I watch the softening of the Duke's eyes and the silent, awkward stillness of Orlando. I see the cracks in the ice, and I know exactly where to strike.
The atmosphere in this house is finally changing, and I feel a surge of quiet power. I will make sure it keeps changing, I think to herself. I will change everyone and everything in this cold estate.
I flick my gaze toward the Duchess. She is a statue of suppressed rage, her knuckles white as she grips her napkin. And as for you, I promise silently, I will teach you a lesson that will change you, too. You won't be able to hide behind your cold masks much longer.
A slow, confident smile spreads across my lips. To my surprise, the Duke doesn't scold me for the expression. He doesn't call me "mad" or "disrespectful." He simply returns to his meal as if my new boldness is something he is beginning to expect.
With a sense of triumph, I finish my breakfast. Every bite tastes like victory. I have set the stage, and for the first time since waking up in this world, I am not the one being managed—I am the one managing the room.
The Duke sets his napkin down and looks at me with a gaze that is firm once again. The brief warmth from earlier is tucked away behind his professional mask.
"I have an announcement," he says, his voice commanding the room. "After lunch, I am leaving to conduct an urgent investigation. I will be busy and away from the estate for the next two days."
The Duchess perks up instantly, a sharp glint returning to her eyes. I feel a chill. With him gone, she is the highest authority in this house.
The Duke turns his eyes toward me. "Behave yourself, Elanore. I do not want to hear a single complaint about your conduct when I return. If I do, I will not be as patient as I was this morning. There will be punishments. Am I understood?"
I don't flinch. I don't look like the old Elanore who would have pouted or cried. I look him straight in the eye and give a small, confident smile.
"You have nothing to worry about, Father," I say smoothly. "I have become a mature and responsible person. I will comply with everyone and keep the peace while you are away. You will return to a quiet home."
Orlando looks at me, surprised by my calm promise. The Duke studies my face for a long moment, searching for a lie, but finds only the steady gaze of a woman who knows exactly how to handle herself.
"I will behave properly, Father," I say, my voice soft but firm.
As they prepare to rise from the table, I decide to take the "buttering up" one step further. I don't just want to be obedient; I want to be the heart of this family.
"Father, please take care of yourself while you are away," I add, looking him in the eye. I turn to Orlando. "And you, Brother—you should not miss your meals or your dinner. Please take proper rest. Don't always bury yourself in work like you usually do. I don't want to see you exhausted. I will be very sad if you don't stay healthy, so please, follow a good diet while I'm not watching."
Orlando freezes. He looks at me with wide, surprised eyes, his mouth opening and closing as if he's searching for a retort that won't come. The Duke falls silent too, his usual cold authority replaced by a visible, awkward stillness.
I notice it immediately—the slight flush on Orlando's ears, the way the Duke avoids my gaze. They are embarrassed. My mind recognizes this immediately: they aren't used to being cared for out loud.
A realization hits me. Maybe there was always warmth between them, buried deep under the ice of the Villiers name. Maybe they did care, but they didn't know how to show it—and the real Elanore was too young and too hurt to understand their silent concerns.
I am twenty-five years old, I remind myself with a secret smile. I am old enough and wise enough to understand everything they can't say.
The Duke clears his throat, finally breaking the silence. "If that is your wish, Elanore... then we will keep it in mind. I shall return in good health."
With that, they turn to return to their rooms. The walk is silent, but for the first time, it doesn't feel cold. It feels like a promise.
The Duke and Orlando are gone, and with them, the small spark of warmth we shared has vanished. The house feels colder than ever. I can almost feel the Duchess's eyes tracking me through the walls, waiting for me to slip up.
I can't face her alone. Not yet. My modern confidence is wavering under the sheer weight of this family's "cold stairs." To avoid the biting silence of the dining hall, I retreat. I take every meal—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—in the quiet safety of my bedroom. It's the only way to escape the suffocating atmosphere downstairs.
But being alone with my thoughts is its own kind of trap.
I sit by the window, staring at the alien sky, and my heart aches for my old apartment. I think about my parents and the life I left behind. It wasn't perfect—it was complicated, and the financial pressure was a constant weight on my shoulders. We struggled, and I worked myself to the bone to keep us afloat.
But it was mine.
A tear slips down my cheek, but I quickly brush it away. I can't afford to be weak. Whether I am in my old world or this one, the mission is the same: I have to be strong. My family back home would want me to survive. I have to pull myself together, find my place again, and prepare for the Duke's return.