CHAPTER 77: THE UNEXPECTED GUEST

In her dream, Lorraine clutched her belly without thinking, a protective instinct blooming in her limbs.

The blood painted the river like ink dropped in tea—spreading, swirling, curling around her legs until the current ran dark and crimson.

"Leroy!" she screamed.

Why she called his name, she didn’t know. But in that moment, in that dream, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

Just as she made that sound, something moved beneath the surface. She looked closely at the ripple... a stirring, as if something was alive and was reaching for her legs.

She tried to run. Tried to back away. But her body wouldn’t obey. She was trapped.

And then...

She jolted awake.

She bolted upright in bed, breath tearing through her lungs. Her hand was already clutching her belly. Her nightdress clung to her sweat-slicked skin. Her heart thundered beneath her ribs, loud enough to drown thought.

Both hands pressed to her stomach before she could even think. Flat. Normal. Safe.

Silence settled around her like a weight, thick and unmoving. The shadows on the wall stood still. The moonlight spilled cold and unblinking across the floor.

But within her, the dread remained. Not just fear. Not just the awareness that she’d had a nightmare and that, in time, it would fade.

No, this was something deeper.

This was a terrible, inexplicable sense of knowing, as if the future had reached through the veil of sleep... and left blood on its hands. As if someone or something

was warning her and showing her what she would have to face.

Lorraine lay awake, unmoving, her eyes open to the shadows. Even wine couldn’t coax her back into dreams. Her mind churned restlessly, and at some point, her hand settled unconsciously over her belly.

That fear... the one that gripped her heart in the dream... hadn’t left.

The fear of losing her baby.

Her brows drew together. She hadn’t even let herself consider it until now, but with the number of reckless, desperate times she’d spent tangled with Leroy...

She might already be pregnant.

What am I supposed to do?

She stared out the window. The eastern sky had begun to pale, brushing the horizon in soft gray-blue.

And as the world slowly brightened outside, something inside her settled. She made her decision. Only then did sleep return to her, quiet and heavy as a closing door.

Lorraine had hoped for a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep. Instead, just before noon, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

Her brows furrowed before her eyes even opened. "Sylvia?" she muttered, voice thick with sleep. "This better be good."

Sylvia rarely disturbed her without a reason. That alone was enough to jolt her further awake. "She’s downstairs," Sylvia said simply.

Lorraine sat up slowly. "Who?"

"Lady Elyse."

That name cleared the fog from Lorraine’s mind at once. "For Leroy?" she asked, eyes narrowing. She had lived in this house for a decade, and not once had Elyse deigned to cross its threshold. After the ball where Leroy had so gallantly shielded Elyse from her, Lorraine hadn’t expected her to show up here of all places.

If she were here, she must have swallowed a mountain of pride. And for what? For Leroy?

Lorraine muttered a curse under her breath as she swung her legs out of bed. "Did that man invite her? Is he trying to fill this house with all his mistresses before I leave? I swear, I should burn this place down and spare them the trouble."

Sylvia didn’t flinch. "She didn’t ask for Leroy. She asked for Zara."

Lorraine stilled. Then she laughed. Coldly.

"Oh, she wants to bond with her future husband’s mistress already? How charming. So forward-thinking. Let her. Zara will be worm food by the time Elyse gets her wedding announced."

Heat flared beneath her skin. Jealousy. Rage. Old wounds torn open in one blow.

"Where’s Emma?" she asked, already on her feet.

Sylvia gave her a dry look. "Where do you think?"

Lorraine’s mouth curved, humorless. "Of course." With the amount of drama surrounding Elyse’s visit, Emma would try to be a fly on the wall to see it all with her own eyes. That gossip-loving girl!

She moved to her wardrobe and selected a dress far too elaborate for midday. "Does Zara know?"

"She’s not feeling well," Sylvia said, laying out matching jewelry with swift precision. "But she’s aware. She’s getting ready. Slowly."

"She’d better. She is meeting her enemy. She should at least look like a threat, like a good little mistress would."

"Also," Sylvia added, "the kitchen’s been informed. Fancy snacks. Silver trays. Nothing with garlic."

"Excellent," Lorraine said, settling back to wash her face. "Let’s make Lady Elyse feel right at home... surrounded by her nightmares in silk."

"Perfect," Lorraine said, dabbing cold water on her face. "Let’s give Lady Elyse the welcome she deserves."

-----

By the time Lorraine descended to the drawing room, the battle had already begun, though it was disguised in silk gloves and honeyed smiles.

Zara and Elyse sat like a painting sprung to life—composed, radiant, immaculately poised. Elyse held Zara’s hand with practiced delicacy, her other hand patting it in a gesture so graceful it could have been mistaken for genuine warmth.

"I do hope you recover swiftly, dear," Elyse was saying, her voice a soft bell. "Illness doesn’t suit women like us. We were meant for better things."

Zara, looking uncharacteristically demure, offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The air shifted as Lorraine stepped inside. Elyse turned slightly, as if she’d sensed the presence of something she didn’t particularly want to deal with, like smoke from a fire she thought had been put out.

Lorraine responded with her brightest, most practiced smile. This was her home. They were her guests. And she intended to remind them of it.

It was a slow, regal smile. The kind that didn’t warm the room, but marked it like a blade being unsheathed beneath silk. She walked in with the kind of composure that made people forget she hadn’t spoken a word in years.

This was her home, and her silence carried weight.

She sat down opposite them, uninvited, unbothered.

Zara stiffened. Elyse’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was clear: Lorraine was not expected. Or wanted.

Still, she didn’t leave.

Elyse turned fully to face her. "You’ve joined us," she said, voice poised. "How... surprising."

Lorraine tilted her head slightly. Her eyes blinked slowly, disinterested. One brow arched, not too high, just enough to ask: And?

Elyse’s gaze flicked over her dress, her hair, her effortless presence. "Though I must admit, it’s hard to tell when you’re actually invited." Her tone stayed light.

Lorraine said nothing deliberately and calculatedly.

She sat with the serenity of a portrait, spine straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was unreadable, save for the faintest curve of amusement tugging at her mouth.

Not even a tilt of the head. No sign. No reaction. Just that maddening silence.

And nothing...nothing... infuriated Elyse more than being ignored.