Chapter 30

Frederic finally gave his word—he wouldn't meddle in the Stirling family's business again. Only then did the matter come to a close.

He and Elspeth left, their expressions dark. Hamilton surveyed the wreckage around him, bitterness twisting his features. "We're cursed, I tell you. Every Abernathy man gets played by those conniving Acacia women."

Thaddeus knelt, picking something off the floor, his mind racing. Could someone have impersonated Cassius in Aetheria? But Frederic wasn't a fool—they'd faced off in business too many times. Unless age had dulled his senses, he wouldn't mistake another man for Cassius.

Then his fingers brushed against a folding fan. "Grandfather, is this yours?"

Hamilton's face softened instantly. "Ah, yes. Hand it here. This was made by Isabella—she painted and inscribed it herself."

She painted?

Thaddeus froze, as if his soul had been yanked from his body. When she was with him, she'd been meek, unremarkable. Compared to Acacia, who played piano, danced, and sang, Isabella had seemed ordinary—just a pretty face with no talents beyond obedience.

But once she left, she'd transformed. Like a pearl shaken free of dust, she shone. Talents he never knew she possessed surfaced one after another, leaving him blindsided.

Had she hidden them because she thought him unworthy?

Was her love for him just duty, while her heart truly belonged to Cassius?

"Every weekend, she visited me," Hamilton murmured, tracing the fan. "Sometimes we walked, sometimes she'd sit in my study all afternoon, reading or sketching. She never complained. And her art—flawless. A decade of practice, at least. When she draws, she’s radiant. Not some meek girl—a noblewoman through and through." He sighed. "Far better than that shallow Acacia. Pity you were too blind to see it."

Thaddeus clenched his jaw, unfolding the fan.

A single, elegant line of calligraphy caught his eye:

If I could return to my youth, I'd trade riches for a gentle breeze.

Lightning struck his chest. His hands trembled. The style—identical to the painting in Evadne's office.

He remembered seeing Isabella at Evadne's hotel. The footsteps in the hallway after he'd left Evadne's office. Did they know each other?

Could it be...?

No. Impossible.

Isabella was gentle, not cunning. She could never be as sharp as Evadne.

Meanwhile, in Skyrim, Silveke Harbor.

Cassius had just returned from Aetheria, dining with Arnold and their father.

Emeric listened to his son's report, pride flickering in his stern gaze. Cassius was brilliant—but he'd chosen the priesthood over power.

"You don’t usually play dirty, Cassius," Emeric remarked after a sip of wine. "Stealing Abernathy’s business—that’s more my style."

"Peace is like the human body," Cassius replied smoothly. "Healthy until it isn’t."

Arnold smirked. He knew this was revenge for Isabella.

"Business requires flexibility," Emeric said, clapping Cassius’ shoulder. "And Frederic is my enemy. His grandfather wronged our family. Revenge waits for no man."

Arnold sighed. The Ashbournes held grudges for generations.

"How’s Evadne handling Elmsworth?" Emeric asked casually, though concern laced his tone. "Her moves against Stirling were bold, but if she missteps, she’ll make enemies. Protect her."

"Of course," Arnold said.

"Dad, relax," Cassius added. "If anyone touches her, we’ll ruin them."

"Don’t kill them," Emeric corrected. "Just make them wish they were dead."

After dinner, Cassius left his phone behind. When it buzzed—Thaddeus’ name flashing—Arnold answered with false cheer.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Thaddeus?"

"I need to speak to Isabella." Thaddeus’ cold tone grated on him.

Arnold’s grin vanished. "Lost your mind? You don’t get to demand anything from her."

A pause. Then, heavily: "Cassius?"

Arnold steeled himself. "If you’re drunk, call your fiancée. I’m busy."

"If you want to defend her, do it openly," Thaddeus snapped. "Not with underhanded tricks."

Arnold’s laugh was sharp. "You’re the king of underhanded. Who smeared her name first? If you’re begging for Acacia, at least kneel properly. Disgusting."

Thaddeus’ fist clenched. The man who dominated boardrooms was speechless.

"Let me be clear," Arnold hissed. "Even if you grovel now, I won’t stop. Everyone who hurt her will pay."

He hung up.

Thaddeus sat in his study, veins bulging, his phone screen nearly cracking under his grip.

Gordon rushed in, pale. "Sir, I investigated—"

"Speak."

"Mrs. Ashbourne’s five children—only Cassius’ records are accessible. The other four? Highest-level encryption. Unbreakable."

Thaddeus’ gaze turned murderous.

Gordon swallowed. "Should I... resign now, or—?"

Evadne descended the stairs, fresh from her bath, a face mask on, robe swishing.

Jason hurried over. "Need something?"

"Just wine." She blinked at his formal attire. "It’s past nine. Relax. You’re off-duty here."

Another reason: he reminded her of Thaddeus.

Three years of marriage, and she’d only seen her husband’s body once—that unforgettable night. Thaddeus was disciplined, always in suits until bedtime. But beneath that icy exterior burned a fire she’d never forget.

"Evadne?" Jason tilted his head.

She snapped back, cheeks flushed.

"Your face... it’s red."