Brooklyn looked down at her, still holding her hand after the embrace, his lips quirking into something faint—gentle, warm.
"Happy little Cathie?" he asked softly, teasing in his own quiet way.
Catherine flushed immediately. Her tear-washed face bloomed into an embarrassed smile as she lowered her gaze.
"…Yes," she replied in a whisper, her fingers curling around his.
He smiled—faint, but real. He brought his hand to her cheek and gently wiped the remaining streaks of her tears with his thumb. "Then let's make sure it stays that way."
Moments later, with the portrait now set proudly on her nightstand, Brooklyn helped her up, draping a warm shawl over her shoulders.
The two walked through the hallways of Faolinshire Manor. Catherine's steps were still gentle and careful, but steadier now—her body slowly remembering peace after years of torment. Her hand never left his as they walked. Her fingers clung to him like he was her anchor to the present.
He brought her into the dining hall.
The long table was beautifully arranged, gold-edged plates neatly set beside crystal goblets. The aroma of fresh pastries and brewed tea danced through the air. The windows were wide open, flooding the hall with morning light.
Catherine paused in the entrance, her eyes going wide.
There was no grand party—no formality. Just a quiet, warm morning meal. But something about walking in beside him, her shawl still wrapped snugly, her cheeks still flushed from earlier tears… it made her feel exposed. Known.
Yet—safe.
She clung slightly to Brooklyn's arm, biting her lower lip.
He glanced down at her and nodded softly as if to say you're alright. And only then did she allow herself to follow his steps fully into the hall.
But they weren't alone.
From the far end of the dining table, a pair of violet eyes gleamed behind a porcelain teacup.
Christiana Alorsbuth sat like a coiled snake draped in red silk. Her deep red hair was tied up high today, accentuating her sharp jawline and angular beauty. Jewels glittered at her ears, and a ruby pendant rested between her collarbones.
She had been there already, sipping her morning tea with flawless poise.
But the second her eyes fell upon Catherine, standing beside Brooklyn, with their fingers interlaced and her expression—smiling—something inside her seethed.
That girl. That pathetic, pale little insect.
Why is she beside him again? Why does he look at her like that?
Her nails dug into the tablecloth beneath her teacup. Her smile, cold and practiced, remained, but her jaw twitched ever so slightly.
Brooklyn pulled out a chair for Catherine at his side. He didn't even acknowledge Christiana's presence. As if her existence were unimportant.
Catherine sat down delicately, and Brooklyn served her himself—pouring her tea and placing a honeyed croissant onto her plate.
Christiana's cup paused mid-air.
Sebastian entered moments later, nodding politely to the gathered few, though his eyes caught the subtle tension instantly. He greeted Catherine gently and gave Brooklyn a knowing look.
He'd seen Christiana's expression.
And he didn't trust it for a second.
Luciane followed, calm and poised as ever, seating herself further down with a mild smile. But her sharp eyes passed briefly over Christiana—studying.
She'll try something soon, Luciane thought. And when she does… she'll find she's not the only one with claws.
Back at the head of the table, Brooklyn leaned toward Catherine.
She looked up at him with bright green eyes that still shimmered faintly.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice reserved but warm.
She nodded shyly. "Because of you…"
Christiana's grip on her fork tensed.
Let's see how long that smile lasts, little Cathie…
But Brooklyn didn't glance Christiana's way even once.
His eyes were on only one person that morning.
The air outside the manor was crisp, with the golden sun rising above Faolinshire's distant hills. The morning mist clung to the edges of the fields, and the scent of pine and cold earth swept through the open courtyards.
It was a perfect day for a hunt.
Or so Damien claimed.
He stood with a bright grin on his face, dressed sharply in a tailored dark-green hunting coat, his long black gloves reaching up to the elbows. "Come now, brother," he had said with his usual smirk. "A noble should never grow dull within castle walls. Let's hunt like we used to."
Beside him, Count Sebastian adjusted the strap of his quiver, his jaw tight. He didn't trust Damien—not in the least. But when Damien playfully added, "Afraid of losing to me again, Sebastian?" the challenge could no longer be ignored.
Brooklyn said nothing for a long moment. His amber eyes burned with something unreadable as he stood quietly, fingers wrapped around his leather riding gloves. He didn't want to leave—not with Catherine still so emotionally fragile. But refusing would only raise suspicion… and suspicion meant danger.
He looked once toward the hallway leading to her room.
"Fine," he said at last, coolly. "Let's end this quickly."
And so they left.
The gates of Faolinshire groaned open. The three men rode out, the thundering hooves of horses echoing into the deep forests surrounding the estate. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder once—almost instinctively—as though he knew a shadow was being cast over the manor even before they had disappeared down the road.
Back within the estate, Luciane had just finished reading the urgent scroll from the Royal Court. Her expression hardened.
"I have to go," she told Anderson in her usual composed tone. "You'll come with me."
Anderson, though reluctant, nodded. "Only for the day," he muttered under his breath. "I don't like leaving her here…"
Luciane's gaze was sharp, but knowing. "Nor do I. But we'll be back before nightfall. Nothing should happen before then."
They were wrong.
The moment the last of Brooklyn's allies vanished from the estate, Christiana moved.
It began with something as simple as a knock.
Catherine's room – midday.
The soft knock at the door pulled Catherine from her thoughts. She had been staring quietly out the window, her hands resting over her lap, her expression unreadable.
She called out faintly, "Yes…?"
The door creaked open, and there stood Christiana in a refined cream gown with deep red embroidery. Her violet eyes shimmered with politeness that felt like poison.
"May I?" she asked, stepping in without waiting for permission.
Catherine blinked. "…Of course."
Christiana smiled sweetly and walked in, her heels clicking against the stone floor like claws.
"I just wanted to keep you company," she said, pulling up a cushioned chair without invitation. "With Brooklyn gone and all."
Catherine looked away. "I'm fine."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," Christiana said smoothly, tilting her head. "You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"
The sentence was gentle, but the knife underneath it cut deep.
Catherine stiffened.
"I mean," Christiana continued, swirling her fingers over the rim of a glass she'd brought in, "we all know your… story. Poor little orphaned girl. Such tragic tales. Honestly, it's no wonder you cling to Brooklyn so tightly."
Catherine's fingers tightened on the fabric of her gown.
"Maybe you think if you stay close enough, he'll love you," Christiana said with an angelic smile. "But that's not how this world works, darling."
"Please stop," Catherine whispered, her voice cracking.
"Oh, don't take it personally. I'm just telling you the truth," Christiana said, rising from her chair. She walked slowly toward the window, then turned. "You're like a shadow in his life. Quiet, pale, always watching. But eventually…" she leaned in close, "…shadows vanish when the sun rises."
Catherine's chest heaved slightly. Her eyes shimmered with restrained tears. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, nails digging into the wood.
"I don't know what you want from me," she whispered.
Christiana crouched in front of her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Catherine's ear with calculated tenderness.
"I want nothing from you, dear," she said. "Just… know your place."
With that, she rose and walked away slowly, her heels echoing as she left the room.
As the door closed, Catherine finally let the tears spill.
Outside the door, Christiana paused.
The hunt has begun. And soon, your precious Duke won't recognize the girl he once tried to protect.
The golden hues of dusk faded into deeper shades of blue as the sky cloaked itself in the approaching night. The estate had grown eerily quiet with Brooklyn gone, and the silence felt unnatural—like something sacred had been stripped away.
Inside the east wing, a soft knock came again.
Catherine turned slowly, her heart already tightening in her chest. She sat on the cushioned seat by the window, the folded shawl on her lap clutched between her pale fingers.
The knock didn't wait. The door creaked open.
Christiana entered with an elegance that felt more like intrusion than grace. She wore a deep garnet dress this time, velvet and gold laced through the bodice, and in her hand… she held something wrapped tightly in silk cloth.
Catherine's blood ran cold.
The moment she saw the silk, she stood abruptly. "No…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please… not that."
Christiana unwrapped the cloth slowly with a cruel smile.
The painted eyes of Catherine's parents stared softly from the canvas, serene and warm—the only remnant she had left of them. The portrait Brooklyn had hunted for weeks.
Catherine's knees buckled as she took a step forward. "Please… don't. It's the only thing I have—please, I beg you—"
Christiana held the frame delicately in her gloved hands, balancing it as though testing its weight.
"I wonder," she mused, "what would happen if it… slipped from my hands?"
Catherine shook her head rapidly, stepping forward on shaking legs. "No, don't! I'll do anything—please, Christiana—just don't break it!"
The smirk that rose on Christiana's face was slow and deliberate. "Anything?" she asked, tilting her head.
Catherine nodded quickly, tears already gathering in her eyes. "Anything."
Christiana walked slowly across the room, holding the portrait just out of Catherine's reach. She paused before the fireplace, then turned around with a sickening sweetness. "Then prove it."
Catherine froze.
"Get on the floor," Christiana said smoothly. "Bow. Fully. Like the little insect you are."
Catherine's lips parted in horror, but she obeyed. With legs that could barely hold her weight, she sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she pressed her forehead to the stone floor.
Christiana watched with quiet delight.
"Say it," she whispered.
Catherine didn't move.
"Say," Christiana repeated, a touch firmer, "'I am a filthy person. I never deserve the Duke. Christiana is the best—she deserves him.'"
Catherine's lips quivered. Her throat tightened around the humiliation, the heartbreak, the sheer agony of what she was being forced to say.
"Say it," Christiana pressed, moving closer.
Catherine's voice cracked as she whispered, "I… I am a filthy person…"
Tears spilled freely now.
"I never… deserve the Duke…"
Her voice broke.
"…Christiana is the best. She deserves him…"
Christiana leaned in.
"And?" she purred.
Catherine's fingers dug into the floor.
"If… if I come between them," she choked, "Christiana… can punish me."
There was a moment of dead silence.
Then Christiana set the portrait carefully on the table.
"Good girl," she said sweetly.
She turned without another word and walked out, the echo of her heels fading down the corridor.
Catherine remained bowed on the cold stone floor, sobbing quietly into her sleeves, the only warmth in the room coming from the portrait now glowing in firelight—her last remaining memory… spared.
But at what cost?
The rain hadn't come yet, but the sky was swollen with the threat of it. Heavy clouds pressed over the forest ridge, and the breeze that swept through the gardens was cold—restless. The kind of wind that whispered warnings, carried pain, and knew too much.
In the corner of the empty hallway, Catherine stood trembling. Her hands gripped the edges of her shawl so tightly the fabric had torn, but she didn't notice. She could still hear Christiana's mocking voice echoing in her ears.
"I never deserve the Duke…"
Each word she had been forced to say felt like a knife she had driven into her own heart.
Her breaths were shallow. Her chest wouldn't rise properly. Her vision blurred.
She ran.
Barefoot. No cloak. No guards.
She didn't even look back.
Down the servant's corridor, past the stables, through the outer gates. Past startled maids who called after her. She just ran, desperate for the feeling of walls to vanish, of suffocating memory to drown in wind. Her legs stumbled through mud, brambles cut her ankles, but she didn't stop until the estate disappeared behind her—swallowed by the forest that bordered it.
Somewhere, deep in that quiet, Catherine vanished.
—
Later that evening…
The hall was lively with soft conversation and clinking glasses, the returning hunting party still dressed in mud and sweat. Brooklyn had just returned, removing his gloves as he strode into the drawing room. His amber eyes scanned the space once… then twice.
She wasn't here.
He turned toward Christiana, seated casually with a glass of white wine.
"Where is Catherine?" he asked calmly, though his tone already carried the smallest edge.
Christiana looked up, lips curling. "Oh?" she said lightly. "Probably off at the market. Said something about wanting fresh peaches this morning. She'll return soon."
Brooklyn stared at her. Not a flicker of sincerity touched her face.
"Without a maid?" he asked, voice clipped.
Christiana shrugged. "She insisted."
Brooklyn's jaw flexed. "I see."
He turned away, but something twisted in his chest. A discomfort he couldn't explain. Something didn't feel right.
—
Luciane had been watching from the balcony above.
The moment Christiana spoke, she knew.
She had known that girl long enough—known her cruelty and her games. And more than that, she had known Catherine well enough now to know the girl would never leave the palace unaccompanied.
Especially not after the fear in her eyes last night.
Luciane stood, heels echoing softly on the floor as she descended the stairs. She met Sebastian just as he entered through the main doors, removing his coat.
"She's missing," Luciane said quietly, urgently.
Sebastian frowned. "What?"
"Catherine. She's gone. Christiana's lying. I know it."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Do you think she—?"
"Yes," Luciane said coldly. "And I don't intend to wait for someone else to do something."
She tossed him a riding cloak.
Sebastian caught it with one hand and nodded once.
"I'll get the horses," he said.
Within minutes, the two rode through the outer gates, their horses galloping into the misty dusk—searching, hoping they weren't already too late.
Behind them, within the estate, Brooklyn stood alone in the corridor, staring out the window. The unease within him clawed now, louder than ever. The wind scraped against the glass.
He didn't know why.
But something precious was slipping out of reach.
And his heart had begun to ache.
The forest was a labyrinth of shadows, silent but not still. Every branch groaned with the weight of the wind. Leaves rustled like whispers, and owls blinked down from their perches, watching the small figure curled at the base of a twisted tree.
Catherine sat in her torn dress, dirt-streaked and barefoot, knees hugged tightly to her chest. Her scarlet-blonde hair was tangled with twigs and damp with dew. Her hands trembled—her breath shallow and hoarse. She had cried until her voice was gone.
The woods had welcomed her silence.
She didn't know how far she'd run. Nor did she care.
She felt like a ghost here—an invisible thing. And for the first time in years… she welcomed that.
Her fingers clutched the edge of her shawl as if it would stop her from shattering. Christiana's voice still thundered in her ears.
"Bow."
"You are a filthy person."
"You never deserved the Duke."
"If you come between us, I can punish you."
Catherine shuddered again, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw hurt. The memory was raw—too fresh. The pain of saying those humiliating words was worse than being beaten. It was complete submission, and that humiliation hollowed her.
She cried again, face buried against her knees, not knowing if morning would ever come.
—
Hooves thundered in the distance.
Then a sharp call. "There!"
Catherine barely lifted her head before Luciane was already off the horse and running through the clearing.
"Oh my god—Catherine!" she breathed, crouching and wrapping her arms around the girl tightly.
Catherine collapsed into her. Her sobs broke free the moment she was held.
"I–I didn't know where else to go," she choked. "I was scared—I couldn't stay—I–"
"Shh, my darling, it's alright," Luciane whispered, holding her like a mother would a child. "You did the right thing. I'm here now."
Sebastian stood nearby, watching with quiet rage burning in his eyes. He said nothing, but his fists were clenched. As Catherine's cries filled the clearing, he silently promised that whatever Christiana had done… it would not go unanswered.
Luciane slowly pulled back, brushing Catherine's hair away from her tear-stained face. "Tell me," she said gently. "Tell me what happened."
Catherine hesitated, swallowing thickly, but the flood had begun.
"She came to my room after everyone left. She… she took the portrait—the one he gave me—and threatened to break it."
Luciane's breath caught in her throat.
"I begged her. Told her it was all I had. She said I had to earn it back. She made me get on the floor and repeat what she said. Horrible things. About me. About the Duke. And I said them. I said them all because I was so scared—Luciane, I just wanted it back…"
She broke down again.
Luciane pulled her tightly into her chest. "You don't have to justify your pain. You did what you had to survive. And that doesn't make you weak. It makes you human, Catherine."
Catherine sniffled, voice barely audible. "Please don't tell him. He'll be angry. He'll fight them… and then they'll come after him. I can take this. I've taken worse. I just want him safe. I just want to stay with him…"
Luciane's eyes glistened, but her voice stayed strong.
"I promise. I won't tell him. But you're not alone anymore. And I will never let her hurt you again."
Catherine leaned into her again, exhausted—broken—but not completely.
Not anymore.
Sebastian approached silently and offered Luciane his cloak.
"She's freezing," he murmured.
Luciane nodded and gently wrapped it around Catherine's shoulders.
"Let's take her home," she whispered.
And the three disappeared into the forest—the mist closing behind them like a secret never meant to be kept.
The grand gates of Faolinshire slowly opened under the fading orange glow of dusk. The clatter of hooves against stone echoed as Luciane's carriage pulled into the courtyard. Catherine sat inside, wrapped in Sebastian's cloak, her head resting against the window. Her body ached. Her heart… ached more.
Brooklyn was already waiting outside, leaning against the stone archway with arms crossed and amber eyes narrowed. His flush brown hair was tousled from wind and restlessness—he hadn't slept the night before.
As the door creaked open and Catherine stepped out, his expression softened—but only slightly.
"You went to the market?" he asked, voice quiet, too calm for comfort.
Catherine paused, her fingers clutching the edge of the cloak a little tighter. "Yes… I needed some air," she said quickly. "I didn't go far."
He studied her face. Her eyes were red. There were tiny scratches on her arms. Her slippers were muddied. The excuse didn't hold.
He stepped closer, tilting her chin up gently.
"Little Kitten Be Safe You are scaring me"