And it destroyed her.
I clutch the letters to my chest, and the tears come hot and fast. For Anthony. For my grandmother, who lived her entire life as a shell of who she could have been. For my mother, who I'll never know, who might have fought for me if she'd lived.
For myself. Trapped in the same cycle. Engaged to Prescott. Under Father's control. Repeating history.
No.
The word crystallizes in my mind, sharp and clear.
No. I won't do this. I won't become her—carrying regret like a stone in my chest for the rest of my life, letting fear make my choices, surrendering myself piece by piece until there's nothing left.
The ground shifts beneath me. Everything I thought I knew about my family is crumbling. The Faulks legacy isn't built on strength, honor, or tradition.
It's built on lies. Stolen love. Women who sacrificed themselves on the altar of duty and spent their lives as ghosts in their own homes.
Well, I'm done being a ghost.
Loyalty wars within me. To Father, who raised me but kept me prisoner. To Paul, who awakened something in me I can't deny—something my grandmother felt once and lost. To Grandmother herself, whose choices shaped my fate.
But maybe it's time to be loyal to myself. To the woman I could be, if I had the courage to choose differently than she did.
I gather the letters with shaking hands. There's more to uncover, more truths lurking beneath the surface. The ruby necklace. Merlin. The connection between Anthony and Paul.
But first, I need to hide these. Protect them. They're evidence of something Father desperately wants to keep buried—proof that the Faulks family's perfect image is built on betrayal and loss.
A creak echoes from the hallway. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate.
Marcus.
Panic explodes in my chest. My breath catches, pulse slamming against my ribs. He can't find me here. Father will?—
I scramble to my feet, shoving the letters back into the hidden compartment with trembling fingers. The latch sticks, refusing to close properly. My palms grow slick with sweat. The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
Come on, come on, come on?—
Click.The compartment seals. I slam the drawer shut, the sound too loud in the silent room. I lunge for the armchair by the window, trying to arrange myself as if I'd been sittingthere all along, just a grieving granddaughter seeking comfort in memories.
The door swings open.
Marcus fills the doorway, his bulk casting a long shadow across the floor. His eyes narrow, suspicious, sweeping over the room with precision. He's Father's man through and through—loyal, observant, dangerous.
"Miss Faulks?" His voice is flat, giving nothing away. "What are you doing in here?"
I force a smile, praying he can't hear the frantic gallop in my chest. "Couldn't sleep." I gesture vaguely at the room. "I just... I miss her sometimes."
It's not entirely a lie. I do miss her. Or maybe I miss the woman she could have been, if she'd been braver.
Marcus steps further into the room, and I resist the urge to shrink back. His gaze sweeps over the vanity, and my stomach drops. Did I close all the drawers? Is everything exactly as it was?
"Your father doesn't like anyone disturbing your grandmother's rooms."
"I know." I stand, smoothing my nightgown with hands that won't stop shaking. "I just needed... I don't know. Connection, maybe."
He studies me for a long moment, calculating, measuring, deciding whether to report this to Father. Then his phone rings, shrill in the tense silence.
He pulls it from his pocket, frowning at the screen. "Yes?" His expression darkens as he listens. "I'll be right there." He pins me with a hard stare. "Back to your room, Miss Faulks."
I nod meekly, slipping past him. My legs feel like jelly as I hurry down the hall, expecting him to call me back at any moment. To ask what I was really doing. To notice something out of place.
