Perfect. Here is Chapter 21, written in full prose (about 1,000 words), continuing naturally from Chapter 20.
This chapter focuses on Hyacinth's decision, Selene and the Duchess's private confrontation, and the Duke beginning to plan quietly—showing that the conflict is far from over.
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The manor did not return to normal after the Duke's retreat.
If anything, it became quieter—too quiet. Servants avoided the east wing entirely. Doors closed more softly. Conversations ended when footsteps approached. The house was holding secrets again, but this time they were dangerous ones.
Hyacinth stood by the window in the small guest room Selene had insisted she use. Beyond the glass, the gardens lay calm, trimmed into perfect obedience. She had once walked those paths as a maid, eyes lowered, careful not to draw attention.
Now she stood there as something far more unsettling to the household.
A reminder that things had changed.
And that frightened her more than anger ever could.
A knock sounded.
Hakeem's voice followed, hesitant. "May I come in?"
She turned. "Yes."
He entered slowly, as though afraid she might disappear if he moved too quickly.
"I heard you were given this room," he said.
"Selene insisted."
A pause.
"You're thinking about leaving," Hakeem said—not accusing, just knowing.
Hyacinth exhaled. "I don't want to cause more damage."
"You're not damage," he said firmly.
She met his gaze. "Your father will never stop seeing me as a threat."
"Then he'll have to learn," Hakeem replied.
Hyacinth shook her head. "Not everything can be fought head-on. Sometimes survival means stepping away before you're crushed."
Silence stretched between them.
Hakeem's voice softened. "If you leave… will you come back?"
Hyacinth hesitated. That hesitation said more than words ever could.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I don't want to run anymore. Not without purpose."
He nodded slowly. "Then stay—for now. Let things settle. Let Selene breathe. And if you choose to go later… I won't stop you."
Her eyes glistened. "Thank you. For not trying to cage me the way he does."
Hakeem almost smiled. "I'd sooner burn the cage."
For the first time since dawn, Hyacinth felt steady.
Selene found her mother in the sunroom that afternoon, seated stiffly with a cup of untouched tea. The Duchess looked older today—lines deeper, posture more fragile.
"May I sit?" Selene asked.
The Duchess nodded.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Selene said quietly, "You defended me."
"I defended what should have been protected long ago," the Duchess replied.
Selene swallowed. "Why didn't you stop it sooner?"
The Duchess closed her eyes.
"Because I was afraid," she admitted. "Afraid of losing status. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of him."
Selene's voice trembled—not with anger, but grief. "So was I."
The Duchess looked at her daughter fully then, as if truly seeing her for the first time.
"I thought obedience would keep you safe," she whispered. "I didn't realize it was killing you."
Selene reached across the table and took her mother's hand.
"I don't want revenge," Selene said. "I want change. Even if it's slow. Even if it hurts."
The Duchess squeezed her hand tightly. "Your father won't forgive this easily."
"I know," Selene said. "But I'm no longer asking permission to exist."
Something broke open in the Duchess's chest—quiet, painful, and necessary.
"Then neither will I," she said.
That evening, Vincent returned from the lower district with a familiar grin—and unfamiliar tension behind his eyes.
Hakeem noticed immediately. "What happened?"
Vincent shrugged. "Ran into an old acquaintance. Someone who knows Father's allies better than I'd like."
Selene frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Vincent said lightly, "Father isn't sulking. He's planning."
Hakeem's jaw tightened. "Against us?"
"Against influence," Vincent replied. "Which unfortunately includes you, Selene—and you," he added, nodding toward Hyacinth.
Hyacinth stiffened.
"Great," Vincent continued. "Political pressure, quiet threats, maybe a marriage proposal or two dropped into the wrong ears."
Selene straightened. "Then we prepare."
Vincent blinked. "You're not scared?"
"I am," she admitted. "But I won't fold."
He smiled then—proud, genuine. "Well. Look at you."
In his study, the Duke stood before a map of alliances pinned with careful precision. Letters lay open on his desk, seals broken.
The Duchess's words echoed in his mind.
You have ruled this household alone for too long.
His jaw tightened.
"They think they've won," he muttered.
A servant hesitated at the door. "My lord… should we cancel the upcoming negotiations?"
The Duke turned slowly.
"No," he said. "We proceed. Quietly."
He folded one letter and slid it into his coat.
"Defiance has consequences," he continued calmly. "They will learn that freedom is not free."
The servant bowed and withdrew.
The Duke stared into the fire, eyes sharp with resolve.
"This house will not fall," he said softly. "Not by my children's hands."
That night, the siblings gathered in Selene's room once more. Hyacinth sat with them this time—not apart, not hidden.
"Whatever comes next," Selene said, "we face it together."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that sentence usually precedes chaos."
Hakeem nodded. "Let it come."
Hyacinth took a steady breath. "I'll stay—for now."
Hakeem met her eyes. "That's enough."
Outside, the manor lights burned steadily against the dark.
Inside, lines had been drawn.
And none of them could be erased.