Between Two
1366 Words
The word Madam felt heavy, like a title I had stolen and didn't know how to carry.
It sounded strange to my ears—a sharp contrast to the murderer and trash I was called back at August’s manor.
I stood on the gravel driveway of the Old Harrington Manor, staring at the middle-aged man who had greeted me.
I half-expected him to realize his mistake and kick me out onto the street the moment our eyes met.
Instead, he dipped his head in a respectful arc.
"I am the Old Master’s personal butler. You can call me Uncle Hui," he said. He didn't look at me with the cold disdain of August’s staff.
He gave me a smile. A real, gentle smile that reached his eyes.
I was so startled by the lack of malice that I felt my defensive walls waver. I managed to return the gesture, though my lips felt stiff from days of forced stoicism.
"Thank you, Uncle Hui... for receiving me."
"It is my honor, Madam. Please, follow me."
I walked behind him, my right leg dragging slightly despite my best efforts to mask the numbness. Uncle Hui didn't point it out.
As we moved through the sprawling estate, he spoke in a melodic voice, sharing snippets of the history built into the walls we passed.
He pointed out the 18th-century tapestries and the hand-carved banisters that looked like they had grown out of the floor itself.
I had never seen a palace from the inside. I had only seen them in the picture books my grandmother used to read to me when we still had a home.
But if you asked me now, I would say this manor was more expansive, more intimidating than any royal residence.
Every painting seemed to watch me; every suit of armor felt like a guard waiting for me to trip.
Finally, Uncle Hui stopped. We were standing before a set of double doors that opened into a room so vast it made the air feel thin.
From the gold-leaf molding and the upholstery, I knew this was the main living room.
"Please, take a seat here, Madam," Uncle Hui said, gesturing to a high-backed armchair.
"The Old Master will be here shortly."
I sat, but I didn't relax. I was terrified to look anywhere but my own knees. I smoothed the purple silk of my gown, my fingers trembling as I braced myself for the next round of torture.
I expected a cold matriarch to come in and demand to know why I was alive when Winter was dead. I expected to be interrogated until I broke.
Thok. Thok. Thok.
The sound of a cane hitting the floor made me jump. I looked toward the grand staircase.
An aged man, looking every bit of his seventy-five years, was descending. He moved with dignity, his silver hair swept back from a face lined with deep-set wisdom.
Uncle Hui was suddenly at his side, supporting his elbow... I hadn't even noticed when the butler had slipped away to fetch him.
As he reached the final step, I scrambled to my feet. I didn't know how to address him.
Should I call him Chairman? Mr. Harrington? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
He stopped a few feet away, leaning on his cane. His eyes, sharp and clear despite his age, scanned my face, lingering on the layers of makeup Luba had used to hide Martha’s cruelty.
"Don't be scared, child," he said. His voice was warm, like a hearth fire in the middle of a blizzard.
"Call me Grandpa."
The word hit me. It was so unexpected, so diametrically opposed to the hatred I lived with every day, that it felt as if a dam had burst inside me.
My pain ache in my leg and the hollow roar in my soul seemed to recede for a fleeting second.
A single, hot tear escaped my eye and tracked down my cheek before I could catch it.
Grandpa noticed. His expression hardened, but not at me. He looked past me.
"Where is that brat?" he barked at Uncle Hui.
"The Young Master is in the garden, sir," Hui replied softly.
"Call him here! Now!" Grandpa’s voice rose with an authority that made the windows rattle.
"How can he leave his wife alone in a house she doesn't know? He didn't even have the decency to bring her here in his own car... the fool has no shame!"
Panic flared in my chest. If August got scolded because of me, I would be the one paying for it tonight in the dark of our bedroom.
"Grandpa, please... don't scold him," I said, forcing a swift, practiced smile onto my face. I stepped forward, ignoring the protest of my numb limb.
"It isn't his fault. I took far too much time to get ready. I’m the one who caused the delay."
The Old Master looked at me, his eyes narrowing. He saw through the lie immediately.
He saw the way I favored my left side and the way my smile didn't quite reach my shivering eyes.
"Don't talk for that brat," he said, his tone softening but remaining firm.
"I know his blood better than you do. He’s a Harrington; we are stubborn, but we shouldn't be heartless."
"Grandpa? You called for me?"
August walked into the living room, his presence instantly sucking the warmth out of the air.
He walked past me as if I were a piece of furniture, his eyes fixed solely on his grandfather.
"Brat!" the Old Master snapped, slamming his cane down.
"You didn't even care to tell me you were married! If I didn't have my own men keeping watch, you would have kept me in the dark forever. Is this how you treat your elders? Is this how you treat family?"
August shoved his hands into his pockets, a smirk dancing on his lips.
"You have your men to let you know everything anyway, Grandpa. Why should I waste my breath repeating what you’ve already paid to find out?"
"You—!" The Old Master’s face flushed a dangerous shade of red. He gripped his cane.
"Master, please," Uncle Hui stepped in.
"Don't get excited. The doctor said you must keep your calm for the sake of your heart."
August let out a mocking tch and sat down on the sofa opposite me.
In the silence that followed, I felt like an invisible tower—tall, fragile, and waiting to be knocked down.
I was caught between the warmth of a grandfather I didn't know and the frozen hatred of a husband who wished I were dead.
"Hui," the Old Master said, his voice regaining its steady, commanding weight.
"Yes, sir?"
"Ready the Master Suite. These two will be staying here tonight. In fact, they will stay as long as I deem it necessary."
The words felt like a death sentence. August’s head snapped up, his eyes finally landing on me...sharp, accusing, and filled with a fresh, dark promise of retribution.
"We have a home, Grandpa," August said, his voice dropping an octave.
"We don't need to stay here."
"You have a house, August. You don't have a home," Grandpa countered, looking at me with a gaze that felt like a protective shield.
"And until I’m satisfied that my granddaughter-in-law is being treated with the respect she deserves, you will stay under my roof. Is that understood?"
August looked at me then, really looked at me. He saw the purple dress, the expensive concealer, and the way I was clutching the armrest of the chair. He saw my fear, and he blamed me for it.
I looked back at him, my heart breaking for the thousandth time. I wanted to tell him I didn't ask for this.
I wanted to tell him I was just as much a prisoner here as he was. But the words died in my throat.
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- Writer
