Evelyn slid onto the edge of the bed, gathering her sister into her arms. “Listen to me, Tilly,” she said fiercely, using the old childhood nickname. “You did what you had to do to survive.That man… he doesn’t get to define your worth. He doesn’t get to own your story.”
Matilda clutched her tightly. “Is it really over? Can I ever be free?”
Evelyn pulled back just enough to meet her sister’s eyes. “Yes. Robert will bring the truth into the light. And once it’s done, you’ll be free. Free to breathe again. Free to be you. Not someone else’s idea of who you should be.”
A ghost of a smile flickered over Matilda’s lips. “You know our parents will be scandalized,” she said, her voice hoarse with remnants of laughter and sorrow. “A divorcee in the family… Mother will faint into the draperies.”
Evelyn huffed a soft, incredulous laugh. “Well, then we’ll buy her new ones.” Her grin faded into something softer, more solemn. “I don’t care what they think, and you shouldn’t either. You’ve tried for so long to please everyone. It’s your life, Tilly. Live it.”
Matilda blinked hard, her tears finally spilling over, but her smile remained. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Evelyn wrapped her arms around her again, holding her tight, as though she could shield her from every storm yet to come.
For a long moment, they sat like that, sisters once more, not just in blood but in truth. The fire crackled softly, its light flickeringover their embrace, and for the first time in years, Evelyn felt something mend inside her.
Matilda was back. And she wasn’t letting her go again.
Robert kicked the townhouse door open with a crash that echoed down the marble-floored corridor.
“My Lord!” the butler gasped, stumbling into the entrance hall. “You… you can’t simply barge in like?—”
“Where is he?” Robert’s voice was low and lethal, each word sharpened by rage.
The butler stammered, “I—I beg your pardon, but?—”
But Robert was already striding forward, his dark greatcoat flaring behind him like the shadow of a storm. He wrenched open door after door, the drawing room, dining room, morning room, until his hand landed on the brass knob of the study. Without hesitation, he threw it open.
There sat the Viscount of Firth, lounging behind his desk with a tumbler of brandy in one hand and a stack of correspondence in the other. The moment their eyes met, the glass froze midway to his lips.
“Your Grace,” he said slowly, rising to his feet, the color draining from his face. “What is the meaning of this?—”
Robert was on him in a blink. He seized the Viscount by the lapels of his velvet coat and slammed him hard against the bookcase behind the desk. Glass rattled, and a framed miniature clattered to the floor.
“You bastard,” Robert hissed, his face inches from the man’s. “Tell me everything. Now.”
The Viscount clawed at Robert’s wrists, struggling to breathe. “You’re mad… unhand me!”
Robert tightened his grip, dragging him higher. “Tell me!”
“All right,all right!” the Viscount rasped, his voice breaking.
Robert held him pinned, but his entire body was trembling with desire to snap the man’s neck and just be done with it. He was beyond reason, every muscle brimming with fury held back too long.
“I forged the seal,” the Viscount choked out. “Used your father-in-law’s name. Sent the letters.”
“Why?” Robert snarled.
The Viscount’s lips twisted into a grimace of fear. “Please, I’ll tell you everything. I kept records. It’s all in my safe, just let me down!”
But Robert didn’t move. His heart pounded, his knuckles white. He wanted to crush him. He wanted justice. And yet, he needed proof.
He released the Viscount with a hard shove, and the man crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping like a dying dog. Robert stood over him, dark and quiet, his fists still trembling.
“Then we’re going to the safe,” he said coldly. “And if you try anything, and I do mean anything, I will end you before you can take your next breath.”
The Viscount of Firth limped to the safe behind a painted landscape, his fingers trembling as he spun the dials. Robert stood behind him like a reaper in waiting, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His every breath burned with fury.
The safe clicked open. The Viscount retrieved a bundle of documents tied in silk ribbon. “Here,” he muttered, placing them on the desk with a shaking hand. “You wanted the truth… well, there it is. Every bit of it.”
