Chapter 8

Eileen's POV

I made it back to Keaton Manor just as the sun was starting to climb over the treeline. The notebook felt heavy in my bag—not physically, but like it carried the weight of everything I needed to do.

Everything I need to save him.

I headed straight for the back gardens. I needed somewhere quiet to look through Mom's notes properly.

The garden was beautiful in the early morning light. Dew clung to the rose bushes, and the air smelled like pine and earth. There was a gazebo tucked away at the far end, half-hidden by climbing vines. Perfect.

I settled onto the stone bench inside and pulled out the notebook.

Mom's handwriting looked exactly as I remembered—neat, precise, with little sketches in the margins. Diagrams of plants, notes about moon phases, recipes for potions I'd never heard of.

I flipped through the pages slowly, looking for anything about curses. About dark magic. About—

There.

A section titled "Breaking Bindings." My heart jumped.

I started reading, my eyes racing over the familiar handwriting.

There were several potions listed. A basic curse-weakening draught. A more advanced purification elixir. Something called a "Soul-Cleansing Infusion" that required ingredients I'd never even heard of.

But as I kept reading, my excitement started to fade.

The recipes were incomplete.

The basic draught was there in full—ingredients, measurements, preparation steps. But the more advanced potions... they just stopped. Mid-recipe. Like someone had torn out pages.

No. No, no, no.

I flipped through the rest of the section frantically. Same thing. The simple stuff was complete, but anything really powerful was missing huge chunks.

I sat back, staring at the notebook.

Why would Mom do this?

And then I remembered.

It was something she'd said once, years ago. I'd been sking why she kept so many notebooks scattered around the house.

"A witch's knowledge is her greatest treasure," Mom had told me, smiling as she tucked one journal into a locked drawer. "That's why I keep two copies of everything important. One here with you, and one with your grandfather's family. That way, even if something happens to me, my work won't be lost."

Two copies.

My grandmother's family. We'd never been close. After Mom died, they'd sent flowers to the funeral and that was it.

I'd been too young to understand why. But looking back now, with adult eyes...

They probably blamed Isabella for not protecting Mom. Or maybe they just didn't want to deal with the mess of a grieving kid.

Either way, they had the other half of Mom's research.

I closed the notebook carefully, my mind racing.

If I wanted to help Silas—really help him, not just slow down the curse but actually break it—I'd need those missing recipes.

Which meant I'd have to contact my grandfather.

Great. Just what I need. More family drama.

"Well, well. Look who's hiding out here."

I jerked my head up.

A girl stood at the edge of the gazebo, one hand on her hip, designer handbag dangling from her elbow. She was maybe my age, dressed like she was about to go to brunch at some fancy restaurant—fitted dress, heels, perfect makeup.

I know her.

Not personally. But I'd seen her around the manor yesterday, trailing after Martha like a shadow. Martha's daughter—the one who'd grown up here in the main house instead of the servants' quarters, who got to wear designer clothes and act like she was part of the family instead of hired help.

Ivy.

In my last life, she'd made my existence here a living hell. Always with the snide comments, the "helpful" suggestions that made me feel like an idiot, the way she'd talk about "how things are done in this house" like I was some kind of ignorant outsider.

And the worst part? She'd gotten away with it because of her mother's position. Because Martha's husband had died saving the Silas's grandmother, which apparently gave them both a free pass to treat me like garbage.

"Ivy." I closed the notebook slowly. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, I'm just making my morning rounds." She stepped into the gazebo, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Making sure everything's in order. You know, since I actually care about this place."

The implication was clear: unlike you.

"How dedicated," I said flatly.

She moved closer, and her gaze dropped to the notebook in my lap.

"What's that you're reading? Some kind of..." She wrinkled her nose. "Spell book?"

"It's a journal."

"Mm-hmm." She tilted her head, studying me. "You know, the back garden is where Alpha usually takes his walks. When he's feeling well enough to get outside, anyway."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"So I have to wonder—are you sitting out here hoping to run into him? Trying to manufacture some romantic moment?"

I stood up, tucking the notebook under my arm. Looked her dead in the eye.

"I'm the Luna," I said quietly. "I can sit in my own garden whenever I want. I don't need to explain myself to the help."

Ivy's face went red.

"I am not—my mother is the head housekeeper, and my father died saving—"

"Your father's sacrifice doesn't make you family, Ivy." I stepped closer, and she actually backed up a step. "It makes your mother an employee with special privileges. Which means you're still just the housekeeper's daughter."

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"You can't—you have no right—"

"Actually, I have every right." I moved past her, heading for the gazebo exit. "But you know what? You're right about one thing."

I paused, glancing back.

"I should go find Alpha. We have things to discuss."

I left her standing there, her face twisted with fury.

That felt good.

Maybe too good. But I was done being pushed around in my own home.

I headed back toward the main house, my heart pounding. The notebook felt like it was burning a hole in my bag. I needed to tell Silas about the missing pages, needed to figure out where Mom's other notebook might be.

But more than that...

I need to actually talk to him. Need to make him see that I'm not going anywhere.

The study was on the second floor, east wing.

I knocked on the heavy oak door.

"Come in."

I pushed the door open.

The study was exactly what I expected—dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk by the window. And there, behind the desk, was Silas.

He was in his wheelchair, papers spread out in front of him. He looked up when I entered, those gray-blue eyes focusing on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Eileen." He set down his pen. "Is something wrong?"

Everything's wrong. You're dying, and I let you die last time, and I don't know how to fix this.

But I couldn't say that. Not yet.

I'd come here planning to tell him about the notebook. But standing there, looking at him—at the careful distance in his expression, the way he was already bracing for me to ask for something—

I remembered what he'd said last night.

"I don't want to share a room with a stranger."

He didn't trust me. Didn't know me. Why would he believe that I was actually helping him?

I need to build that trust first. Need to show him I'm here for him, not for some ulterior motive.

So instead of launching into explanations, I smiled.

"Nothing's wrong. I just..." I hesitated, then took a breath. "I wanted to ask if you'd have dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us."

Silas's eyebrows rose slightly. He looked genuinely surprised.

"Dinner."

"Yes. Seven o'clock?" I kept my voice light, casual. "I know we haven't really had a chance to... talk. Since the wedding. And I thought it might be nice to—"

"Alright."

I blinked. "Really?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

"Is that so surprising?"

"I—no, I just—" I felt my face heat up. "Thank you. Seven o'clock, then."