The air at Rosegate felt heavy, mixed with a faint smell of smoke. The gala was buzzing around us—glasses clinking, laughter that sounded forced, and dresses swished across the ballroom. Lanterns cast long shadows on the stone walls, making every guest look like a figure with hidden intentions. I stood at the edge of the ballroom, holding my purse tightly. Inside, the ledger. Sebastian stood a step behind me, his presence steady amid the crowd I didn't trust.
Mr. Harrow, the trustee from the luncheon, stood near the grand staircase, his smile sharp under the chandelier. He talked to a woman in a sapphire gown. Julian was missing, and his absence felt more threatening than if he had been right in front of me.
"Keep an eye on the corners," Sebastian whispered in my ear as he adjusted my shawl with careful precision. "The real players don't stand in the spotlight."
I nodded and look around the room. A man in a gray suit lingered by the bar, tapping his fingers in a rhythm that didn't match the music. A woman near the fireplace fiddled with her necklace, glancing toward Harrow. Small signs of hidden intentions were stacking up. "And you?" I asked quietly. "Which corner are you watching?"
"The one behind you," he replied, his tone dry but warm—maybe concern. "You're attracting attention, Miss Hartwell. That gown is doing half the work, but the other half is that ledger you're holding."
I forced a smile, the one I practiced while checking my reflection in car windows. "Good. Let them look. Maybe they'll stumble over their own schemes."
He didn't laugh, but his eyes softened for a moment before he nodded toward the staircase. "Harrow's moving. Second floor, west wing. If Julian's here, that's where he'll be."
I followed his gaze. Harrow was pushing through the crowd, walking too deliberately for a casual stroll. The woman in the sapphire gown followed him. My pulse quickened, the warning "Don't come" burning in my mind. It was too late to listen to that advice.
"Let's go," I said, stepping forward before doubt could stop me. Sebastian matched my pace, his arm brushing against mine as we go through the guests. The chatter in the ballroom faded as we climbed the staircase, the music turning into a distant hum. The corridor in the west wing lay ahead, dim and lined with heavy oak doors. The air smelled of old wood and the stronger sharp smoke curling from somewhere deeper in the house.
One door stood ajar. Voices drifted out low and urgent. I recognized Julian's voice, the same tone he used when discussing his work, but now it sounded serious, like he was trying to negotiate something important.
"—she's closer than we thought," Julian was saying. "The ledger's is not safe. If she finds the second set—"
"Enough," interrupted another voice, deep and unfamiliar. "You were supposed to keep her distracted, not bring her here."
I froze, catching my breath. Sebastian's hand grazed my wrist, a silent stay calm. We pressed against the wall, shadows covering us as the voices grew sharper.
"She's not a child anymore," Julian snapped. "She's digging, and Kincaid's helping her. I saw them last night."
My stomach knotted at the mention of last night. He had known we were at Rosegate. The creaking in the hallway and the flickering lantern weren't just sounds from the house settling. It was him.
Sebastian's jaw tightened, but he remained calm. Instead, he tilted his head toward the door, mouthing, "Listen."
The deeper voice spoke again, slowly. "Kincaid's a problem we can handle. Your father's debts, however, are less forgiving. Rosegate stays quiet, or the foundation collapses—and you with it."
Debts and foundation. Julian wasn't just involved in public relations. he was deeply entangled in whatever network my father had created and Harrow? The trustee was more than a donor, he was a gatekeeper.
I shifted my weight, my heel scraping against the carpet. The voices stopped. Sebastian's hand tightened on my wrist, pulling me back as the door creaked wider. Footsteps approached—slow and sure.
"Miss Hartwell?" Harrow's voice called. "No need to lurk. We're all friends here."
My heart pounded, but I stepped forward, chin held high, ledger still clutched in my hands. Sebastian stayed close, his silence louder than any threat. Harrow stood in the doorway, his smile a mask that didn't reach his eyes. Behind him, Julian looked pale, his clipboard nowhere to be seen—just a man caught in a game he hadn't mastered.
"Friends don't leave anonymous notes," I said, trying to sound calm. I took the crumpled "Don't come" note from my clutch and held it up as proof. "Or spy on family."
Julian's eyes widened, but Harrow only chuckled, the sound cold as the corridor. "Family's a complicated word, Miss Hartwell. Your father understood that. He left you quite the inheritance—ledgers, secrets, and all."
"What do you want with them?" I demanded, stepping closer. Sebastian's hand brushed my back, a subtle warning, but I pressed on. "And why drag Julian into it?"
Harrow's gaze flicked to Sebastian, then back to me. "Your cousin's just tying up loose ends. As for the ledgers…" He gestured to my clutch. "They're keys to doors you don't yet understand. Hand them over, and we can all walk away clean."
Sebastian spoke for the first time, his voice low, dangerous. "She's not handing over anything. And you're not as clean as you think."
Harrow's smile faltered, just for a moment. Then a new sound broke the tension—a sharp crack, like glass shattering, from somewhere below. The ballroom's hum faltered, replaced by gasps and a sudden rush of footsteps.
Julian swore under his breath, running past Harrow toward the stairs. I didn't hesitate. I pushed past, Sebastian at my back following, and ran toward the noise. The ballroom was chaos—guests crowding the edges, a shattered chandelier sparkling across the floor. In the center stood the woman in the sapphire gown, her hands trembling, a broken wine glass at her feet. Her eyes locked on mine, wide with something like fear—or warning.
"Fire!" someone shouted, and that smoke scent, no longer faint, flooded the room. A thin haze curled from the vents, gray and acrid, as panic rippled through the crowd.
Sebastian grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the side door. "Out. Now."
But my eyes stayed on the woman, who hadn't moved. She mouthed one word, barely audible over the chaos "Run."
I clutched the ledger tighter, my mind racing. Julian's betrayal, Harrow's threats, the ledger's secrets, and now fire—too many pieces, too fast. As we pushed through the fleeing guests, the smoke thickened, stinging my eyes. Outside, the night air hit, but the lanterns along the drive flickered.
Sebastian steered me toward the car, but I stopped, turning back to the mansion. Flames licked the upper windows now, small but growing. "The other ledger," I said, breathless. "It's still inside."
He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes fierce. "You're not going back in there. Not for paper, not for answers. Not tonight."
"But Julian—" I started, the image of his pale face burning in my mind. "And her—the woman—"
"They made their choices," he snapped, softer but no less firm. "You make yours."
The ledger in my clutch felt heavier than ever, its secrets a weight I couldn't outrun. Behind us, Rosegate burned, and with it, the fragile threads of my father's legacy. Sirens wailed in the distance, but the night felt far from over.
I looked at Sebastian, his face half lit by firelight, and nodded once. "To get us out of here."
As the car roared, I glanced back one last time. A figure stood at the edge of the lawn, silhouetted against the flames. Not Julian. Not Harrow. Someone else—watching, waiting, as the house burned and the ledger in my hands promised more battles to come.