After that night at Cassian's mansion, something inside Seraphine hardened. The softness in her touch evaporated. The tremble in her voice steadied. The tears dried, leaving behind a quiet, deadly clarity.
"If he will not choose me," she whispered to her reflection, "then I will make his choice bleed."
Not through blades. Not through public scenes. Not through hysterics.
No. Seraphine Arden would destroy Marienne Lysford the way a storm destroys a ship. Slowly. Ruthlessly. From the inside out.
And to do that, she needed eyes and ears in the one place Marienne hoped to reign victorious.
Cassian's manor.
She had tended those gardens. Walked those halls. Fed kindness into the hearts of the workers.
And the workers remembered.
Every gardener. Every maid. Every stable boy. Every guard who had once seen Seraphine quietly tend to flowers and offer gentle smiles.
They remembered who had made their General almost human.
So when she returned to the back gates, hooded, trembling but determined, they did not shut her out.
A maid approached her first. Young. Timid. Hands stained with ink from copying Cassian's reports.
"My lady," she whispered, glancing around. "Is it true? About the engagement?"
Seraphine's eyes shimmered, but her voice stayed steady. "Yes."
A ripple of pity passed between them. The girl squeezed Seraphine's hand.
"We'll help you."
Another voice spoke up, a stable worker. "We never liked that Lysford woman. She's too loud and too proud. A snake in silk."
Then another, the head maid. "My lady, Cassian was only gentle when you were here. Tell us what you need."
Seraphine exhaled slowly. Her heart was cracked and bleeding, but her mind was sharp as a blade.
"I need information," she murmured. "Everything she does. Everything she says. Every moment she spends in his house."
A beat of silence.
Then someone said, "We will report every detail."
She nodded once.
The web began to weave itself.
---
The rain had stopped before Marienne arrived at the Vale estate once again. Her carriage rolled to a halt in the courtyard, wheels splashing through shallow puddles that reflected the pale morning light. She smoothed her emerald gown, adjusted her pearl earrings, and lifted her chin.
She told herself she had come simply to check on Cassian. To see the progress of their engagement plans. To ensure everything remained under her control.
But beneath the polished confidence, her heart beat unevenly.
Something was wrong.
The last time she had visited, she had felt it. The tension. The coldness. The air thick with unspoken storms.
And Lysander Arden had been there.
The memory still sent a ripple of discomfort through her.
She had arrived just in time to witness the tail end of the commotion. The guards unsettled, the tension sharp, the unmistakable scent of violence lingering in the air.
Cassian's office door had been shut. Voices inside, one strained, one furious. Then a crash.
By the time the door opened and Marienne rushed in, Lysander Arden was already leaving. His breath ragged and hands bloodied.
He hadn't even looked at her. He brushed past as though she were nothing more than furniture.
Inside, Cassian had stood alone. Bruised. Silent. Cold as death.
Marienne swallowed hard at the memory as she stepped out of her carriage.
She had wanted desperately to touch him. To help him. To offer comfort, a cloth, a salve, anything that might ease her fiancé's pain.
But when she reached for his jaw, he had slapped her hand away. Hard. The sting of that rejection still burned.
She walked through the open doors of the mansion now, her footsteps echoing against the marble.
The servants watched her quietly. Too quietly.
Her spine stiffened.
She hated the way they looked at her. The way they didn't lower their eyes in respect, but in pity.
She hated pity.
Forcing a smile, she crossed the main hall. No one returned it. Her jaw tightened.
She moved toward Cassian's office, remembering the last bitter words he had thrown at her.
"If not for your ambition, none of this would be happening."
She had frozen.
Yes, it was ambition. Not just her family's, but her own. The ambition to become his. The ambition to be loved by him. To take his surname. To stand by his side. The ambition to become… his.
He had never taken it back.
Marienne shook the memory away and pressed a hand to the office door. She needed to see him. She needed to make him see her.
She needed—
The hinges creaked softly. She stepped inside.
Cassian wasn't there.
The room was empty, but not quiet.
Footprints marked the carpet. Drops of water dotted the floor. A window stood half open, letting in a cold draft.
Everything felt unsettled.
Marienne tightened her grip on the doorframe.
She told herself she wasn't nervous. Of course she wasn't. She was the bride-to-be. The chosen woman. The victor.
And yet something trembled beneath her skin. Something she couldn't name. Something foreign.
Something like fear.
She inhaled sharply and forced composure as she stepped deeper into the office.