The main hall of Ashford Manor was ablaze with light, bright enough to sting the eyes.
The moment the car rolled to a stop, the butler rushed over to open the door. His face was paler than the rain-slicked pavement outside.
"Sir, you are finally back," the butler whispered, his voice laced with a terror Evelyn had never heard before. "The Old Madame is here."
William, who was in the middle of adjusting his cuffs, froze. In that split second, Evelyn felt the aura of the man beside her shift—the imperious presence of the Lion of Chicago vanished, replaced by a heavy, masked rigidity.
"I see."
William responded coldly and stepped out of the car.
Evelyn followed behind him. She was soaked to the bone. The old wool shawl had sponged up the rain, pressing heavily on her shoulders, and her cheap leather shoes left muddy, brown footprints on the pristine marble floor.
In the center of the main hall sat a woman.
Isabella Ashford. William's stepmother, and the true Empress of the Ashford family. She wore a black velvet gown, a strand of massive pearls around her neck, and her silver hair was coiffed to perfection without a single strand out of place. She sat in a high-backed chair like a cold, stone idol, scrutinizing everyone who entered.
Beside her sat Aurora, perched on a footstool with red-rimmed eyes, still clutching that folding fan like a wronged child who had finally found a protector.
"Mother." William stepped forward and performed a standard kiss on the hand.
"So, you remember the way home, William." Isabella's voice was dry and raspy, yet carried an unquestionable authority. "I heard you went to Chicago. You brought back not only contracts worth millions but also... some unclean habits."
William straightened up, his face expressionless. "I do not understand your meaning."
"You don't understand?"
The cane in Isabella's hand struck the floor with a sharp thud. Her cloudy but razor-sharp eyes looked past William's shoulder and nailed the soaked, wretched figure of Evelyn to the spot.
"What is that?"
She used the word "It," not "She."
Evelyn felt a chill shoot from the soles of her feet to the top of her skull. She instinctively tried to curtsy, but before her knees could bend, Isabella's voice cut her off.
"Don't move. Do not shake your filthy water onto my carpet." Isabella covered her nose with a handkerchief in disgust. "Aurora tells me that not only did you let this lowborn maid stay in your suite, but you even humiliated your fiancée for her sake?"
"Mother, that was a misunderstanding..."
"A misunderstanding?" Aurora suddenly interjected. She pointed a trembling finger at Evelyn's dripping hem and shrieked, "Aunt Isabella, look! Under that shawl, she is wearing the emerald velvet gown! That is the one William bought in Chicago for five hundred dollars! Why should a maid wear her master's clothes? That is how she seduced William!"
Evelyn's heart constricted violently. She had left in such a hurry today that she had merely thrown the old coat over herself. Underneath, she was indeed still wearing the dress William had given her—she had worn it against her skin like a treasure.
Isabella's gaze turned terrifying.
"Come here," she commanded Evelyn.
Evelyn glanced at William.
William stood there, his profile hard as iron. He didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on some point in the void, his fingers idly toying with his lighter.
No response. No protection.
Evelyn had no choice but to force herself forward and kneel at the edge of the carpet.
"Take it off," Isabella said coldly.
Evelyn snapped her head up, looking at the noblewoman in disbelief. "Madame?"
"I said, take it off." Isabella used her cane to lift the edge of Evelyn's wet shawl, as if prodding a piece of rotting meat. "The Ashford family's money is not used to wrap such a lower-class creature. Since you are not worthy to wear it, leave it here."
"Here?" Evelyn's voice trembled. The hall was lined with footmen and bodyguards.
"Why? Do you think your body is precious?" Aurora laughed, gloating from the sidelines. "In the Lower East Side, don't women of your sort reveal everything for five dollars?"
Evelyn's fingernails dug into her palms. She looked at William again, her eyes holding one last shred of hope.
William, you said this was my payment.
You said this was my medal.
You said no one dares touch what belongs to you.
"William..." she whispered his name.
William finally moved.
He turned, his grey-green eyes devoid of any ripple of emotion. He looked at Evelyn, shivering on the floor, and then at his enraged mother.
He weighed the options for three seconds.
To fight his mother, who controlled the family trust, for the sake of a useful tool? Or to sacrifice a toy in exchange for peace?
On the merchant's scales, the answer was obvious.
"Mother is right."
William spoke, his voice steady and flat.
"It is just a piece of clothing. Since it offends Mother's eyes, burn it."
Crash.
Something collapsed inside Evelyn's mind.
It wasn't the dress. It was the man who had draped his coat over her on a rainy night, the man who had said "You are my expensive weapon." In this moment, he personally murdered the young girl who had just begun to revive within her heart.
"Did you hear him?" Isabella smiled with satisfaction. "Since William doesn't care, why are you still guarding that skin? Strip it off."
Two burly maids rushed forward, roughly tearing at Evelyn's clothes.
"No... I'll do it myself!" Evelyn screamed, pushing them away.
With trembling hands, she undid the buttons.
The emerald velvet gown—the symbol of dignity and recognition—slid down like a layer of flayed skin, piling up in the dirty, muddy water at her feet.
She was left in only a thin, white chemise, kneeling in the freezing hall, stripped of all dignity.
William didn't look at her again. He walked to Isabella's side and supported the old lady's arm, his tone gentle, almost filial. "Mother, dinner is ready. Don't let such a small matter ruin your appetite."
"Hmph. At least you are still sensible." Isabella stood up. As she passed Evelyn, she didn't even glance down, stepping directly on the expensive gown as she walked away.
Aurora followed behind. As she passed Evelyn, she paused and let out a contemptuous scoff, loud enough only for the two of them to hear:
"Do you see now? This is 'favor'."
"In the Master's eyes, you are less than a dog. A dog is needed to guard the door. But you... you are just a toy to be discarded at any time."
The crowd in the hall dispersed.
Only Evelyn remained, kneeling beside the green dress covered in muddy footprints.
She didn't cry.
The tears she couldn't shed at her mother's bedside were even more impossible to shed now.
She slowly reached out and touched her bare arm, which was covered in goosebumps.
Cold.
It was so cold. Colder than the blizzards of Chicago. Colder than the ice water of the Hudson River.
"Thank you, Mr. William."
She whispered to the empty staircase. There was no hatred in her voice, only a dead, ashen hollowness.
"Thank you for teaching me that Cinderella's glass slippers don't just break; the shards cut into the flesh and rot the feet."
She stood up. She didn't pick up the dress.
Barefoot, she walked across the freezing marble floor, step by step, back to the servants' quarters.
With every step, the soft light of the girl in her eyes extinguished a little more, replaced by a venom accumulated over two lifetimes—a poison darker than the abyss.