CHAPTER 9: The Edge of Loyalty
644 Words
Harrison rested against the courtyard's rim, cigarette burning low in his hand, its ember shining like the final reminder of authority he could hold onto. The cold night wind swirled against Blackwood Mansion's walls and brushed against him, but he did not tremble. He never did.
He rested and glared at the greenhouse.
She was in there.
Leya.
He had witnessed the light move from the soiled glass, observed her slip in like a phantom to its source. What did she read in Samuel's notebook? Which page had she turned that altered the very nature of her existence?
He could not have stopped her. Could have. Hadn't.
And that—that doubt—was what had Eleanor pursuing him like a wolf scenting weakness.
She was on one thing correct: Leya was dangerous.
But not that she had envisioned.
Not for defying.
For telling the truth. For not tiptoeing around their dictates like a static, proper puppet.
For regarding him tonight—like he wasn't a monster. But like she viewed right through him.
That irked him.
And worse than that… it made him feel noticed.
He took the final drag and ground the cigarette into the earth beneath his heel, his head spinning in circles as he gazed out into the darkness.
He should have warned her about the contract.
He should have explained to her that she was never in the plan—she was the lever.
A key.
A key to what?
Samuel never trusted anyone entirely—not even his own son.
All that remained were scraps. Rumors. Half-truths such as inheritance, guardianship, ancestry. Bites that had been put on paper and placed inside safes he'd never have the chance to break into until Samuel died. And then too late.
He'd been angry with her. Angry. For having the nerve to step into his world, into a bridal gown she wasn't privy to, putting the ink mark on the agreement she'd never seen an offer of. Now…
Now he was finally realizing—Leya was trapped just as he was.
Perhaps more.
Because someone did not want her there in the way. Someone had whispered at her door, had awakened the ghosts.
And that someone was not him.
He stalked away from the greenhouse and stormed back into the house, his fists clenched with anger.
In Leya's Room.
Leya sat on the edge of her bed, the contract hidden under the floorboard of her rug. Her chest tightened a thousand questions tumbling like a storm inside her head. Her mother's signature on the contract. Samuel's warnings. Eleanor's toxin. Harrison's words.
None of them add up. Not exactly.
What did they know that she did not? Why was she so special? Why had Samuel ordered to keep her safe?
The door creaked open.
She sprang to her feet all at once, breath in the throat—but Shayla, baby sister, alone, eyes opened wide with fright.
"Leya," Shayla whispered. "You must see something."
The breath caught in Leya's throat. "What is it?"
Shayla glanced down the hallway before shutting the door with a quiet noise. She went into her jacket and pulled out a charred envelope, ends burned, wax seal still very neatly so.
"I found it," Shayla said, "in the incinerator chute off the servants' hall. It hadn't fully burned."
Leya took it, her hands trembling. She opened it slowly. There was a letter inside. Samuel's script.
"If this letter reaches you, then it is because I did not finish what I began. Do not trust anyone. Not Harrison. Not certainly Eleanor. If they discover your name—"
The last part of the letter was reduced to ash.
Leya's hands shook.
Who you are.
Her mind reeled.
It wasn't just a question of marriage. Or of inheritance. Of alliances.
This wasn't about who she was.
It was about who.
- Writer
