CHAPTER 113: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN

While the tension in the pavilion reached its breaking point, the rest of the estate was moving in a calm, rhythmic cycle.

In the Dowager Duchess’s private chambers, the atmosphere was peaceful. Beatrice sat in her favorite armchair by the window. The room was warm and cozy.

Mrs. Alma, the head housekeeper, poured a cup of herbal tea. The steam rose in the afternoon light.

Outside the window, in the corridor, two young maids walked past, carrying baskets of laundry. They were chatting, their voices low but audible through the open window.

"The sunset is so beautiful today," one maid said.

"Yes," the other replied. "The garden looks like gold. The flowers are closing for the night. It is the perfect weather for a walk. I wish I could finish my chores on time and take a short walk."

Beatrice heard them. She looked out the window at the golden light hitting the trees. She sighed, a sound of longing. She had been cooped up inside all day, drinking herbal tea and watching family drama.

She turned to Mrs. Alma.

"Let us visit the garden, too," Beatrice said, putting down her tea. "I would love to relax a bit, walk around a little bit, before going to my bedchamber. The fresh air will do me good."

Mrs. Alma nodded respectfully. She put the teapot down.

"Of course, Your Grace," Mrs. Alma said. "I will get your shawl. The evening air can be cool."

Mrs. Alma fetched a thick, warm shawl and wrapped it around Beatrice’s shoulders. She offered her arm for support.

"Shall we go to the pavilion?" Mrs. Alma suggested. "It has the best view of the sunset."

"Yes," Beatrice said, smiling. "That sounds lovely."

Slowly, the Dowager Duchess and her loyal servant made their way out of the room and headed toward the garden.

In the other wing, the hallway outside Carlos and Ashlyn’s chambers was quiet.

Senna walked down the hall. She was dressed in a simple blue dress, trying to look like a humble guest, but her eyes were sharp and alert. She had a role to play. Ashlyn had recruited her the day before, thinking they were allies. Senna had agreed, but she had her own agenda.

She stopped in front of the heavy wooden door. She smoothed her hair and took a deep breath. She raised her hand and knocked. Three sharp raps.

Knock...

Knock..

Knock.

Inside, Carlos was sitting on the bed, counting coins from a small pouch. He looked up at the knock. He quickly hid the money under a pillow, thinking it was Ashlyn knocking and walked to the door.

He opened it. He was surprised to see Senna standing there. He knew her as his brother’s "guest," the woman who had caused so much trouble.

"My Lord," Senna said, curtsying deeply. Her voice was soft and respectful.

"Lady Senna," Carlos said, looking her up and down. "What is it?"

"I bring a message from your wife," Senna lied smoothly. She looked worried. "Lady Ashlyn is in the garden pavilion. She sent me to find you."

"Is something wrong?" Carlos asked, his brow furrowing.

"She says the pavilion is drafty," Senna explained. "The wind is picking up as the sun sets. She is worried about... her condition. She requests that you bring her a warm cloak immediately."

Carlos’s face softened. His concern for the child she’s carrying was his primary motivation.

"Of course," he said, nodding vigorously. "She must not catch a cold. It would be bad for the baby."

He turned back into the room. He grabbed Ashlyn’s heaviest, fur-lined cloak from the wardrobe. He threw it over his arm.

"I will go to her now," Carlos said, stepping out into the hall.

"You are a good husband, My Lord," Senna said with a sweet smile.

Carlos puffed out his chest, pleased by the compliment. He hurried down the hallway, heading for the stairs that led to the garden.

Senna watched him go. Her smile lingered, but it turned cold.

"Run along," she whispered to his retreating back. "Run to the show."

The stage had been set perfectly.

Marissa and Ashlyn were in the pavilion, locked in a silent confrontation.

Beatrice, the ultimate authority of the family, was walking slowly toward them, expecting a peaceful sunset view.

And Carlos, the volatile husband, was rushing to the scene, believing he was protecting his unborn child.

All roads led to the garden. The trap was waiting to be sprung.

~ ••••• ~

The air in the pavilion was thick with a sudden, suffocating tension. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched across the stone floor like grasping fingers.

Marissa stood over her sister, her smile vanishing, her chest heaving slightly from the shock of her discovery. She looked at Ashlyn with a gaze that was a mixture of disbelief and cold fury. It was a look that screamed, How dare you?

"You dared to fake a pregnancy," Marissa whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the accusation. "To deceive the Dowager? To deceive your husband? To deceive the entire family?"

Ashlyn scoffed. Her earlier panic regarding the pineapple scent had vanished. In its place was a cold, hard resolve. She smoothed her skirts, looking up at Marissa with a chilling calmness.

"And so what?" Ashlyn replied. Her voice was devoid of shame.

She leaned in, closing the distance between them until she was whispering directly into Marissa’s face.

"It is a lie," Ashlyn hissed. "But you won’t get to tell anyone."

Marissa frowned, her mind racing. "I will tell everyone. I will expose you right n—"

Ashlyn’s eyes flicked to the side. She looked past Marissa’s shoulder, toward the garden path.

There, walking slowly but steadily, was the Dowager Duchess Beatrice, leaning on Mrs. Alma’s arm. They were chatting quietly, enjoying the evening air, heading straight for the pavilion.

A spark of malicious light ignited in Ashlyn’s eyes. She smiled. It was a terrifying, broken smile.

"Timing," Ashlyn whispered. "is everything."

Suddenly, Ashlyn lunged.