Rasnov Castle, Eugene's Study,
"Brother, are you alright?"
The heavy oak door closed with a dull thud as Hector entered the study. Worry lined his features—an expression Eugene rarely saw on his usually carefree brother.
The moment Leah had left the drawing room, Eugene had departed the Viscount's house without a backward glance. No parting words for the Viscountess. No explanations. He'd simply walked out, leaving that woman frozen in impotent fury.
Hector had watched the Viscountess's face contort with shock and rage. Even now, the memory sent unease prickling down his spine.
Eugene dropped heavily onto the leather sofa, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"I need to bring Leah here."
"What?" Hector couldn't hide his alarm. "Lady Brennan? To this estate? Brother, you can't be serious—"
"Why not?"
Eugene's expression hardened, blue eyes turning glacial as they fixed on his brother. That look alone made it clear: this wasn't up for debate.
"Brother." Hector chose his words carefully. "Lady Brennan is human. I know you're worried about her, but what happens if she discovers what we are? Do you truly believe she could handle that truth?"
The question struck home. Eugene's jaw tightened because he knew—God, he knew. He didn't want Leah to learn what he was either. He'd seen the terror in her eyes that night, felt her body trembling in his arms. That fear haunted him still.
But then—
Crack!
The sickening sound exploded in his memory, sharp and visceral. Followed by the Viscountess's shrill voice piercing through walls.
Do you have any idea how humiliated I was today because of you!
As they'd left the Viscount's house, Eugene had heard everything. Every cruel word. Every sound of that woman striking Leah.
In that moment, something primal had awakened inside him. The beast beneath his civilized exterior had opened its eyes and snarled.
His control had nearly shattered. If Hector hadn't physically dragged him into the carriage, Eugene didn't know what he might have done. What he would have done.
Even now, fury burned through his veins like acid. In all his long years, he could count on one hand the times he'd felt rage this consuming.
His usually rational mind became something wild and uncontrollable where Leah was concerned. Her pain felt like his own—as if invisible threads bound them together, as if every instinct he possessed demanded he protect her.
Hector poured aged whiskey into crystal glasses. The soft clink of ice broke through the study's tense silence.
"Drink, brother. It might help."
Eugene had been spiraling since they'd left that house—Hector could see it clearly. His brother took the offered glass with a bitter laugh, though they both knew liquor couldn't touch this kind of fire.
Eugene didn't drink for comfort. He drank to delay the inevitable explosion, to leash the beast for just a little longer.
He'd only meant to check on her, to confirm with his own eyes that she was safe. But the moment he'd seen that wretched excuse for a guardian, rage had consumed rational thought.
His gaze grew distant. Throughout his long existence, he'd witnessed countless atrocities. Watched people make convenient excuses to avoid helping those in need. Saw bystanders hide behind logic and self-preservation while the vulnerable suffered.
He refused to be one of them. Not this time. Not with her.
The knowledge that her aunt abused Leah and her disabled brother, controlling their every move, had gnawed at him relentlessly. Her oppressed existence invaded his thoughts, disrupted his careful control.
She'd lost her parents so young. Lived in constant submission to protect her sick brother. The weight she carried on those fragile shoulders, her helpless obedience—it pierced something deep in Eugene's chest.
When he looked at Leah, he saw only gray shadows. No hope. No future. Just endless, crushing despair.
Leaning back against the sofa, Eugene closed his eyes. Unbidden, today's image of Leah rose in his mind. She'd been so thin it hurt to look at her—as if she hadn't eaten a proper meal in months. Every protective instinct he possessed had roared to life.
Why must you suffer so? And why does your pain tear at me like this?
He exhaled slowly and rang the bell. His butler appeared within moments.
"You called, Your Grace?"
"Alex." Eugene's voice turned cold and commanding. "Send a letter to the Viscount's house."
"A letter, Your Grace?"
"Yes. Inform them I wish to see Lady Brennan tomorrow. Immediately. We have the debt to discuss."
"Of course, Your Grace."
After Alex departed, Hector settled into the chair opposite his brother and studied him carefully.
"What's your plan? You're really bringing her here?"
"I have a plan."
The words were absolute. Final. Hector recognized that tone—his brother had decided, and not even heaven itself could change his mind now.
In Eugene's eyes burned a single, unwavering truth: he would rescue Leah Brennan from that hell, no matter the cost.
The Next Day, Albusel Viscount's House
The Viscount's drawing room looked deceptively peaceful in the morning light, but tension crackled through the air. A storm was brewing.
"Mother, what does it say?" Bess twisted excitedly in her elaborate lace gown, cookie crumbs dotting her lips. "Did His Grace invite me? I knew he was captivated by my beauty!"
She bit into another cookie, clearly lost in fantasies of the impossibly handsome Duke.
The Viscountess read the letter once. Twice.
Then her face went white.
Color drained away, replaced by something cold and terrible. She crushed the expensive paper in her fist with a harsh, ragged sound before hurling it into the waste bin.
The violent crumpling shattered the room's false peace.
Everything about that gesture screamed fury. Frustration. Bitter defeat.
Bess blinked at her mother's sudden violence. "What's wrong?"
"You don't need to know." The Viscountess's voice could cut glass. "Stop with your ridiculous fantasies. Where's Leah?"
"Leah?" Bess shrugged, already losing interest. "Kitchen, probably. Or the garden."
She returned to her cookies without another thought—her world extending no further than sweets and daydreams.
The moment Bess spoke, the Viscountess rose with terrible resolve. Her skirts swished sharply as she swept from the room, jaw set with grim determination.
Like a cornered beast, she carried venom in her heart.
The Viscountess stormed into the kitchen, and her voice cracked like a whip.
"Leah! LEAH!"
"Y-yes, Aunt!"
Leah had been washing dishes, hands submerged in cold water. She flinched violently—shoulders hunching, body curling inward before she forced herself to hurry over.
Her wet apron clung to her painfully thin frame. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
"Still doing dishes?" The Viscountess's lip curled. "Lazy girl. Everything you do takes forever."
Each word struck like a physical blow. Leah had risen before dawn, worked without rest until nearly ten o'clock. Her aunt's baseless criticism pierced her heart like needles.
But Leah said nothing. She simply bowed her head and waited for whatever came next.
Like a trained animal. Like someone who'd learned that obedience was the only path to survival.
Seeing Leah's submission, the Viscountess's eyes gleamed with cold calculation. A new scheme was forming.
"After lunch, we're going to the Duke's castle. Prepare yourself."
Leah's heart lurched. "What? His Grace's castle? Me too?"
"Yes. Change into the dress I've prepared." Her aunt leaned closer, voice dropping dangerously low. "And at the Duke's residence, you will not speak unless spoken to. Understand? If you make even the smallest mistake, I won't forgive you. Today I settle matters with the Duke, and you will stand beside me like a ghost—silent and invisible."
Terror gripped Leah's throat. "Yes, Aunt."
She couldn't understand why her aunt needed to "settle matters" with the Duke. Anxiety made her bite her lip until she tasted copper.
She wanted to ask. Desperately. But questions only brought punishment.
So Leah kept her head bowed, staring at her worn shoes. Like those shabby shoes, her entire existence felt threadbare. Worthless.
Finding nothing else to criticize, the Viscountess turned and left with angry strides.
The weight of her fury pressed down on Leah's shoulders, making it hard to breathe.
After lunch, a carriage bearing the Viscountess, Bess, and Leah departed for Rasnov Castle.
Leah wore the dress her aunt had forced on her—an elaborate blue gown more beautiful than anything she'd ever touched. The fabric was expensive, clearly chosen to impress.
But to Leah, it felt like a costume. A disguise concealing her worthless self. The fine silk felt foreign against her skin, as if the dress knew she didn't deserve to wear it.
She felt like a prisoner being led to execution.
Today I'll be her shield, Leah thought dully. Or her scapegoat. Probably both.
Throughout the carriage ride, the Viscountess issued endless warnings.
Don't speak. Don't look at the Duke. Don't do anything—anything—that could be criticized. Keep your eyes down. Stay silent. Be invisible.
Her voice burrowed into Leah's mind like poison, each word a barb twisting deeper. After an hour of psychological torture, Leah felt hollowed out, her energy completely spent.
And yet.
Despite everything, Leah found herself gazing through the carriage window and thinking of him.
Duke Eugene.
Remembering him brought unexpected warmth to her fear-pale cheeks. Those striking features. That intense gaze. The way he'd looked at her as if she actually mattered.
His name felt like light piercing storm clouds. Hope and terror warred within her.
He was so handsome. She'd never seen anyone like him, never felt this strange pull in her chest.
Leah pressed both hands against her racing heart.
Why has His Grace summoned me? Please... please let this be real. Let this be the day I finally escape.
The carriage rattled along the stone road. Time stretched endlessly. Finally—finally—it slowed.
The coachman's voice drifted from outside:
"Madam, we've arrived at Rasnov Castle."
Leah's heart thundered.
Whatever came next would change everything.