chapter 2
804 Words
In the Ashford mansion
A maid escorted her upstairs.
“This will be your room, Mrs. Ashford.”
She stepped inside. The space was vast, elegant, impersonal. No sign of Silas. No trace that a groom was meant to share it.
Evelyn showered, letting the water run until her skin burned, as if it could wash away the weight of the day. She changed into a simple nightdress and sat on the edge of the bed.
She waited.
The clock ticked past eleven. Then midnight.
Silence.
At some point, exhaustion dragged her into sleep.
Morning.
The other side of the bed was untouched. Cold. Smooth.
He had never come.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Breakfast is served, Mrs. Ashford,” a maid announced.
Mrs. Ashford.
The title felt heavier than the diamond tiara had.
Evelyn dressed modestly and made her way downstairs.
Isabella was already seated at the dining table, serene, composed, her smile delicate and poisonous.
“Silas left at dawn,” Isabella said lightly. “Urgent business. He asked me to inform you.”
He had asked his sister.
Not his wife.
Evelyn gave a small nod. She refused to let Isabella see even a flicker of reaction.
Isabella tilted her head. “You should try not to look so resentful. It makes people uncomfortable.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around her teacup.
“At least I don’t make a habit of stealing.”
For a fraction of a second, Isabella’s expression hardened.
Then—
A sharp gasp.
The cup slipped. Tea splashed. Porcelain shattered.
Footsteps echoed at the entrance.
Liam and Melissa Ashford had just walked in.
Isabella clutched her reddened hand, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“I know you hate me,” she said softly, voice trembling, “but this was unnecessary.”
She never said Evelyn had burned her.
She didn’t need to.
Melissa Ashford’s gaze turned glacial.
“Evelyn.”
Just her name. Heavy. Condemning.
Evelyn stepped forward. “This isn’t what it looks like. She—”
“We will discuss this later,” Melissa said curtly, already guiding Isabella away. “Come. We’re going to the hospital.”
The room fell quiet.
Liam Ashford remained.
He did not raise his voice.
He simply looked at Evelyn as though assessing a flawed acquisition.
“I was prepared to believe the situation at the university had been exaggerated,” he said evenly.
A pause.
“But this behavior, on your first morning here, reflects poorly.”
“You misunderstand,” Evelyn replied, her throat tightening. “She provoked me and then—”
“That will be enough.”
The words were calm. Absolute.
He adjusted his cufflinks with meticulous precision.
“Silas will return in a week. Until then, I suggest you learn what it means to belong to this family.”
He turned away, then added quietly,
“I expected better.”
And he left.
The servants avoided her gaze as they cleaned the shattered porcelain.
The dining hall, moments ago filled with quiet civility, now felt cavernous.
Evelyn stood alone at the center of it.
No one had asked what truly happened.
No one had wanted to.
In this house, truth was irrelevant.
Only perception mattered.
And Isabella controlled it.
Evelyn stepped out of the dining hall after the last of the broken porcelain had been cleared. The faint scent of tea still lingered in the air, but there was no trace left of what had happened. It was as if the incident had already been erased, along with any version of truth that did not favor the Ashfords.
She paused briefly in the corridor, her gaze moving across the vast interior. If she was going to live here, she needed to understand the place. No one had offered to guide her, and she knew by now that no one would.
So she began on her own.
The mansion was larger than it had first appeared. Long corridors stretched endlessly, lined with polished wood and soft lighting. Every detail spoke of wealth and control. Yet despite its grandeur, it felt cold—more like a display than a home.
Evelyn opened the first door she came across. It was a guest room, immaculately prepared, untouched by presence. The second room was no different, nor the third. Each one was perfectly arranged, as though waiting for people who never arrived.
She moved further down the corridor, her steps quiet, her expression composed. At the far end, a darker door caught her attention. It stood apart from the others, heavier in appearance, almost deliberate in its isolation.
She reached for the handle and turned it.
Locked.
Before she could try again, a voice came from behind her.
“Miss Evelyn, that is Mr. Silas’s study. You are not allowed to enter without his permission.”
- Writer
