“Good morning, Father!”My voice was almost too bright—like the sun spilling through the gauzy curtains, warm and deceptive.The scent of his black coffee curled in the crisp morning air, mingling with the faint hint of ink from his freshly pressed newspaper.
Surprise flashing across his features, he looked up before it melted into something softer.Something pleased.The paper crinkled in his hands as he set it aside, his full attention settling on me like an embrace I had once sought but now endured.
“Elizabeth,” he greeted, his tone infused with warmth.“What brings you down so early?”
I stepped forward, leaning in to press my lips to his cheek—a daughter’s affection or perhaps the prelude to a betrayal yet unseen.
I met his gaze as I sat across from him at the small table where he took his solitary meals.“I have been thinking, Father,” I said, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my gown as if to still the storm beneath my skin.“I realized you were right.I want to take on my responsibilities.I want to join your society.”
The words hung between us, weighty with unspoken truths, heavy with deception.
I saw it for the first time in my life—true pride flickering in his eyes, a rare and dangerous thing.He did not question me, did not hesitate.Because, in his mind, this was inevitable.
“You’ve made the right decision, Elizabeth,” he declared, his voice swelling with paternal satisfaction.“I knew you would come around.You were always meant for this.”
A chill slithered down my spine, but I forced a smile, tilting my head in a way that made me look demure and obedient.He saw what he wanted to see.
Good.
A soft knock at the door broke the moment, followed by the delicate hush of footsteps across the plush carpet.A maid approached, her gaze politely lowered.“Lady Elizabeth, what will you have for breakfast?”
“Just tea, please.And bread with butter.”
My stomach was already a battlefield, twisting itself into intricate knots that could rival the finest lace.I doubted I could stomach anything more substantial—not when my mind was already steeped in something more consuming.
Across from me, my father had already returned to his paper, The Daily Courant, claiming his attention again.I had just given him the greatest news—the supposed fulfillment of his ambitions for me—and yet, already, I was invisible again.The world’s affairs ensnared him, his mind wandering through ink and print while I sat in silence, nibbling at the crust of my bread.
A daughter.A future heir.And yet, still, a shadow.
I was considering whether to break that silence when the butler’s voice sliced through the quiet, shattering the fragile peace of the morning.
“My lord, Lord Hassan has arrived.Shall I see him in?”
I barely had time to react before my father nodded, glancing up from the page.
But I felt it.
A pulse—an unbidden rush of warmth spreading through me like fire in my veins, an embarrassing tide rising fast.
The door opened, and then… him.
Lord Amir Hassan.
The man who seemed to bend the air around us, shifting it into something heavier, something charged.The room had felt cool moments ago, but now, with each step he took, the temperature seemed to climb.
Damn him.
I clenched my fists in my lap, forcing my breath to steady, my pulse to slow.Stop.Don’t have feelings.
I had to remind myself—he declined to help me.He was a murderer, just like Lord Winston.
He was a member of my father’s organization.A killer.A man steeped in blood and shadow.
I repeated it like a prayer, a lifeline, something to anchor me against the tide of emotions threatening to pull me under.
And yet…
As I whispered those words in my mind, my heart betrayed me.
