath. Her eyes shine with something she tries to keep hidden. A lesson learned the hard way. A punishment that taught her silence.
“I don’t know how.”
Her shoulders tense, as if she’s bracing for consequence.
That lights up every nerve in my fist. Whatever she’s been through, I want to take all of that away. I want to kill who hurt her and wrap my bloody arms around her little body to keep her safe.
“No one survives here by being agreeable. Crotavere women are forced to be strong. Softness can get you killed.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “But I’m not…”
“You will be.”
Her mouth closes. Whatever she meant to say stays hidden, swallowed by the instinct to retreat before she invites correction.
It’s infuriating.
I move past her to the desk where the folder sits exactly where I left it.
“Sit.” I pull the chair out silently.
She hesitates before doing what she’s told.
“What is this?”
She keeps her back straight and head up as she peers down at the thick legal folder without touching it.
“Standard terms of the Serpent’s Head arrangement. Look it over.”
