//CLARA//

I crept back to my wing, my knees threatening to buckle with every step.

Every shadow cast by the flickering lamps took the shape of a man with salt-crusted hair and predatory eyes. I half-expected him to lunge from behind a velvet tapestry and drag me back to the cliffs to finish what we started. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

But when I reached my door, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A thin, accusing line of light bled out from under the door, cutting across the dark floorboards like a scalpel. My heart was a fist pounding against my ribs.

I pushed the door open.

Aunt Cornelia sat on the settee, still as a corpse and twice as cold. The room felt thick with a pitch-black aura that seemed to swallow the flickering light.

Her gaze brushed over the wreck of me. The wet robe clinging to my frame like a second skin, my tangled hair, the sand stuck to my legs and between my toes.

She didn’t bark. She didn’t scream. She simply stood up, stepped into my space, and cracked her palm across my face.

The force snapped my head back. My cheek erupted in heat, the sting a violent contrast to the freezing ocean spray still dripping from my hair. I ran my tongue over my lip. Blood.

I clutched my face, my eyes watering, forcing back the instinct to strike back. Controlling myself not to shove her into the nightstand and watch her crumple.

If only it was not a crime to kill an old woman.

"You imprudent, insolent girl!" she hissed. "What do you think you’re doing?"

I swallowed the blood and met her eyes. "I went swimming."

"In the middle of the night? Do you take me for a fool?" She leaned in, her breath smelling of stale tea and ancient malice. "If the Goulds hear of this—if a single servant whispers—your reputation will be ashes before dawn. You will be ruined. You will drag us all into the gutter with you."

"Nobody saw me," I lied, my voice remarkably steady.

Then her eyes dropped. They locked onto my collarbone, where the mark Casimir had bitten into me was practically throbbing—a lurid, violet-red brand under the yellow light. Before I could recoil, she lunged, yanking the lapel of my robe aside.

Her breath hitched. A sharp, ugly hiss as soon as she saw the bruises blooming like dark flowers down my ribs.

I jerked the silk closed, fumbling to cover the worst of it. My hips. My thighs. Everything.

Damn you, Casimir. You wanted to mark me? Congratulations, you did. And it’s for everyone to see.

"What in the gates of hell have you been doing to yourself?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut deeper than a blade.

"I slipped." The lie felt oily on my tongue. "I was on the rocks. I lost my footing. It was a clumsy mistake."

Her eyes narrowed, the pupils needle-thin. She didn’t believe a word.

"Just you wait until Casimir hears of this," she threatened, her lip curling in triumph.

I laughed. It was a sharp, ugly, hysterical sound that echoed off the high ceilings.

Right. As if he wasn’t the one who put them there.

"Go on. Tell him, Auntie. I’m sure he’d love to hear your version of events. He’d surely be fascinated."

She looked confused at first, then realization dawned. Her expression shifted from rage, to flinty—judging stare, to sickening horror.

"Do not mock me, girl. Were you with him? Were you two—"

Yes. The word was a heartbeat away from my lips. God, yes. We fuck. We have sex. We copulated. Consummated. Repeatedly. We did more than that and would make the common whore blush. Is that what you want to hear?

But I bit it back until it bled.

"What? No." I forced a look of shuddering, feigned disgust onto my face. "Why would you even suggest something so vile? You’re becoming paranoid, auntie. I went for a swim because you won’t let me touch the waves in broad daylight. That is all."

She surged forward and gripped my jaw, her spindly fingers digging into the bone until I heard my teeth creak. I stared into her eyes and, for a split second, I contemplated ending it.

I wanted to see if she actually bled or if she was just filled with black ink and bitterness. I curled my hands into fists, refusing to flinch.

"You think I haven’t noticed?" she whispered, her face inches from mine. "The way the two of you circle each other like animals? Remember, Eleanor—you may be his ward, but there is not a drop of shared blood in your veins. So don’t you dare cross that line."

Too late. We already did more than crossing. I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I have a lifestyle to maintain. Privilege I don’t want to lose.

The old bitch went on. "If not for my late nephew Alistair, you wouldn’t have darkened our doorstep. You and your mother are a curse on this family."

The mention of Eleanor’s parents hit a nerve I didn’t know I had. Maybe it was the diary, or maybe it was just my own spite boiling over.

I grabbed her wrist, squeezing until the bone creaked under my grip. I leaned in, making sure she could smell the salt and the cold defiance on my skin.

"I don’t care what you think, you bitter old bat." My voice was breathless with rage. "You speak of curses? The only curse in this family is you—clutching a name that never wanted you."

I let that sink in, watching her eyes widen as I stripped away the only thing she valued, her sense of belonging.

"No one wants you here, auntie. Not even your own nephew." I hissed, inching even closer until I could see the blood vessels in her eyes.

Her mouth tightened, yet I kept going.

"He tolerates your shadow out of a grim, blood-soaked obligation. Nothing more. If I were Casimir, I wouldn’t have given you a settee. I’d have put you in an asylum years ago."

I shoved her wrist back at her. "So, keep your hands off me. Or I’ll give him the reason he’s been looking for to finally sign those papers and erase you for good."

Aunt Cornelia recoiled as if I’d bitten her. She straightened her spine, smoothing her skirts as if she could brush the truth out of my words, giving me one final, loathing glare.

"Don’t think highly of yourself, Eleanor. You may have a vast inheritance, but that doesn’t make you a Guggenheim."

"You’re right," I bit back, barely containing the laugh. "I’m not. Thank God for that. I would rather be a curse than be whatever the hell you are."

Aunt Cornelia’s face settled into a mottled purple, the veins in her throat standing out like rope burns.

"You think your mother’s money makes you untouchable? You’re nothing. A parasite wearing silk. Without this family, you’d be selling matches on a street corner."

I snickered. "And you really think I would care?"

She lifted her chin, clinging to whatever pride she had left.

"Be careful, Eleanor. You’re treading on ice thinner than you realize. Fix yourself. The ball is tomorrow. Ensure that by the end of this season, you have the Prince’s title in your name. Or you’ll find out exactly how much power I have left to destroy you."

She spun and retreated to her adjoining room. The latch clicked shut like a guillotine.

My strength evaporated the second the door closed. My knees gave out, and I dropped onto the edge of the bed, staring at the sand on the rug.

She knows. She might not have the proof yet, but she smelled us from miles away.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the world from spinning.

Tomorrow night. The ball. And everything in it starting to drown me.

Maybe I wasn’t too good at staying afloat as I thought I would be.

I pushed myself off the bed and crossed to the vanity, my legs still unsteady. I pulled the belt of my robe, letting the fabric part and slip off my shoulders until it pooled at my feet.

The amber light was brutal. It didn’t hide a thing.

He did this. Casimir did this. My guardian. My fucking step-uncle, who had apparently gone absolutely deranged.

A dark crescent marred my collarbone, haunting my old silver scars. Fingerprints bloomed on my ribs. My thighs were raw, angry, and pink.

Have I pushed him too far?

I should’ve felt disgusted, but the memory of him—broken and gasping when I finally said no—made my blood hum with a dark, traitorous heat.

Then Aunt Cornelia’s words cut through, deep into my gut. The thrill died.

This was the evidence. If she looked long enough, she’d know. And it would be enough to ruin us both.