Chapter 91: Stay With Me
The Ainsley estate was gripped by a tense stillness that night, the kind of quiet that felt like it was holding its breath. Outside, the wind had turned mean — no longer a soft breeze but a sharp, relentless gust that rattled the windows and sent dry leaves skittering across the flagstone driveway.
Inside the grand drawing room, the fire snapped behind a glass - fronted hearth, casting long, flickering shadows over deep velvet drapes and gleaming mahogany floors. The air held a whisper of burnt orange peel and aged paper — notes of a house steeped in wealth and memory. But beneath the curated warmth, tension coiled in the walls like a held breath.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door slammed open.
Reginald stepped inside, the scent of winter clinging to his overcoat, still damp with melting snow. His leather gloves remained on, his hands clenched so tightly they left creases. His eyes, sharp and cold, swept over the room like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Where is she?" His voice cut through the stillness.
Vivienne, standing near the window, folded her arms, steady as ever. "She's upstairs. Sleeping."
"Not for long," Reginald replied without a flicker of softness. "We leave for F••••• at dawn."
The words hung in the room like a guillotine.
Evelyn rose from her chair, jaw tight. "F•••••? You expect to just take her away?"
"I have waited too long," Reginald said, pacing with measured steps. "Lioré needs an heir. I will not delay legacy any further."
"She's a child," Evelyn said sharply. "Not a pawn in your game."
"She is my child," he growled, voice heavy with ownership.
"No," Vivienne stepped forward, her gaze fierce. "She's ours."
He flinched but didn't look away. "She carries my bloodline."
"No she's my bloodline" "She carries her own heart."
"She was born for this," Reginald said, slamming a fist on the mantle, sending a shard of ice crackling in the fire.
"And yet she wants only love," Evelyn said quietly, though her voice held a steel edge. "Not titles, not estates, not distant kingdoms."
Reginald's lips thinned. "She will thank me when she is grown."
"Or she will mourn," Vivienne whispered.
Upstairs, Eva was not asleep.
Curled on the cold, lacquered landing just beyond the sweeping staircase, she wrapped herself tighter in her constellation blanket, the silk edges fraying from love. Her ear pressed to the paneled wall — not because she wanted to listen, but because the house itself seemed to demand it. Every sharp syllable of Papa Reginald's voice cut through the bones of the estate like a piano string wound too tight. The air was heavy with inheritance and expectation, and she, small and silent, was caught in its gravitational pull.
F•••••. Heir. Bloodline.
She didn't understand everything, but she knew enough to feel her chest crack. The word child echoed like a plea. The word heir sounded like a chain.
She didn't cry immediately. Instead, she sat frozen, the blanket tightening around her like armor.
Then the heat surged — sharp, sudden, impossible to contain. It bloomed in her chest like wildfire, searing through silk and bone. Tears slipped down her cheeks in quiet, glistening trails, silvering the dim lacquer of the wood beneath her. At first, her sobs were soft, almost delicate, as if trying not to disturb the house's centuries of composure. But they rose — broken, gasping, unfiltered — until her grief echoed off the paneling like a requiem for something lost too soon.
He doesn't want me. He wants what I can be. Not who I am.
Her breaths came quick and jagged. She shivered in the stillness.
Then, with a sudden, desperate motion, she pushed herself up.
Her bare feet touched down on the cold marble floor, trembling. Then — motion. Urgent, silent, almost frantic. She moved with the grace of instinct, nearly tripping over herself as she descended the grand staircase — not toward the voices that fractured her, but toward the only soul she trusted to gather the shards and make her whole again.
*****
Langford stood shrouded in midnight stillness, its long gravel drive hushed beneath the press of ancestral weight. Eva arrived barefoot, her steps crunching softly over the stones, the cold earth slicing into her soles like glass — but she didn't flinch. Her braids streamed behind her like storm banners, moonlit pins digging into her palms as she clenched her fists, trembling but unyielding. She moved like a ghost with purpose — fragile, furious, and royal in her heartbreak.
She didn't pause. She didn't knock.
She burst through the door to Seraphina's room, where a soft pool of lamplight lit the silk nightgown draped over a reading girl.
"Ina!" Eva sobbed, collapsing to her knees, body shaking with emotion.
Seraphina dropped her book instantly and knelt beside her. "Eva, what's wrong? What happened?"
Eva clung to Seraphina's waist like a lifeline. "I don't want to go to F•••••. Why does my papa say I have to go? Why does he say I'm an heir when I'm just me? I don't want to leave. I just want to stay here, with you."
Seraphina's heart clenched. "Tell me everything."
Eva hiccuped, eyes desperate and bright. "They were fighting—Papa Reginald and Mére — Aunt Vivi and Maman. I heard him say I'm supposed to be the heir. That I have to go tomorrow. But I don't want to be an heir. I want to be your Eva."
Her voice cracked as she buried her face into Seraphina's chest. "I don't understand why he loves me but still wants to take me away. I want to stay in the garden. I want to keep our letters. I want to stay."
Seraphina wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. "You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. I won't let anyone take you away from me."
Eva looked up, eyes wide and glistening. "But… they said they can't stop him. He has power."
Seraphina's fingers brushed Eva's wet hair back. "Power isn't everything. I have you. And I'll protect you."
Eva wailed again, the sound deep and unfiltered, the cry of a heart breaking in real time.
Seraphina stroked her curls, whispering every word she could think of — how Eva was her sun and her whole sky, how blood didn't decide family, how Eva was brave and brilliant and belonged to no one but herself and those who loved her.
Slowly, Eva's sobs softened, her breathing slowed.
Between hiccups, she whispered, "I'm not going home, Ina…"
Seraphina looked down at her, face streaked with tears but voice steady. "Then stay. Here, with me."
Eva's hands curled around Seraphina's arm, and she fell asleep against her chest.
Seraphina stayed still, unwilling to let go.
Hours later, well past midnight, Seraphina quietly called Aunt Vivi.
Vivienne answered without hesitation.
"She's staying here," Seraphina said firmly. "Don't come looking for her tonight."
Silence followed, then Evelyn's voice, soft but resolute. "Let her stay. Tomorrow, when her papa your uncle Reginald leaves, it'll be better."
Seraphina's throat tightened. "Thank you. I'll keep her safe."
"I know you will," Evelyn whispered.
In the quiet darkness of Seraphina's room, Eva finally lay on the bed, wrapped in the constellation blanket Seraphina had brought. Her fists were clenched near her heart, breath shallow, face furrowed as if wrestling with a secret storm.
Seraphina sat beside her, gently brushing tear trails from Eva's cheeks.
How could he think he could just come back and claim her like a prize? How could he not see that she was more than a name or a title?
Eva was not a legacy to be handed over like a token.
She was laughter.
She was light.
She was love.
And Seraphina would fight to keep her.
She slipped her fingers into Eva's small hand and held it tight.
"You're not going anywhere," she whispered fiercely.
Outside, the wind howled again, but this time it sounded like defiance.
*****
Downstairs at the Ainsley estate, the tension lingered like smoke.
Reginald poured himself a drink, his voice low and clipped as Evelyn paced near the grand piano, arms crossed like armor.
Vivienne sat by the fire, her eyes dark and unreadable.
"She ran off in tears," Evelyn said quietly. "Do you feel proud?"
Reginald took a slow sip. "She's sensitive."
"She's a child," Vivienne said sharply. "Not your soldier."
"She needs to understand her place."
"She already does," Evelyn replied. "She just doesn't accept it."
Reginald's gaze flickered with something unreadable. "You've spoiled her with your lullabies and art. She's smarter than a ten year old, not five."
Vivienne's voice cracked. "She's five, Reginald. Five years old. She still believes in magic and Santa Claus. She cries when she drops her glitter jars. She wants to be seen, to be loved. And you — " she stood, meeting his eyes — "you want to hand her a legacy and call it love?" " You're her uncle"
Reginald said nothing.
"She's not your heir," Evelyn said softly but firmly. "She's our daughter. She belongs to the stars she loves and the girl she wants to marry."
Vivienne's voice was steady. "That is strength, too."
And in the quiet of Langford, beneath the indifferent stars, Eva dreamed of Seraphina's lap.
Of warmth.
Of belonging.
Of love deeper than any throne or legacy.
She was home.