Tick… tock… Tick… tock…
She was standing in the dark.
Pressed against something cold and wooden. Her breath caught. Was she back in her apartment?
Where's Ethan?
No… this wasn't home. Her fingers curled around the edge of the wood—polished, carved, old. A steady tick… tock echoed beside her ear.
A grandfather clock.
That didn't make sense. Her family could barely afford a microwave, let alone a towering thing like this. So where was she?
Tick… tock… Tick… tock…
The darkness wasn't just shadow—it was thick, like velvet draped over her senses. And yet, she somehow knew… the room was large. Expansive. Hollowed out by silence.
She was not in her cramped apartment in a city on Earth. Definitely not her bedroom in the Earl's mansion as well.
Her body moved—not on her own. It tilted, peeked. Her cheek brushed the edge of the clock as she looked around it.
There. A sliver of golden light leaked from a door left just slightly ajar.
Her limbs moved again, but not with her will. Like she was a passenger in her own body.
Tick… tock… Tick… tock…
Voices. Male. Low, intense.
She didn't recognize them at first. And yet… something in her bones did.
What is happening?
Her hands floated up, covering her mouth. Her feet padded soundlessly on the thick carpet as she crept toward a side table. On it sat a tall vase, brimming with flowers that she couldn't smell, couldn't feel—but somehow still knew were real.
She crouched. Crawled closer.
Her slippered feet made no sound, but her heart thundered like a war drum. She pressed one ear toward the door's glow.
Then—
A voice.
"I'm telling you, one last time, Marcus…"
Her breath hitched.
That voice—Father?
No—Bettina's father. Evert… Everton Sutherland. Clear and sharp, angry and… disappointed.
"If you won't cease what you're doing, then we must part ways."
"Evert—!"
"I've made my decision, Lord Marcus. I will not yield. Goodnight, my lord."
A pause.
Then came the cold reply:
"Let us hope, for your sake, that this choice does not return to haunt you."
Clink…
Clatter…
Scrape.
Thud… thud… thud…
Her body jerked. Panic surged.
Tick… tock… RUN—
Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!
She jolted upright.
Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!
Her heart was racing, eyes wide and unblinking. For a moment, the darkness felt too familiar.
Am I still dreaming?
Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!
The sound echoed again—clearer this time. Real.
She turned her head, blinking into the soft glow from the embers in the fireplace. It was still dark outside. What time is it? She could not make out the time on the clock by the fireplace mantlepiece. It was either still midnight or most likely the very early hours of the morning. In her bedroom. In Whitman Manor.
Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!
A real grandfather clock. Somewhere in the manor.
She exhaled slowly, heart still thudding.
It was just a dream.
And yet…
It didn't feel like "just" a dream.
She sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a palm to her chest, the heart underneath still beating erratically. The sensation of cold wood, the creaking floorboards, the voice of that man called Evert—it all still clung to her like dew on morning grass.
Most nights, she dreamed. Faint, fractured things that slipped through her fingers the moment she opened her eyes. Shadows of memories that never felt quite hers. But this—this one was different.
Vivid. Clear. Coherent.
And deeply unsettling.
She drew her knees up, hugging them as she replayed it. She hadn't just seen the scene—she'd felt it. Every heartbeat, every inhale, every shiver of fear. It was as though she'd become Lady Whitman in that moment… or had witnessed something Lady Whitman herself once experienced.
Her fingers clenched.
Evert. She didn't know anyone named Evert in her previous life. So, that person could only be Mr. Everton Sutherland. That was Bettina's father's name—Lady Whitman's father as she read it on that book back in the library. No doubt about it. And the man he'd been arguing with… Lord Marcus.
The name tugged at her thoughts. Like it was trying to tell her something.
Lord Marcus. Who was Lord Marcus?
Why had her subconscious—or whatever this was—dragged her into a memory she couldn't possibly have known?
More importantly…
What had Lord Marcus done that was so unacceptable in her father's eyes? And those last words Lord Marcus said to Bettina's father. It felt like a threat.
She shivered despite the warm bedding.
Something told her it wasn't just a simple dream.
*****As flesh and spirit now entwine*****
It was already 2 hours past midnight.
Captain Edmund Crowley impatiently rechecked the time at his pocket watch before hiding it back in his coat.
The port reeked of brine, fish, and damp wood, the thick fog curling around the docked ships like a spectral hand. Lanterns burned low, their glow barely piercing the night, but enough to cast flickering shadows of men who had no business being seen.
Near the stern of the Blue Harrier, a Sutherland trading vessel he commandeered, Crowley stood with his arms crossed, his keen eyes scanning the mist-veiled pier. "Hurry it up, lads," he hissed, voice low but urgent. "We've scant moments before the next watch rounds this way."
The deckhands moved in silence, hoisting small but weighty crates from the cargo hold and lowering them onto the waiting rowboat below. The goods—fine silks, rare spices, and barrels of untaxed brandy—would be taken ashore under the guise of legitimate trade.
From the fog, a figure emerged—Master Gillis, the port's customs officer. His heavy coat flapped with each determined stride, his boots striking the wooden pier with purpose. His sharp nose twitched at the scent of illicit dealings.
Crowley exhaled, stepping forward. "Master Gillis," he greeted smoothly. "Out at this hour? Surely the comforts of the inn would serve you better than a dreary patrol."
Gillis halted, suspicion clear in his posture. "There's talk of goods moving through this port without His Majesty's coin taken in tax." His gaze drifted toward the crates being hastily hidden beneath tarps in the boat below. "Perhaps I should have a look—"
Crowley reached into his coat, fingers brushing against a small pouch of clinking coin. "The night's cold," he murmured. "A man could catch his death out here. A good drink by the fire would be wiser."
Gillis hesitated. His honor was a fickle thing, often swayed by the weight of silver in his palm. They may not talk about it, but each and every one of them knew. He, along with many of his peers, were not paid enough to do this job. Crowley tossed the pouch toward him with casual precision. The officer caught it, the jingle of coins filling the air.
"A good drink, indeed," Gillis mused, loosening his stance. He tucked the bribe away, its nice weight making him smile as he turned on his heel, and walked off without another word.
Crowley watched him disappear into the fog before calling out to the men, "Move now. Fast."
The smuggling continued, uninterrupted. The Sutherland name remained untarnished—for now.
*****No force shall break this sacred sign*****
The morning sun spilled pale gold through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long streaks across the polished wooden floor. Mary Jane sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, wrapped in silence. She was woken up earlier by Jane to be bathed and dressed. Sarah was nowhere to be seen.
She must have fallen back to sleep after that dream. And now, as she tried to remember that dream again, another faint memory was coming up in her mind. Not another vivid scene, but just… sounds. A voice. Of a man speaking words she could not comprehend. Words that somehow compelled her soul to draw near…
But once again, as she tried to recall that voice once more, her unreliable mind lost grasp of it. Sighing deeply, Mary Jane let go of it for now.
The corset dug into her ribs; the gown too tight around her waist — just another uncomfortable reminder that this body didn't belong to her.
A soft knock broke the stillness. The door creaked open, and Jane stepped inside with a silver tray. The scent of warm bread and honey drifted through the air, making Mary Jane's stomach clench with hunger.
"Your breakfast, my lady." The maid's voice was polite, her smile tentative, as if Jane was feeling shy. She placed the tray on the small table by the window and gave her a curtsy.
"Thank you," Mary Jane replied, gaining courage in the absence of hostility in the maid's demeanor.
The past several days had been an endless parade of carefully measured words and downcast eyes. The servants weren't just distant — they were either afraid or disdainful. Their negative perception of the countess hung thick in the air, wrapping around her like invisible chains.
That's why, Jane's attitude to her today was like an oasis in a desert of derisive strangers.
"Where's Sarah?" She felt comfortable enough to ask as she sat down on the chair pulled out by the maid from under the table.
"She is, um, quite busy elsewhere at this time, my lady." Jane busied herself with pouring her a cup of tea, seeming hesitant to elaborate further.
No matter. If Jane is the only one who was willing enough to help her out, then that was enough for her. She would definitely not miss the haughty, insolent attitude that Sarah treated her with since the beginning.
Instead, she said softly, "Thank you... for bringing breakfast."
The maid's brows twitched in surprise, but she quickly masked it. "You're welcome, my lady," with a quick curtsy, she backed out of the room and closed the door with a quiet click.
Mary Jane was alone once more.
Baby steps, she told herself as she picked up a freshly baked bread. As long as they don't raise a hand on her or physically hurt her, she could go ahead and brave this world, explore more, and survive.
Enjoying her food a little more this morning, she looked out and enjoyed the view as well. She opted to eat alone in her bedroom because she didn't want a repeat of that uncomfortable breakfast under the scrutiny of the lord of the house. Drinking her cup of tea, she thought of Ethan again and wished he could also enjoy this sumptuous breakfast in front of her. Don't worry, Ethan. I'll find a way to survive so I can find a way back to you.
As soon as she felt full, she stood up and started her plan of searching every nook and cranny of Bettina's room. First, the Countess's room, and then the other rooms next, she decided.
Carefully, she combed through the walk-in closet, the bathroom, underneath clothes and even inside boots and shoes, making sure no drawer nor hidden nooks were overlooked.
She was about to close the bottommost drawer of one of the bedside tables when her forefinger got stuck on some sort of a small hole on the inside of it. Curious, she sat on the floor and pulled the drawer completely out. She poured the drawer's contents on the floor and took a closer look inside.
It was a false bottom.
Hurriedly, she removed the false bottom and beheld its hidden contents.
It was a collection of old newspapers.
Let's see…
-----000-----
The Royal Gazette
Scandal & Society Affairs
"Scandal at the Spring Masquerade: Countess of Whitman Allegedly Strikes Heiress"
Boleus Capital, 17th of Iovis— Whispers of scandal once again trail Lady Bettina Whitman, Countess of Whitman, following an incident at the annual Spring Masquerade hosted at Maribelle House last evening.
According to multiple sources present at the event, Lady Whitman was observed engaging in a heated exchange with Miss Clarissa Harrow, the youngest daughter of the influential Harrow's, a merchant family. Witnesses claim the conversation ended with what appeared to be a sharp slap delivered by the notorious countess to the unsuspecting debutante, leaving the latter in visible distress.
"It happened so fast," said one noblewoman, speaking under condition of anonymity. "One moment they were exchanging words near the refreshment table, the next, Miss Harrow's fan was on the floor, one cheek visibly red, and she was nearly in tears. I heard she mentioned the Earl—though no one seems to know what she actually said to provoke such a reaction."
The Whitman household has yet to issue an official statement regarding the incident. When approached, Lady Whitman declined to comment.
Miss Harrow, when questioned by this publication, offered only: "I would never dare speak ill of my betters."
This is not the first time Lady Whitman has been the subject of controversy within high society. Known for her icy demeanor and frequent absences from social events, she has long been regarded as a figure of mystery—and, by some, contempt. Could it be that the Countess's scarcity of public appearance may be due to a scarcity of interest in socializing or a scarcity of invitations? One cannot tell.
Still, others defend the countess, citing the many pressures placed upon her since her sudden rise from peasantry to nobility. "People forget she was thrust into this role at a young age," said one sympathetic guest. "Who wouldn't crack under that kind of scrutiny?"
Whether the alleged slap was the result of an insult, provocation, or something more remains to be seen—but one thing is certain: the countess has once again found herself at the center of society's gossiping gaze.
— Cordelia Vance reporting for The Royal Gazette
-----000-----
Oh dear. No wonder the people in this household were too cautious whenever they see her coming. It seemed that Lady Whitman had a tendency to raise her own hand against others. Bettina, she murmured to the real owner of her body. There will never be any good reason why anyone should put their hands on another person. And those who do are just cowards who can only prey on the weak.
Shaking her head, she checked out the next newspaper clipping, and the next. Most of the news articles about her were in the same fashion as the first one— different incidents where Bettina was displaying either outrageous or scandalous behavior. Each were a testament to Bettina's bad reputation in society. One article even made a prediction that Countess Bettina would definitely be exiled sooner or later if she doesn't change her attitude. She flipped through the rest—until, one article caught her eye.:
-----000-----
The Whispering Quill
Where the ink spills, reputations fall.
"A Countess in Disgrace: Lady Whitman's Latest Indiscretion Shocks the Ton"
Boleus Capital, 21st of Mercurii— Scandal once again clings to the name Lady Whitman, whose reputation has long been the subject of whispers in parlors and raised fans. This latest incident, traveling across drawing rooms and echoing in noble halls, only cements her standing as the most infamous noblewoman of our time.
Eyewitness accounts from the Earl's household speak of a violent quarrel, one so grievous that servants dared not intervene. Some claim it was a dispute of jealousy; others insist slanderous words were exchanged, but all agree—The Right Honorable Earl's fury was unmatched, and Lady Whitman did not shrink from his wrath.
Rumors abound that the Countess, in a fit of madness or malice, orchestrated a cruel attempt upon the Earl's heir—a charge so severe that it has led many to wonder whether she may be called upon to defend herself in the court of law. Poison? Treachery? A woman's vengeance? The truth remains uncertain, but the stain upon her name deepens.
What remains clear is that the noble circles have turned their gaze upon the Earl—shall he suffer such disgrace under his own roof? Or shall Lady Whitman finally be cast aside, an outcast among those who once called her their own?
And yet, one must not forget: The cup of society can only take so much scandal and unacceptable behavior, and once it gets filled to the brim, Lady Whitman may not be able to handle the result of its overflow.
-----000-----
'Orchestrated a cruel attempt upon the Earl's heir'? Bettina?? Was this article referring to Jason?!
Speechless, Mary Jane sagged in her seat. How much of this article was true? If even half of it was true, then this may be the reason why Bettina and the Earl were estranged. And if it was 100% true, why would Bettina do that to an innocent little boy? Was that also why the servants acted the way they do to her?
But…if she did attempt to harm that little boy, then why wasn't Bettina incarcerated? Why didn't the Earl divorce her? Or, at the very least, banished from their home? She felt a painful pinch on her chest at the thought of the ordeal little Jason must have experienced. She was beginning to feel angry at Bettina. No matter how difficult a relationship she had with her husband, there was no reason in the world to make an innocent child suffer for it.
It seemed that rechecking the drawers in Bettina's room was a wise decision. Maybe she should also check all the drawers in this entire mansion.
--End of Chapter--
A/N:
Hello dearest readers! ✨
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