The morning sun crept through the heavy velvet curtains of the master bedchamber, casting golden slants across the rumpled bed. Bettina stirred first, her limbs deliciously sore, and her heart soft. She blinked blearily, then turned her head to find Anthony still asleep, a soft, satisfied smile curving his lips. His arm was draped possessively over her waist.
"You're shameless," she whispered teasingly, brushing a lock of hair off his brow.
His eyes fluttered open, mischievous and warm. "You're welcome, wife."
He gathered her back in his embrace, unwilling to release her.
Bettina groaned and buried her face in his shoulder. "You are too enthusiastic for someone who used to scowl at me over breakfast."
"You looked beautiful when you scowled back." He stretched his arms and started to stand up to get dressed, chuckling at the way Bettina gasped and scrambled to gather the sheets to keep her delectable body covered up.
"Mmm-hmm," he teasingly hummed a few moments later. "Now this is the best discovery I've ever had in my entire life."
She blinked up… only to find Anthony standing at the foot of the bed, holding something aloft between his fingers with the same reverence usually reserved for holy relics.
It took her a heartbeat to recognize it.
Her panties.
"My lady," Anthony began solemnly, though his mouth twitched at the corners, "I must thank you for bestowing upon our household what is surely the newest family treasure." He turned the delicate fabric this way and that, admiring it as if appraising a gemstone. "I am convinced this must be preserved in the vaults and handed down for generations to come."
Bettina pushed herself up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Anthony!" Her voice was equal parts scandalized and mortified. "Put that down this instant!"
"Put it down?" His brows rose as if she had suggested throwing the crown jewels into the fire. "My dear wife, have you seen what sorcery this is? No strings biting into the hips, no bundles of cloth like a rolled-up curtain, no… mysterious flaps." He gestured vaguely. "It… it shaped you in a way I can only describe as divine. I was nearly slain where I was last night."
Bettina's cheeks flamed. "It's just underwear!"
"It is revolution, Bettina." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "If word of this design spread, I daresay every woman in the realm would overthrow her drawers by nightfall."
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it one-handed — the other still clutching the panties. "And as your loyal husband," he continued, utterly unbothered, "it is my duty to ensure this wonder never falls into enemy hands."
"Anthony—!"
"I shall guard it with my life." He grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. "And if you're feeling charitable, perhaps… commission a few more. For… private demonstrations."
Before she could jump up and snatch the little garment away from him, a loud voice echoed down the hall.
"Faaatheeer! Motherrr!" Jason's shrill voice made them both sit up abruptly and cover their nakedness with the bedsheets. "Auntie Agatha is here! And—and she brought presents!"
Bettina gasped. "Lady Agatha?"
"At this hour?" Anthony muttered, already swinging out of bed.
They dressed in a hurry, exchanging bemused looks. Bettina quickly ran over to her own bedchamber and, assisted by the ever-dutiful Jane, changed into something more suitable. When they finally reached the drawing room, they found Jason bouncing excitedly near the entrance.
Standing grandly by the hearth, flanked by her footmen, was Baroness Agatha Whitman in a rich plum morning gown, her daughter Lady Eliza Mae Whitman beside her looking uncharacteristically pale and solemn. A young boy—Eliza's quiet little brother—clung to her skirts.
"Lady Whitman," Agatha began, after executing a deep curtsy to Bettina, voice trembling slightly but clear, "I come bearing a sincere apology—on behalf of myself, my daughter, and the greater Whitman family."
Bettina blinked in surprise, but remained composed. Anthony stepped closer to her, standing by her side and laying a hand on her shoulder as a silent sign of a husband's support.
Agatha continued, "We were wrong. Gravely wrong. And we let rumors and pride cloud our judgment. When news of Lord Marcus' crimes came to light, and your role in uncovering the truth reached our ears, we were deeply ashamed."
Lady Eliza curtsied deeply. "I spoke ill of you, Lady Whitman. I believed lies and contributed to your pain. I hope you will one day forgive me."
Bettina looked between them, heart pounding. She hadn't expected this—not so soon.
Agatha's voice softened. "To make amends, we invite you, your husband, and young Lord Jason to a grand ball held in your honor, on the night of Dies Saturni, at my estate. There, in front of our peers, we will offer our formal apology. As well as a ceremony of recognition. We truly hope you accept."
Jason clapped his hands. "Are there going to be fireworks?"
Agatha chuckled. "Perhaps."
Anthony glanced down at Bettina. She swallowed, nodded slowly, then smiled. "We accept."
The day of Dies Saturni. The ballroom glittered with golden light from crystal chandeliers and hundreds of enchanted votives suspended in midair. Ladies of all ages wearing empire-cut gowns of different designs and elegance promenaded while jewels sparkled as noble and merchant guests of varying hierarchy mingled, anticipating and buzzing. These were not only members of the Whitman clan but also the vassal families that work alongside them.
Music played from a string quartet in the gallery. But all attention turned when Baroness Agatha Whitman ascended a low dais at the head of the room.
Behind her stood Lady Eliza and several vassal lords and ladies who held significant positions within the large Whitman clan and businesses.
"My esteemed peers," Agatha began, her voice magnified by an enchantment, "we gather tonight not merely for music and dance, but to rectify a wrong."
A hush fell.
"Lady Bettina Whitman was scorned, slandered, and judged unfairly—by the empire and by us. And yet, she rose above us all to deliver justice where justice had long been denied. The truth of the Sutherlands' tragedy, the cleansing and salvation of our trading company, the safeguarding of the young heir Jason—all these were accomplished by her hand."
Lady Eliza stepped forward. " We… but most especially, I… wronged her with my words and assumptions. Tonight, I kneel before her as a cousin and as a humbled woman."
Eliza made good on her declaration as she went down on her knees. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Then, one by one, the rest of the crowd bowed deeply as well, some also falling on their knees.
Baroness Agatha gestured grandly to the center of the ballroom, where a raised dais had been erected. "Let Lady Bettina step forward."
Bettina, in a sweeping silvery gown with sapphires at her throat, approached with grace. Anthony and Jason watched from the side.
One by one, the Whitman vassals came forward, offering symbolic tokens: a key to the city's trade quarter, a scroll of alliance, a jeweled circlet representing unity, a golden shield engraved with her family's original business trademark, and many others of equal or higher value. All pooled into a treasure chest presented before her on the dais.
"These," Agatha declared, "are our offerings—not just of wealth, but of loyalty. For Lady Bettina Whitman has shown herself to be the heart of our house."
Tears pricked at Bettina's eyes, but she smiled, carefully wore the jeweled circlet on her head, and touched the overflowing chest. "Thank you," was all she could say. She was overcome with emotions she couldn't define.
It seemed it was enough to bridge their gap. The ballroom erupted in applause, and the music swelled anew.
Anthony came to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist, and whispering, "I told you they'd see you one day."
Bettina reached for his hand. "I didn't need them to. But I'm glad they finally do."
Jason tugged at her skirt. "Mother, can I eat a whole cake now that you're the queen of the ball?"
She laughed. "Only if you promise not to marry a princess tonight."
He beamed. "Deal!"
The music rose. The dancing began. And in that moment, beneath the chandeliers and starlight pouring in through enchanted windows, Bettina Whitman finally belonged.
A few days passed and more news about Lady Bettina Anne Whitman graced the newspapers and magazines of the empire. Bettina's fame reached such a high fever pitch that the Whitman Manor became bombarded with hundreds of letters, invitations, and gifts from not only the Whitman clan and vassals but also noble men and women of different houses, even from common people who idolize her.
She became so busy, not only with her own toy business which just launched a new toy (Magical Dough—using safe, fine-grain clay scented with herbal oils that children could shape, mold, and reshape into whatever their minds could dream of. Perfect for strengthening little hands and fingers as well as firing up the minds of hopeful artists.), but also with occasional consultation requests from the imperial palace, that she had to appoint two more personal attendants who were literate enough to be able to help her in sending formal responses to many of her correspondences. She also added more reliable office staff in her toy shop who assisted her in managing the books, especially now that they were in the process of opening up another branch of their store.
But the nights, once Jason is fast asleep in his bed, the nights were for her and Anthony alone. It seemed that, to make up for the times that he wasted, he spent as much time as he can in giving and teaching Bettina all about pleasure—love and pleasure that could only be shared between husband and wife. And in giving, he also received even more pleasure as well. Mary Jane was so happy these days that she often finds herself smiling at nothing or giggling by herself.
But that wasn't all, Anthony had another surprise for her, and for that, he had to invite her out for an excursion. Their destination?
The Sutherland Trading Company directorate chamber was an elegant, high-ceilinged hall lined with dark mahogany wood, illuminated by the golden morning sun filtering through tall windows. The room was abuzz with murmurs as directors and senior officers took their seats, many unsure why an emergency meeting had been called so soon after the tribunal's aftermath.
At the head of the long table stood Anthony James Whitman, The Right Honorable Earl of Whitman, dressed sharply in a navy-blue morning coat with silver embroidery. His expression was calm but firm, and there was something different about him today—a quiet intensity that silenced the room as he cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for attending on short notice," Anthony began. "Recent events have shaken the very foundations of this company and tested the strength of our family. In light of everything that has come to pass, I have called this session not merely to discuss commerce, but to recognize justice, legacy, and progress."
He turned slightly, gesturing to Bettina, who stood quietly beside him. She wore a dove-gray dress with embroidered pearls, elegant yet understated. Her presence alone commanded attention—not with hauteur, but with dignity.
"Many of you know my wife, Lady Whitman, by reputation," Anthony continued. "You know her as the one who co-developed the empire's Transparent Trade Revelation, and as the one who helped uncover the corruption that nearly dismantled this company from within. Some of you have misjudged her. Some of you stood against her. But all of us now know the truth."
Gasps were muffled. Lady Margella, seated near the end of the table, narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
"As the only surviving heir of Everton and Wilhelmina Sutherland, Bettina is not only my wife but the rightful legacy bearer of this company's founding bloodline. It is with both joy and solemnity that I declare today: she shall hold an honorary directorship in the Sutherland Trading Company."
A hush fell over the chamber.
"Henceforth," Anthony continued, "Lady Whitman shall hold full voting privileges, and I will personally transfer to her a significant portion of my shares—shares that would have belonged to her family had their lives not been so violently stolen."
Murmurs rippled again, louder this time.
Lady Margella stood. "And what plans does Lady Whitman have for this role?" she asked coolly. "She has already proposed many... unconventional reforms."
Bettina stepped forward. Her voice was steady. "My only plan is to ensure this company no longer protects the corrupt. We will strengthen operations at the ports, make trade transparent, make pricing fair, and ensure no more children starve so that the rich may grow fatter. I believe in progress, but not at the expense of justice."
There was a pause. Everyone could see that Lady Margella was deep in thought, but had more to say. They waited.
She looked at Anthony, and then at Bettina. Then, slowly, Lady Margella inclined her head. "I have always believed that there are some questionable acts that we should let go, turn a blind eye on—necessary evil I call them—in the name of preserving the greater good of the company and the empire. However, in light of recent events, I have learned that this belief may not truly be good for us all. That turning a blind eye on evil acts only breeds even more evil. And so… I suppose it is time I begin listening more carefully."
A few other directors nodded in agreement.
"I, for one, agree," one of the directors said aloud. "Judging from her well-known inventions and innovations alone, it seems apparent that she'll help us revolutionize our company."
"Everything she manufactures turns into gold no matter what it is," nodded another.
"Oh yes!" Piped in another female director who was wearing one of the latest empire-cut designs. "From toys to fashion it seems you have so many lucrative ideas! Thank you for letting us women throw away our corsets, my lady!"
"Oh, no, I'm not that great—" Bettina began, face reddening in embarrassment, hands raising to ask for the compliments to cease.
One of them chuckled. "I think I've purchased more than a dozen of each of your toys, my lady. My sons and my nephews and nieces all wanted one of each. Even my wife and I have our own sets."
Anthony turned to Bettina, pride clear in his eyes. "This company was forged from your family's dream. It is only right that you now help lead it into a better future."
Bettina met his gaze, then noticed his hand reaching for hers under the table. Her hand gently clasped his secretly.
To be heard. To be looked up to. To be trusted. To be given what is her due. It was an amazing feeling. And her heart grew happier and bloomed even more.
Blissful days followed for the entire Whitman household. They fell into a simple family routine where the both husband and wife goes to work, goes home to help each other manage the household with the assistance of all the household staff, and both parents spend as much time as they can with their son. Especially now that their son was about to enter the empire's most prestigious academy for the upcoming school year.
Bettina, especially wanted the whole family to be together as much as possible since she knew that Jason would have even less time with them once he starts attending school and living within the school's dormitories.
The imperial sun shone gently through the lattice of silver clouds that framed the capital's skyline. The empire's Boleus Grand Academy which was located just outside the capital, stretched before them in proud, stately rows of granite halls, ivy-clad towers, and sprawling courtyards that pulsed with the laughter and shouts of children at their lessons. Despite its majestic scale and reputation, the academy carried an air of openness and curiosity—a rare marriage of tradition and innovation, nobility and merit.
Lady Bettina Whitman, draped in a simple but finely tailored traveling gown, stood with her arm looped through Jason's. Her eyes followed the flurry of students passing by in crisp uniforms—some noble-born, others from humbler backgrounds who either sponsored by nobles or by the empire itself, all mingling without discrimination. Her heart swelled. This—this was the kind of future she wanted to protect.
Jason, freshly combed and smart in a vest and white shirt, grinned up at her. "They're staring at you, Mama," he whispered. "I heard one of them say you were the Lady Whitman. The one who invented the trade stamp. The one who saved the port. The one who—"
"—burned her breakfast on three separate occasions this week," Bettina finished playfully, nudging him gently with her hip.
Jason snorted. "They didn't say that part."
"Good. Let's keep it that way."
Students greeted her shyly as they passed, some giving small bows, others murmuring her name in awe. Teachers tipped their heads respectfully. Even the gardeners paused to smile at her before returning to their flowerbeds. It warmed her more than she had expected. It reminded her she had done more than survive here—she had made a mark.
They were led to the administrative wing by a courteous steward, where the headmaster, a dignified older man called Chancellor Aldred Morven, greeted them with genuine warmth.
"We're honored to welcome Young Master Jason in the coming term," he said, eyes twinkling behind gold-rimmed spectacles. "He will thrive here, especially under your guidance, Lady Whitman. His potential is apparent—and I suspect more than a little inherited."
Bettina smiled modestly. "Thank you, Chancellor. I'm certain this place will shape him well."
Jason puffed up with pride at the compliment, his little chest rising. But there was still a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I really hoped that Papa could have come with us too," he murmured as they left the office. "But he had to go, didn't he?"
Bettina gently squeezed his hand. "He wanted to. He'll hear all about it tonight. You'll tell him, won't you?"
Jason nodded, brightening. "I'll tell him everything."
They made their way back toward the waiting carriage. Jane walked ahead, her sharp gaze sweeping the path, while four Whitman knights followed close behind. Everything seemed perfectly in order.
Until it wasn't.
The road narrowed into a shaded woodland trail—just half an hour from the teleportation outpost in the nearby town. The canopy above blocked the afternoon sun, casting them into a cool, quiet corridor.
Jane's instincts screamed.
"Shields up—!" she suddenly shouted, reaching into her sleeve—
But too late.
Masked riders erupted from the trees with precision and speed. Crossbow bolts zipped through the air. One knight fell instantly; another took a bolt to the leg and crumpled. Jane met the attackers head-on with a flurry of knives, but they had expected her. A net ensnared her from behind, two men piling on as she thrashed like a storm caught in silk. Her blade drew blood—but not enough.
Bettina shoved Jason behind her, heart thundering. "Run!" she cried.
Jason didn't. He clung to her skirts, frozen in fear.
They were surrounded in seconds.
Rough hands seized Bettina, yanking her back. Jason screamed as another man grabbed him, dragging him toward a second horse. Bettina kicked, cursed, bit—but she couldn't reach him.
"Let him go! Take me, not him!"
Jason cried out, "Mama!"
And that was the last thing she heard before a sack was thrown over her head, and the world disappeared into darkness.
The manor doors opened with their usual stately groan as Earl Anthony Whitman stepped across the threshold, loosening the collar of his dark coat. His gloves were tucked neatly beneath his arm, and his expression—though tired—was content. The meeting at the southern port had gone well, his expression faintly softened with the anticipation of seeing his wife and son. He was looking forward to seeing the glow in Jason's eyes once he starts speaking of their academy visit.
Clive, ever composed, bowed deeply. "Welcome home, milord."
Anthony offered a faint smile. "Has my wife returned? And Jason?"
Clive straightened. "Not yet, my lord. Lady Whitman left with Young Master Jason for the academy this morning, accompanied by Miss Jane and four knights. They were expected to return by mid-afternoon."
Anthony's brows furrowed. "They're late?"
The butler gave a small nod. "Yes, my lord. The staff prepared for a late luncheon, then kept dinner warm." Clive's voice remained calm, but there was a flicker of concern behind his eyes.
Anthony glanced toward the clock above the grand staircase. It was already past seven.
"They left around mid-morning. That road to the teleportation waypoint shouldn't take this long," he muttered, unconsciously reaching for the coat he just gave the butler with sudden urgency.
"Lady Whitman, Young Master Jason, Jane, and four knights left early this morning for the Imperial Academy. By the time of afternoon tea, we assumed they had stayed longer due to the boy's excitement," Clive said carefully.
Anthony frowned. "They should have returned hours ago. Did they send word of a delay?"
"No, my lord."
The pit in Anthony's stomach tightened. "Which knights accompanied them?"
"Sir Cael, Sir Damon, Sir Smith, and Sir Tullen."
All experienced. All loyal. That only made the unease in Anthony's chest deepen.
Anthony's hands froze over the buttons of his coat. He felt the first prickle of unease travel down his spine.
"Send a knight team to retrace their route immediately. I want the road to the Grand Academy swept, and every outpost between here and the town of Thewyn questioned. Have the teleportation mages report if anyone matching their party's description used the waypoint today."
"At once, my lord." Clive bowed low and moved quickly.
Anthony remained frozen for a heartbeat longer, unease hardening into dread.
Then—
Bang!
The front doors crashed open again, startling the footmen.
A gust of wind howled into the entrance hall as Jane stumbled in, her cloak torn and dark with blood. One sleeve hung by a thread, one arm bleeding profusely. A shallow gash streaked crimson down the side of her face, and her breathing came in ragged gasps.
The footmen shouted in alarm.
"Jane?" Anthony's voice cracked with disbelief as he strode forward.
She fell to her knees, her eyes wide and frantic, locked onto Anthony. "My lord—your grace—!"
Anthony knelt beside her, catching her before she collapsed completely.
"What happened? Where is Bettina—Jason?"
Jane gritted her teeth, clearly forcing herself to remain conscious.
"We were ambushed…masked men…they were waiting on the forested curve, just past the ridge near the old shrine road. They knew our schedule—knew the terrain. They struck with precision. One of our knights managed to buy me time to escape through the trees."
Anthony's grip tightened on her shoulders. "And the others?"
"All—taken or dead," she rasped. "My lady…Jason…they've been captured. I—I couldn't stop them…"
"Lady Bettina…Young Master…" She choked on the words, blood gushing from her mouth, clutching at his lapel with bloodied fingers. "Ambush. Near the ridge road…so fast. So many of them…Knights all—cut down. I couldn't…I couldn't stop them…"
Anthony pressed her closer, feeling her tremble. "Who were they? Did you see a crest? Hear any name? Anything?"
Jane shook her head weakly. "Masked. Well-coordinated. Not common bandits. Too clean…too deliberate…"
Anthony's hands were already stained with her blood. "Get the physician! Now!" he roared toward the hall, and servants scattered into action.
Jane's voice dropped to a whisper. "Bettina…she begged them to just take her and leave Master Jason alone…"
And then she went limp.
Anthony held her tightly as the physician arrived. He didn't speak. Couldn't speak. His mind was already racing—too deliberate. Too skilled. This wasn't a ransom scheme. This was targeted.
For a heartbeat, Anthony remained utterly still.
Then, quietly, dangerously: "Clive. Ready the hounds. Summon Mage Henry. And alert every division of the Whitman scouts."
Clive had already turned, issuing sharp commands and calling for Ferguson.
Anthony rose slowly, his face a mask of controlled fury. "No one touches my family and walks away."
A quiet storm brewed in his eyes, deadly and cold.
Whoever dared to harm his wife and son—he would find them.
And they would beg for mercy.