She stood very still.
A wife of convenience.
Finished indulging.
Her vision blurred though no tears fell. Her fingers curled tightly against the skirts of her morning dress.
“You cannot mean that.”
He turned away. “Go back to the breakfast room, April.”
She took a trembling step forward. “Look at me. And say it again.”
He did not turn.
Something broke.
“Is that truly what you think of me?”
Silence.
She waited, every second stretching like a blade drawn slow.
When he said nothing—no denial, no apology, no explanation—she turned without a word and walked away, each step heavier than the last. She could barely hear the birds outside. Could barely see the floor beneath her feet.
In her mind, his voice repeated like a cruel echo.
I am finished indulging you.
She reached the stairs and steadied herself against the railing.
I gave him everything. Every part of myself. And he thinks I am nothing more than convenience.
Her eyes burned now, but still, no tears came. She would not cry.
Theo stood in the study long after the sound of April’s retreating steps faded.
He winced, running a hand down his jaw, the silence echoing like a distant thunderclap. Her face—stricken, disbelieving—burned itself into his mind with cruel clarity.
God, what have I done to you?
The look in her eyes would haunt him. But better that than the alternative. Better she hate him than be placed in harm’s way. It had to be done. That didn’t mean it hadn’t splintered something inside him.
He turned toward the writing desk and pulled open a drawer with more force than necessary. Parchment. Ink. A pen that trembled slightly in his grasp. He scrawled the words quickly, his breathing shallow.
Find Elderman and follow my carriage. Should anything happen to me before then, Gregory Roth is guilty of murder.
He folded the note with care, and from the bottom drawer of his desk he drew out the pistol. Cold. Familiar. He checked thechamber with precise fingers and slid it into the interior pocket of his coat.
As he stepped into the hallway, pale morning light cut across the polished floors in fractured beams. The house, usually so full of warmth when April was near, felt hollow. Still. His boots echoed as he crossed the marble expanse of the foyer.
Redmond stood waiting. Gregory was already there, posture lazy, hand resting on his cane, gaze casually drifting toward the family portraits as though admiring the symmetry.
Theo stopped before his butler. “Redmond.”
“Your Grace.”
He handed him the note.Redmond paused a moment, reading the seriousness in his master’s eyes. “Understood, Your Grace.”
