The first ray of dawn seeped through the curtains when Ella was jolted awake by a soft knock. She'd barely slept—spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the contract's clauses like a broken record. By the time she dragged herself out of bed, three stylists were already waiting in the room, their cases open to reveal an array of cosmetics and a dress that shimmered like liquid silver.
"Ms. White, we need to start immediately if we're to be ready for the breakfast," said the lead stylist, a woman with sharp cheekbones and a clipboard. Her tone was pleasant, but her eyes darted over Ella's rumpled pajamas with thinly veiled disdain.
Ella stood stiffly as they worked—brushes tangling in her hair, a makeup sponge dabbing at her under eyes, the silver dress sliding over her skin like a second skin that didn't fit. When they finished, she barely recognized the reflection: her hair pinned into an elegant twist, lips stained a muted rose, the nightingale pendant glinting against the dress's neckline.
"Mr. Black will be pleased," the stylist murmured, as if commenting on a well-polished artifact.
Downstairs, the dining room was already ablaze with chatter. A long oak table groaned under silver platters of pastries, fruit towers, and crystal decanters of champagne. The guests—men in tailored suits, women in silk dresses—turned as she entered, their whispers sharp as shards of glass.
Sebastian stood at the far end, talking to a gray-haired man. He wore a charcoal suit, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a gold watch chain. When he saw her, his gaze lingered for a beat longer than necessary, his gray-blue eyes narrowing slightly as if checking for flaws in his arrangement.
"Ah, Ella," he said, breaking away from the conversation. The room fell silent. "Come meet Lord Harrington. He's interested in acquiring your father's workshop."
Ella's blood ran cold. "You said—"
"I said I'd stop the auction," he interrupted, his smile thin. "I didn't say I'd let it rot." He placed a hand on her lower back, his touch firm, guiding her forward. "Be polite. Lord Harrington doesn't tolerate rudeness."
Lord Harrington's eyes raked over her, stopping at the pendant. "Charming. And that necklace—antique, isn't it? Reminds me of the one Lady Black used to wear. Before she…." He trailed off, glancing at Sebastian.
A shadow crossed Sebastian's face. "A coincidence," he said flatly. "Shall we eat?"
The meal was torture. Ella picked at a croissant, listening to the conversations swirl around her—talk of stocks, polo matches, and the latest gossip from the continent. Every so often, she felt Sebastian's gaze on her, cold and assessing, like he was studying how a wild animal behaved in a zoo.
Then a woman in a emerald dress sauntered over, her red lips curving into a smirk. "Sebastian, darling, you've been keeping this beauty to yourself. Who might she be?"
"Ms. White," Sebastian said, not looking up from his coffee. "A… guest."
The woman's eyes flicked to Ella's pendant, then back to her face,轻蔑 evident. "How quaint. I didn't know you'd taken to collecting strays."
Ella's fingers tightened around her fork. "I'm not a stray," she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her knees. "And this pendant—"
"Is irrelevant," Sebastian cut in, his tone sharp enough to silence her. He stood, draining his cup. "If you'll excuse us, I need to speak with Ms. White privately."
He grabbed her arm, his grip hard enough to leave bruises, and pulled her out of the dining room. They marched down a corridor lined with tapestries, his strides long and angry, until he shoved her into a small study with a view of the garden.
"Have you forgotten your place?" he snarled, slamming the door shut.
"My place?" Ella lifted her chin, her anger finally boiling over. "A pawn? A ghost? Or just another toy for you to control?"
Something flickered in his eyes—anger, or maybe something else, gone too fast to name. "You're here to comply. That's what you signed up for."
"Not to be humiliated," she shot back. "Or to watch strangers talk about my father's workshop like it's a trinket."
He stepped closer, his scent—cedar and smoke—enveloping her. "You want respect? Earn it. Learn to play the part, or your father's recovery might take a… turn for the worse."
The threat hung in the air, poisonous. Ella's jaw tightened. She knew he meant it.
"Who was Lady Black?" she asked suddenly.
Sebastian's face hardened. "Irrelevant."
"Then why does everyone keep staring at my pendant? Why did you make me wear it?" Her voice rose, desperate. "Is that what this is about? Am I supposed to be her? That's why you picked me—because of this stupid necklace?"
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out, his thumb brushing the pendant, his touch almost gentle. "You ask too many questions, Ella."
Before she could reply, his phone rang. He pulled it out, his expression darkening as he read the screen. "Stay here," he ordered, and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Ella sank into a leather chair, her heart racing. Through the window, she saw Thorn speaking to Sebastian in the garden, their heads close, Thorn gesturing emphatically. Whatever they were discussing, it had Sebastian's jaw set in a hard line.
She stood, pacing the room. A bookshelf lined one wall—first editions, leather-bound, all in languages she didn't recognize. On the desk lay a silver frame, turned facedown.
Curiosity got the better of her. She flipped it over.
The photo showed a young girl with chestnut hair, laughing, a silver nightingale pendant identical to hers glinting at her throat. Beside her stood a boy with亚麻色 hair and gray-blue eyes, his arm slung around her shoulders.
It was Sebastian. Younger, softer, but the same eyes—only back then, they held warmth.
Ella's breath caught. She recognized the girl's smile, the way she tilted her head. It was in the old portrait her father kept in the workshop—a painting of her grandmother, taken in 1947.
The door opened. Sebastian froze when he saw her holding the frame.
"Who is she?" Ella asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He crossed the room in two strides, snatching the photo from her hands and slamming it facedown. His chest heaved, his anger palpable, but there was something else too—grief, raw and unmasked.
"Never touch my things again," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
He stormed out, leaving Ella alone with the weight of the secret she'd stumbled upon. The pendant burned at her throat, suddenly heavier than before.
Who was the girl in the photo? What did she mean to Sebastian? And why did her grandmother wear the same necklace?
Outside, the breakfast guests continued their laughter, oblivious to the storm brewing in the study. But Ella knew now: the gilded cage she'd stepped into wasn't just about control. It was about a past Sebastian was desperate to bury—and a secret that might be the key to her freedom, or her undoing.