The silence that followed was deafening, as though every breath in the room carried unspoken doubts. Acacia's hands curled into the folds of her dress, trying to ground herself, but her chest felt tight. Astor's quiet defense still lingered in the air, yet Dominic's suspicion clung sharper, weighing heavier on her heart than she wished to admit.
The Duchess's hand, soft yet trembling, reached for Acacia's arm. Her voice, though composed, carried the weight of worry that had never left her since the morning began."You've endured enough for one day, my dear. Come, let us return to your chambers. You need rest."
For a moment, Acacia wanted to argue that rest would never soothe the storm inside her, that sleep would not untangle the ache Dominic's doubt had left behind. But when her eyes met the Duchess's, she saw something fragile flicker there. Not only concern, but a quiet plea let me protect you, if only this much.
Acacia nodded, her throat tight. "Yes, Mother."
The word slipped out instinctively, almost startling her. It wasn't the first time she'd said it, yet in that moment, it felt heavier... truer.
The Duchess's lips parted slightly, a soft intake of breath, before she gathered herself with a gentle squeeze of Acacia's hand. The Duke's gaze followed her, firm yet unreadable, as though weighing far more than he allowed to show.
As they walked out of the room, Acacia caught a glimpse of her brothers. Astor's gaze lingered, steady and unshaken, while Dominic had looked away in his eyes a storm she could not yet read. The Duke had leaned back into his chair, posture still taut, the silence around him commanding in its own way.
Acacia let herself be guided away by the Duchess, each step taking her further from the tension that still crackled in the living room, yet closer to the solitude where her emotions would find her raw, unshielded and demanding to be felt.
Acacia's chamber door closed with a muted click, and the silence that followed felt louder than anything the living room had held.
Her composure unraveled the moment she was alone. The stiffness in her spine gave way as she leaned against the door, breath trembling in her chest leaving behind the bare ache of being doubted.
Her eyes burned, though she blinked furiously, as if refusing to let the tears win. Yet they came anyway, spilling hot and unrelenting, soaking into the fabric of her sleeves.
She crossed the room and sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands twisting in her lap as though they could wring away the storm rising inside her.
Why is it always like this? No matter what I do… it's never enough.
Dominic's expression haunted her, the sharpness of his suspicion, the way his words had carried an edge that sliced deeper than he could have known. And Astor's quiet belief, though comforting, only made her chest ache all the more. One brother's faith against another's doubt.
She drew her knees up, curling into herself as though to hide from the world. A hollow laugh escaped her throat, breaking halfway into a sob. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't care so much.
But she did.
Because beneath the ache was a quieter truth that she longed to belong, to be seen without the shadows of suspicion or the whispers of what she might be.
Her fingers pressed against her heart, as if holding it in place could stop the fractures from spreading.
In the stillness, her tears softened, and exhaustion replaced the storm. Her lashes grew heavy and she let herself sink sideways into the blankets, clutching them like an anchor.
Sleep claimed her in fragments, uneasy, restless but within it, the faintest warmth lingered: Astor's steady gaze, like a single light refusing to flicker out.
In the living room, Astor's voice softened only slightly before hardening again. "What's making you doubt her so much?"
Dominic's reply came low, torn between longing and restraint. "I want to believe her… but I can't."
Astor's frustration rippled beneath his skin. His fists clenched, knuckles pale, as he fought to keep his voice steady. "She's our sister, Dominic. Can't you see how much she's already carrying?"
Dominic turned on him, anger flaring like a storm finally breaking. "Don't you realize? Did she really have to be Grey blood?"
His voice cracked, brittle with emotion."I thought it wouldn't change anything, but it will change everything."
The room pulsed with tension, heavy with unsaid things.
"Enough." The Duke's voice cut through the space like a blade, calm, commanding, absolute. The air shifted. He rose slowly, gaze sweeping between his sons, sharp, contemplative, and tinged with something heavier than judgment: concern.
"We will not let emotion blind us, nor suspicion consume us," he said. "What she is and what she carries, will reveal itself in time."
He turned to Dominic, his voice tightening just slightly. "You have seen her. You've observed her. You've lived beside her these past months. Do you truly believe she would impose herself as Chrysanthia Grey? Does that sound like her?"
The question shattered something in Dominic.
He staggered back a step as if struck. His breath caught, shallow and uneven. Silence wrapped around him.
"I—" The word came barely above a whisper. He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to contain the ache rising in his chest. His eyes dropped to the floor, then lifted again vacant and stricken.
Memories surged, her laughter muffled by sorrow, her glances cast too quickly away, the way her shoulders never seemed to rest. He had watched her carry it all, and now… now he saw what he had refused to name.
"I never wanted to doubt her," he breathed. "I was just… afraid."
His voice trembled not with anger, but with regret. "Afraid that if she really was Chrysanthia Grey, I'd lose her. To a world where we'd never be enough for her."
He dragged a hand through his hair, then turned toward the window, as if hoping the morning light might burn away the shame.
"She trusted me. And I repaid that trust with silence and suspicion."
He looked up at last, toward Astor, eyes hollowed by realization. "If she truly is of Grey blood… I'll do anything.. anything, to protect her, to help her find her place again. But…"His voice faltered, the next words dragging like steel against stone. "But I don't know how to protect her from this."
Astor stepped forward, his expression sharp but urgent. "Protection? Really?"
His voice held disbelief, but no scorn, only urgency. "Do you think she'll need protection? Even If she does, we'll all be there."
His hand swept outward, gesturing around the room. "Mother. Father. Me. You. She's not alone in this… and neither are you."
Dominic's shoulders tensed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, barely audible.. "I… I'm not sure what's making me feel this way."
His voice cracked under the weight of his own confusion. "It's like I'm standing on the edge of something I can't see. I want to trust her, I do, but something inside me keeps pulling back. Like… if I let go, I'll lose more than just her. I'll lose the part of me that kept her safe."
He exhaled shakily, a hand brushing over his face. "It doesn't make sense. None of it does."
The Duchess, who had remained seated, finally stirred. Her hands, long clasped tightly in her lap, slowly unclenched. She looked up at her son not with judgment, but with a tenderness that softened every line of her face.
"It does make sense," she said gently. Her voice, though quiet, seemed to fill the room.
"You've loved her like a brother, Dominic. Long before we knew who she might be."
She rose and crossed the room, the rustle of her gown soft against the silence. When she reached him, she laid a hand lightly on his arm.
"You're grieving the sister you thought you had, and the one you might lose to something bigger than us all. That's not weakness. That's love."
Dominic looked up at her, eyes raw and unguarded.
"But love isn't just fear of loss," she continued. "It's what stays when the world starts to shift. It's what holds people together, blood or no blood. She already knows who she is now... Chrysanthia Grey. What matters is that she knows she still has a family here."
She gave his arm the slightest squeeze, grounding him. "And let her find that place with us that she will always belong here."
Her voice softened even more, though it held a quiet strength. "She will always belong here, Dominic. No matter who she is."
She looked between her sons, her gaze steady, unwavering. "This will always be her home. And she can always come back."
Dominic swallowed hard. Her words settled into him like balm over a wound he hadn't stopped picking at.
He nodded once, then again, more slowly the second time, as if trying to convince himself it was true.
"Even if she chooses to leave… at least she'll know we'll be here."
His voice was rough, but steadier now. He looked toward the doorway as if half expecting her to appear. "I think that's what matters most."
He paused, then turned to his mother, his tone gentler than it had been all morning. "Thank you… for reminding me."
Astor stepped closer, his posture easing. "Dom," he said, voice low, the edge gone. "You don't have to carry this alone. You never should."
He hesitated, then offered a faint, wry smile that didn't quite hide his own pain. "You're not the only one who's scared of losing her."
Dominic let out a slow breath, voice barely above a whisper. "Then why does it feel like I'm the only one breaking?"
Astor didn't answer right away. He looked at his brother, truly looked, and in that moment, he saw it all: the guilt, the fear, the love that had no place to land.
"Because you've always loved hardest when it matters most," he said finally. "And you've never been good at admitting when it hurts."
A beat passed.
Then, Astor reached out and clasped the back of Dominic's neck, pulling him into a brief but solid embrace.
"We're in this together. All of us. No matter what her name turns out to be."
Dominic closed his eyes, the weight of guilt and fear loosening its grip, if only just a little.