My hands are shaking so violently that the brass candlestick in my grip rattles against my fingers. A hot, roaring fire surges through my veins, completely melting away the fear that kept me locked in my room for forty-eight hours.
No love. Just a liability. Just a political shield to save their own necks.
The old, timid Elanore would have broken down. She would have fled back to her bedroom, buried her face in her silk pillows, and cried herself to sleep, throwing a tantrum in the dark because her family didn't love her.
But I am Sara. And I have had enough of the silence.
BANG!
I throw my weight against the heavy double doors, barging right into the private study. The wood slams against the interior walls with a deafening crash that echoes like thunder through the quiet upper wing.
The Duke and Orlando whirl around instantly, their faces instantly draining of color. Orlando's hand instinctively flies toward the hilt of his sword, his silver-blue eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and disbelief. The Duke freezes mid-stride, his frosty, aristocratic mask completely shattering into a look of absolute, unadulterated shock. They stare at me as if a ghost has just walked through the walls.
"Who is this 'He' person, Father?!" I demand, my voice cutting through the tense air of the room like a whip. I march straight toward the massive mahogany desk, glaring directly into the Duke's stunned eyes. "Who are you referring to?"
"Elanore..." Orlando stammers, his voice cracking. "What are you—"
"Who is trying to investigate this matter that makes the great Duke of Valerius so terrified?!" I interrupt him, turning my furious gaze from my brother back to my father. "Is it someone I know? Is it someone who is dear to me? Tell me, Father! Who is that person?!"
Silence descends upon the study, heavy and suffocating. Neither of them moves. They don't expect this from me. They are waiting for the tears, the screaming, the predictable breakdown of the magicless defect who always shrinks under their glare. But instead, I stand before them with a straight spine and an unyielding gaze, demanding answers to a corporate conspiracy that involves my very life.
The Duke's eyes widen, the icy composure completely draining from his face as he looks at me. For the first time since I woke up in this body, I see his lips tremble. When he finally speaks, the powerful, commanding voice of the head of the family is gone, replaced by a low, shaky vibration.
"It is your fiancé," the Duke says, his voice shaking as the words slip out.
The name hits me like a physical strike.
"Arthur," the Duke whispers, his voice shaking as the word slips out. "Your fiancé, Arthur. He is the one who insists on finding the answers."
"He wants to find out the truth himself," the Duke continues, his hands gripping the edge of his wooden desk so hard his knuckles turn white. "He is forcing our hand, Elanore. He made it perfectly clear: if he can't find the answer from us, he will appeal directly to the Imperial family and request a full investigation. And if His Majesty grants his request... we will be completely finished. Our house's dignity will fall into an abyss from which we will never recover."
As he finishes his words, a brutal and cold smile comes to my lips.
"Oh," I say, my voice steady but dripping with quiet sarcasm as I look directly into my father's eyes. "I thought you really loved me. For a moment, when I heard you were investigating so intensely, I actually thought you cared for me. But I was wrong."
I take a step back, shaking my head. "How could I have even expected something like that from you? I shouldn't have."
The Duke and Orlando both freeze, entirely caught off guard by the sharp, biting dignity in my voice. Before they can even process my words, my office brain takes complete control of the situation. If Arthur is the one holding the leash, then Arthur is the one I need to manage.
"Fine," I say, lifting my chin, my tone turning sharp and strictly business. "I will talk to Arthur. I will convince him that everything is better now, so he should stop pushing for this investigation."
I cross my arms, looking between the two stunned men. "I'll tell him that continuing this will only hurt my reputation as his future bride. If I convince him myself, he will back down, and there will be no problem for the family, right? So you don't need to stress over this anymore."
I turn on my heel before either of them can utter a single word, leaving the great Duke of Valerius and his heir standing in the stunned silence of the dark study, completely re-evaluating the girl they thought they knew.
I turn on my heel to leave, but the moment my back is to them, the fierce corporate mask I just put on begins to shatter.
Suddenly, a violent, suffocating pressure clamps down on my chest. My heart squeezes so hard it physically aches, throbbing with a phantom agony that completely catches me off guard. It is a terrifying, entirely unknown feeling. Sara—the professional, logical woman from the modern world—has never felt a pain like this. It feels as if my heart is made of brittle glass, and someone has just smashed it into a thousand jagged pieces.
What is this? I think frantically, gasping for air as I stumble toward the doorway. Why does it hurt so much? Then, it clicks. This isn't my pain. This is the lingering echo of the real Elanore's soul, deeply embedded in the fibers of this body. Her soul is reacting to the cruel words of her father. She is the one crying out in agony after hearing that the family she spent her whole life trying to please views her as nothing but a worthless liability.
"Elanore! Wait!"
Orlando's voice cuts through the dark study, sounding panicked. I hear his heavy, hurried footsteps rushing across the floorboards after me.
"You should listen to us," he calls out, reaching a hand toward my shoulder. "You are completely misunderstanding us!"
I freeze at the threshold, his words making a cold, cynical laugh bubble up in my throat. I don't turn around, but my shoulders stiffen as I look over my shoulder, my eyes flashing with pure disgust in the moonlight.
Oh, I think bitterly, my mind racing with absolute clarity. Now that your precious family reputation depends entirely on my ability to handle Arthur, you're suddenly chasing after me? Now you are pretending to care?
The desperation in his voice doesn't touch me. It only sickens me. They don't care about Elanore's broken heart; they only care that their golden shield is walking out the door.
"Don't touch me," I say, my voice dangerously low, dripping with a venom they have never heard from this body before. "I am not stupid, Orlando. And I am done listening to your excuses."
With the ghost of Elanore's grief tearing at my chest and my own fury grounding my steps, I break away from his reach and storm out into the shadow-drenched hallway, leaving them entirely behind in the dark.
Orlando's hand freezes mid-air, completely paralyzed by the raw, biting coldness in my voice. Both he and the Duke stare at me in stunned, dead silence, their eyes wide as they take in an expression they have never seen on Elanore's face before—one of absolute, freezing disdain.
They don't try to call out to me again. They don't dare to follow me or disturb my steps as I step away from the threshold. The sheer shock of my icy words roots them to the spot, leaving a heavy, suffocating awkwardness settling between them in the quiet study. For the first time, a strange, unfamiliar pang of regret ripples through their silence, but I don't care enough to look back and analyze it. I don't want to waste another second of my life thinking about them.
I stumble back down the long, shadow-drenched hallway, my vision blurring as the phantom heartbreak inside my chest grows so heavy it makes my lungs ache. Why are they like this? I think bitterly, a hot tear finally spilling over my eyelashes. How could they be so cruel? How could Elanore have spent her entire life expecting them to be nice, expecting them to show even a shred of genuine care? By the time I finally slam my bedroom door shut and lock it behind me, the fierce corporate armor completely disintegrates. I collapse onto the heavy silk sheets of my bed, pulling the blankets tightly around my shoulders as the shild finally breaks.
The tears come thick and fast, but as I sob into the pillows, the grief shifts. I stop weeping for the cruel family in this mansion, and I begin to weep for my own. In the quiet safety of the dark room, the crushing weight of homesickness takes over. I miss the sound of my real family's voices. I miss the simple, warm comfort of the life I left behind, a life where I didn't have to fight tooth and nail just to survive an assassination plot.
I cry until my throat is raw, letting all the exhaustion, the fear, and the anger of the last days. Slowly, the violent throbbing in my chest begins to dull into a numb, hollow ache. My eyelids grow incredibly heavy, weighed down by the sheer emotional exhaustion of the night.
Wrapped in the heavy, unfamiliar luxury of Elanore's bed,Sara closes her eyes and drift into a deep, dreamless sleep—completely unaware of the storm that awaits for her when the sun rises .