Emily sat alone in the west conservatory, wrapped in a velvet shawl, the soft ticking of the antique clock the only sound between her thoughts. The sunlight outside felt artificial—too clean, too bright for the storm she carried inside.
Across the mansion, Alexander met with someone behind closed doors. Again.
She was done asking for transparency.
She wanted the truth—and not just the slivers she was being fed.
Footsteps approached. Emily looked up.
It was Miranda.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing toward the empty chair.
Emily gave a terse nod.
"I assume you're here to convince me I'm imagining things," Emily said dryly.
Miranda's lips curled. "You're far past that point, darling. I'm here because you need to understand what you're walking into."
"I thought I already was in it," Emily muttered.
"No," Miranda said, voice soft but sharp. "You're still on the edge. Once you cross it, there's no going back. You'll know things that can't be unknowable. You'll be someone the world will either fear… or erase."
Emily looked at her. "Why help me now?"
"Because," Miranda leaned in, eyes gleaming, "I helped build this empire. I've bled for it. But I know when the walls start to crack. And I see a storm coming… one that Alexander may not be able to stop."
Emily's chest tightened. "What kind of storm?"
"Lucien isn't the only ghost returning."
Before she could ask more, Miranda slipped a small envelope onto the table.
"What is it?" Emily asked.
"Proof that your marriage contract was altered," Miranda said. "Clause 27. The one about inheritance."
Emily grabbed it, heart pounding.
"Why give me this?"
Miranda stood, smoothing her coat. "Because sometimes, the best way to survive is to stop being the pawn… and become the queen."
---
That night, Emily waited until the mansion was asleep.
She returned to Alexander's office, the envelope tucked tightly in her hand. She opened the contract—Clause 27 wasn't about inheritance.
It was about bloodlines.
And succession.
It detailed what would happen if an heir was born… and who would control them.
Emily felt sick.
This wasn't just a marriage.
It was an empire's insurance policy.
---
Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of London, Lucien lit a cigarette as he listened to a phone call crackle through an encrypted line.
"She's beginning to uncover it," the voice on the other end warned.
Lucien exhaled slowly. "Good. Let her. The truth will either break her… or remake her."