Chapter. 1
My fingers traced the dust from the windowpane as I watched the sleek black car pull to a stop across the narrow street. Another wealthy client visiting the alley—nothing unusual there. But when the door swung open and that familiar arrogant stride emerged, my breath caught. Damien Randolph. The man who was supposed to be my husband until last week.
A sigh escaped me. I hadn’t even met him properly, just glimpses from afar during the arrangements when we were still kids. Still, Mother’s face when the news came—tight, controlled, but I saw the flicker of disappointment. In this world, a broken engagement stains the family, whispers of impropriety clinging like cheap perfume. They’d say I lacked virtue, that something must be wrong with me. Apart from my reputation being soiled, it would became difficult to get married, but my case was somewhat special. Since I was the daughter of a high-class p********e and it was common for rich families to annull their marriage with people of my caliber, I didn't need to face those problems.
I let the curtain fall back into place, shutting out the sight of him. The Randolph name meant nothing to me and except for the fact that my mother will be mocked by her friends, I had no problems
The stairs creaked under my feet as I descended. Before I reached the bottom, arms wrapped around me from the side, squeezing tight.
“Lilly!”
I turned my head. Madeline’s wild curls brushed my cheek, her perfume a familiar mix of jasmine and tobacco.
“Linny!” I laughed, hugging her back. Her dress smelled of smoke and sweet wine. “You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s nearly evening, silly.” She pulled back, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “Look what I brought you.”
She thrust a small paper bag into my hands. I grabbed it eagerly—Madeline always brought things back from her outings. The crinkle of the paper was a happy sound. I peeked inside and my heart leapt. Chocolate pastries, my favorite, from that fancy bakery near the theater district.
I turned and hugged her again, beaming. “You remembered!”
She ruffled my hair, her smile soft. “Of course I did. Who else would I spoil?”
I was about to ask how her night had been when a cool voice cut through the warmth.
“Madeline.”
We both turned. Mother stood at the foot of the stairs, her posture perfect, her dark hair swept back. Her silver eyes moved over Madeline with a slow, critical sweep.
“Don’t you know the first thing a lady is supposed to do is bathe when she gets home?” Her tone was light, almost pleasant, but I heard the disdain underneath. “Especially if she reeks of alcohol.”
Madeline just giggled, swaying slightly. “But Mother, if I go up now, Lilly will be sad. I just got here.”
“Nonsense. Go. Now.”
Madeline pouted but didn’t argue further. She squeezed my hand before trudging up the stairs, her steps a little unsteady. Mother watched her until the door to her room clicked shut.
Then she turned to me. I was still standing by the couch, the pastries clutched in my hand. I hadn’t moved.
Her gaze was sharp, assessing. I offered a small, hopeful smile, trying to show I meant no trouble.
Some of the sternness left her face. She sighed, walking closer.
“You know your sister just came back from work,” she said, her voice quieter now, but still firm. “Yet you still pester her for a gift. And even if you didn’t, with how drunk she is, you should have advised her to go take a bath. It’s for her own good.”
My smile faltered. I hadn’t pestered her. I hadn’t even known she was home. But the words stuck in my throat. My eyes began to sting.
Her expression shifted when she saw my face. The scolding tone vanished. She looked almost… pained.
She sighed again, deeper this time, and turned away without another word, leaving me standing there with my pastries and my unshed tears.
My head stayed lowered even after the front door clicked shut. The tears I’d been holding back blurred my vision, hot and insistent. I squeezed my eyes tight, but a soft sob escaped anyway.
Footsteps approached, light and quick across the floorboards. Then arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a gentle hug. A familiar scent—jasmine and clean linen—filled my senses as a hand patted my back in slow, comforting circles.
“It’s okay, don’t cry.” Catherine’s voice was soft, close to my ear. “I know how you feel, but you know Mum didn’t mean to scold you. She was only angry with big sis.”
I nodded against her shoulder, my own arms coming up to clutch at her dress. The tears finally spilled over, dampening the fabric. She just held me tighter, letting me cry it out until the shuddering in my chest began to ease.
After a few minutes, I managed to pull back, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. Catherine smiled softly, her green eyes full of warmth. That’s when I noticed she was still in her outing clothes—a deep blue dress with delicate embroidery at the cuffs. She hadn’t even had a chance to change.
“You should go rest,” I urged, my voice still a little thick. “You must be tired.”
She laughed, a light, musical sound. “Always worrying about everyone else. You’re too sweet, Lilly.” She reached into the small purse hanging from her wrist and pressed a small, neatly wrapped parcel into my hand. “For you. Now stop looking so sad.”
Before I could say anything else, she turned and started up the stairs. I watched her go, noticing the slight slump in her shoulders, the way she moved with a quiet weariness. My chest tightened. She’d come home exhausted, and the first thing she did was comfort me.
I didn’t deserve her kindness. Mum was right—I should have been more thoughtful.
Clutching the small gift, I made up my mind. I would take better care of my sisters. They worked so hard.
The clock in the hall chimed, reminding me it was time to start dinner. I hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the woven grocery bag from its hook, and called out to Martha, one of the maids, that I was heading to the market.
The afternoon sun was warm on my skin as I stepped outside. Heads turned as I walked—some stares lingered too long, some were sharp with envy, others soft with admiration. I kept my eyes forward, my pace steady, used to the attention but never comfortable with it.
At the vegetable stall, I spotted a bundle of fresh asparagus. Perfect for Catherine. I reached for it just as another hand—larger, with strong knuckles and a smooth long fingers—swooped in and snatched it first.
Startled, I turned my head.
A man stood there, holding my asparagus. He wasn’t looking at me but at the vendor, already pulling coins from his pocket. He had the build of a laborer, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his expression still and calm, as if he hadn’t even noticed I was there.
