Chapter 45: Chapter 46
VANESSA
By the fourth day, I had stopped asking if I could leave the medical wing.
No one answered me anyway.
The nurses came and went. They checked my pulse, gave me medicine, and left with polite smiles that never reached their eyes.
I was a ghost in this house.
I sat near the window, staring at the gardens outside.
The roses were in bloom.
I remembered my mother’s tiny garden at home. It had never looked this grand, but she had loved it. She used to tell me flowers survived because they endured storms.
I didn’t feel like a flower.
I felt like a branch that had already snapped.
A knock sounded.
I didn’t bother turning around.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Soft footsteps.
Not a nurse.
Not a doctor.
I looked up.
Emma.
She wore a cream-colored dress and looked beautiful. Too beautiful for someone who was supposedly unwell.
She held a small bouquet of white lilies.
“I brought you flowers.”
I blinked.
What?
She walked in and placed them on the table beside my bed.
“You’ve been here for days. I thought you might be lonely.”
I stared at her.
Was this another trick?
Her expression was gentle.
Almost concerned.
I couldn’t read her at all.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She smiled.
A small, graceful smile.
Then she sat in the chair beside my bed.
Silence filled the room.
I looked at the flowers.
She looked at me.
“You’ve lost weight.”
I frowned.
That was an odd thing to say.
“I suppose.”
She folded her hands neatly in her lap.
“I’m sorry things turned out this way.”
I looked up.
She looked sincere.
Painfully sincere.
“I’m sure none of us expected this.”
None of us.
As though we were friends discussing bad weather.
I swallowed.
“Did you need something?”
Her eyes softened.
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“I only wanted to see how you were doing.”
I didn’t know what to say.
This woman had become the center of every problem in my life.
And yet she sat before me with flowers.
Like a saint.
Like an angel.
It made me feel crazy.
“I don’t understand you,” I admitted.
She tilted her head.
“Perhaps you don’t have to.”
I looked at her carefully.
She met my gaze calmly.
No guilt.
No anger.
No triumph.
Nothing.
That somehow frightened me more.
She stood.
“You should rest.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone in this family said the same thing.
She walked to the door.
Then she stopped.
Without looking at me, she spoke softly.
“Alaric can be difficult when he’s disappointed.”
I froze.
She turned.
Her expression remained kind.
“But time heals most things.”
Then she smiled again and left.
The door clicked shut.
I stared at it for a long time.
Disappointed.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
For some reason, that hurt more.
An hour later, the doctor returned.
“You’ve been discharged.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You may return to your room.”
I looked around.
I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or terrified.
Going back to the mansion meant facing everyone again.
Their looks.
Their whispers.
Their judgment.
I nodded.
“Alright.”
The nurse helped me up.
My body still felt sore.
Every step seemed to require effort.
I felt older somehow.
As though I had aged years in a matter of days.
By the time I reached the hallway, I was exhausted.
Then I saw him.
Alaric.
He stood near the staircase, speaking with one of his men.
Dark suit.
Cold expression.
Power radiating from him as naturally as breathing.
He looked up.
Our eyes met.
His conversation stopped.
For one brief second, neither of us moved.
Then he dismissed his man.
The bodyguard left immediately.
I suddenly wished I could disappear.
Alaric approached.
Slowly.
I lowered my eyes.
I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore.
“You’re leaving the medical wing.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“You still look pale.”
I almost smiled.
There it was again.
Observations that sounded like concern.
I refused to read into them.
“I’m fine.”
A pause.
“You say that often.”
I looked down.
“I’ll be alright.”
He studied me.
I could feel it.
The scrutiny.
The disappointment.
The distrust.
Finally, he spoke.
“You’ll remain in the east wing.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Grandmother’s decision.”
The words landed like a slap.
The east wing.
It was far from everyone.
Almost isolated.
“Oh.”
That was all I said.
Just…
oh.
Something flickered across his expression.
Perhaps he had expected an argument.
I had none left to give.
He frowned.
“You’re not going to ask why?”
I looked at him quietly.
“I already know why.”
Silence.
The air between us became heavy.
He looked away first.
“Good.”
I nodded.
Neither of us moved.
A servant appeared.
“Sir, Madam Emma is asking for you.”
Of course she was.
I lowered my eyes immediately.
I didn’t want to see his reaction.
A pause.
Then:
“I’ll come shortly.”
The servant left.
I looked up, surprised.
He hadn’t gone immediately.
For some reason, that felt dangerous.
I looked away again.
He sighed softly.
“Take care of yourself.”
I blinked.
Such simple words.
And yet they sounded strange coming from him.
I met his eyes.
He looked tired.
So very tired.
But his face remained unreadable.
Then he turned and walked away.
I watched him leave.
Not because I wanted him to stay.
But because I suddenly understood something.
He truly believed I had done it.
Every cold look.
Every harsh word.
Every punishment.
He believed it.
And because he believed it, there was no room for me in his world anymore.
I stood there until his figure disappeared around the corner.
Then I continued toward the east wing.
The room was smaller than my previous one.
Colder too.
Someone had packed my belongings.
Everything sat neatly in boxes.
As though I had already been erased.
I slowly sat on the bed.
Silence greeted me.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Nothing.
I looked around.
This was exile.
A punishment without bars.
I lay down carefully and stared at the ceiling.
The tears came without warning.
I didn’t sob.
Didn’t cry loudly.
They simply slid down my face.
One after another.
I thought of my father.
My sister.
Home.
I had entered this marriage believing I could endure anything for them.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
Because no one had warned me how lonely sacrifice could be.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
I quickly wiped my eyes.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
A maid entered carrying a tray.
She placed it on the table.
Then bowed.
As she turned to leave, she hesitated.
I looked up.
She looked nervous.
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
She swallowed.
Then whispered:
“I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
I froze.
She immediately looked frightened.
As though she had committed a crime.
Before I could respond, she hurried from the room.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
I stared after her.
One sentence.
Just one.
And somehow it made me cry harder.
Because for days, I had felt invisible.
Judged.
Condemned.
Completely alone.
And one frightened maid had given me something I hadn’t realized I needed.
Someone believed in me.
Even if it was only a little.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
Closed my eyes.
And for the first time in days…
I allowed myself to hope that maybe my story in this house wasn’t over yet.