Chapter 87 My brother

Chapter 87 My brother

Elara's POV

The chief maid’s footsteps gradually faded into the silence. I remained exactly where I was, hidden behind the thick stone pillar, barely daring to breathe. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, each beat a reminder of how dangerous this was. One wrong move, one sound at the wrong time, and everything could fall apart. I pressed my back harder against the cold stone, willing myself to stay invisible.

Only when I was certain she had disappeared around the corner did I slowly lean out, my hands still gripping the silver tray like a lifeline.

The corridor was empty again.

A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. Before I could take another step, I felt a presence behind me — warm, familiar, and impossibly close. A hand gently touched my shoulder, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Shh,” Vincent whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s me.”

I turned just enough to see him, my heart doing a painful flip at the sight of his face so close. Relief flooded through me, mixed with that confusing rush of anger and longing I couldn’t seem to shake. “You scared me half to death,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

“I’m sorry.” His hand lingered on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over my sleeve. “We can’t be seen together. Meet me at the underground prison side. Go separately. I’ll find you there.”

Before I could respond, he was gone — slipping back into the shadows like he had never been there at all. I stood frozen for a moment, my mind racing. Trust him. That’s what he kept saying. But after everything, after the way he had ignored me in front of Zachariah, trust felt like a dangerous thing to give. Still, my feet refused to turn back toward the servants’ quarters. Something deeper than fear pushed me forward.

My grip tightened around the silver tray as I glanced in both directions. Every instinct screamed that I should return to my room exactly as I’d been ordered. It would be safer. Smarter. But safety had never brought me any closer to freedom. Vincent had told me to trust him, and somehow, despite everything, my feet refused to walk toward the servants’ quarters.

Instead…

They carried me in the opposite direction.

Toward the underground passage.

The lower level of the mansion was eerily quiet at this hour. The polished marble floors gave way to rough stone, and the air became cooler with every step I descended. The farther down I went, the stronger the smell of damp earth, rusted iron, and old torches became. Shadows stretched across the walls, swallowing the narrow corridor until only the flickering flames mounted along the stone guided my path. My heart pounded harder with every step, a mix of fear and determination twisting in my chest.

Then…

I saw him.

Vincent.

He stood near one of the stone pillars farther ahead, half-hidden in the darkness as though he had been waiting there all along. The sight of him sent a confusing rush of emotions through me — relief, anger, longing, all tangled together until I couldn’t tell which was strongest.

Before I could call his name, movement farther down the corridor caught my attention.

Two guards stood at the heavy iron gate leading into the prison block, their weapons resting casually against their shoulders as they chatted among themselves.

I immediately looked away.

There was no way either of us was getting through that entrance unnoticed.

Just as I began wondering what Vincent intended to do, hurried footsteps echoed behind me.

I turned instinctively.

A young maid came rushing around the corner carrying a large wooden tray loaded with bowls of steaming stew and fresh bread.

She was walking too quickly.

I stepped aside at the last second.

But it wasn’t enough.

We collided.

“Oh!”

The tray tipped violently.

Bowls crashed onto the stone floor, shattering into dozens of pieces as stew splashed across the corridor.

The maid gasped, horror washing across her face.

“My goodness!” she cried, immediately dropping to her knees. “I’m finished… I’m completely finished.”

She frantically tried gathering the broken pieces with trembling hands.

“I was supposed to take this to the prisoners. If the kitchen finds out I wasted all this food, they’ll report me.”

An idea struck me instantly.

“I’ll do it.”

She looked up.

“What?”

“I’ll take the food.”

Her eyes widened. “No… no, you can’t.”

“I can.”

Before she could protest again, I crouched beside her and began helping collect the unbroken bowls. My hands were shaking, but I forced them to move. This was my chance. A way to get deeper into the prison without raising suspicion.

The maid stared at me for a long moment, uncertainty battling with desperation.

Finally…

She nodded.

“Thank you.”

Within minutes, another tray had been prepared in the nearby kitchen — though it came with heavy shouting and questions about why I was the one coming back for the food. I managed to brush it off with a quick excuse about helping a friend. I lifted the tray carefully into my hands.

It was heavier than I expected.

Taking a slow breath, I walked toward the prison entrance.

One of the guards immediately frowned.

“You.”

I stopped.

He looked me up and down.

“You’ve never brought food down here before.”

For one terrifying second, my mind went completely blank.

Then I forced myself to smile politely.

“The maid assigned to tonight’s delivery had an accident in the corridor,” I explained, lifting the tray slightly. “The chief maid didn’t want the prisoners waiting, so she told me to bring it instead.”

The second guard glanced at the first.

“Did she?”

I nodded confidently.

“She said the Master doesn’t tolerate delays.”

The first guard sighed.

“Sounds like her.”

He stepped aside and unlocked the gate.

“Go on, then. Feed them quickly.”

“Thank you.”

The heavy gate groaned open.

I stepped inside.

The smell hit me immediately.

Rows of iron cells stretched endlessly into the darkness, each one holding silent figures who barely reacted as I walked past. Some remained curled against the walls, while others watched me with hollow, exhausted eyes.

My heart pounded harder with every step.

Somewhere ahead…

Vincent was waiting.

I tightened my grip on the tray and continued down the prison corridor, forcing myself to ignore the dozens of eyes following my every movement. The chains clinking against the stone walls and the faint groans drifting from the cells made my stomach turn, but I couldn’t afford to stop. Every passing second brought Zachariah closer to waking, and every delay made Vincent’s plan more dangerous. I reminded myself that I was only here to deliver the food. At least, that was what anyone watching had to believe.

I stopped in front of the first occupied cell and slid a bowl through the narrow opening beneath the iron bars.

“Food.”

The prisoner crawled forward silently, snatching the bowl with trembling hands.

I moved to the next cell.

Then the next.

Every step carried me deeper into the prison until the guards at the entrance became nothing more than distant shadows behind me.

Good.

That was exactly what I needed.

I had just reached another cell when something wrapped firmly around my wrist.

A gasp escaped my lips.

Before I could cry out, I was pulled sharply sideways.

The tray tilted dangerously in my hands, but another hand caught it before it crashed to the ground.

My back hit the cold stone wall hidden inside a narrow recess between two pillars.

Vincent.

He stood impossibly close, one hand steadying the tray while the other remained around my wrist.

His face was only inches from mine.

Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.

“Quiet,” he whispered.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing.

“You nearly frightened me to death.”

“I was trying not to.”

He leaned slightly toward the corridor, waiting until two prisoners shuffled away from the bars before looking back at me.

“The guards can’t see us from here.”

I glanced toward the way to the entrance.

He was right.

The alcove was hidden in darkness, completely concealed from anyone standing near the gate.

“I knew you’d come here,” I whispered.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I was hoping you’d figure it out.”

My brows drew together.

“You came for a prisoner.”

“I did.”

“Who is he?”

Instead of answering, Vincent gently took the tray from my hands and placed it on the floor.

“Come with me.”

He stepped out of the alcove and continued farther down the corridor.

I followed without another question.

The prison seemed to stretch on forever.

Cell after cell passed us until we reached the farthest end of the underground block, where only a handful of prisoners remained.

Vincent finally stopped.

He reached into his coat and produced a small iron key.

Without saying a word, he unlocked the final cell.

The rusty door groaned open.

Inside…

A young man sat chained against the wall, his head hanging low, long dark hair hiding most of his face.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then…

Very slowly…

He lifted his head.

My breath caught.

I knew that face.

Not from my own memories.

From when I was in Genevieve’s body.

From the days my soul had been trapped inside her body.

The memories came rushing back all at once.

The young man who had captured Genevieve…

The one who had believed she was someone else…

The one who had unknowingly been looking into my eyes while I wore another woman’s face.

“No…” I breathed.

The prisoner stared at me, confusion flickering across his exhausted features.

Tears instantly filled my eyes.

“My brother…”

The words barely escaped my mouth before emotion overwhelmed me. I didn’t even know his name, but the connection hit me like a wave. After everything — the abduction, the confusion, the loss of my own mother — I had found him.