~LAYLA~
The walk to the guest wing where the Duke was resting felt like a march to a funeral, not the fake one we had just staged, but a real one.
Axel walked beside , resting his hand gently on the small of my back. It was a comforting weight that kept moving forward as I held the black notebook tightly against my chest.
We found Silas sitting in an armchair by the window, staring out at the city’s skyline. Pennyworth was tidying a tray of untouched breakfast.
"If I have to eat one more bowl of oatal," Silas grumbled without turning around, "I am going to buy this building and evict the chef."
"It’s good for your heart, Your Grace," Pennyworth said placidly.
"My heart is dead," Silas snapped. "According to the world news, I’m currently decomposing in the family crypt. The least I should be allowed is bacon."
"Grandfather," I said softly from the doorway.
Silas turned, his face brightening instantly when he saw . "Layla! Co to rescue from this dietary prison?"
His smile faltered when he saw the look on my face. He looked from to Axel, and his sharp blue eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice losing its playful edge. "Is it Charles? Has he made a stupid move or sothing?"
"No," I said, walking over to him. I sat on the ottoman at his feet, forcing myself to et his gaze. "It’s..." I paused, unsure of how to start. Taking a deep breath, I spoke. "It’s about Isabelle."
Silas sighed, leaning back. "What has she done now? Sold the silver? Turned the rose garden into a parking lot?"
"She lied to you," I said in a trembling voice. "About everything, my father. . And Edward."
I placed the black notebook on his lap.
"What is this?"
"It’s my mother’s diary," I whispered. "I found it hidden in her room. Read the marked pages."
Silas looked at the book as if it might bite him. His hand shook slightly as he opened it. The room went silent, save for the rustle of paper.
I watched as he read, noticing the color drain from his eyes. Then his jaw clenched until the veins in his neck stood out.
When he read the entry about Isabelle threatening Michael’s life and the callous ntion of Edward’s accident, a sound escaped him. It was a low, wounded noise, like an animal in a trap.
"She..." Silas choked out, looking up at with wet, horrified eyes. "She threatened to kill him? She laughed about Edward?"
"She drove them away," I said, tears sliding down my cheeks. "She didn’t just let them go, Grandfather. She terrified them. She made them believe that if they stayed, they would die."
Silas closed the book. He didn’t slam it. He closed it with a terrifying finality.
He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. His legs were shaky, but he stood. He looked taller than I had ever seen him.
"Pennyworth," he barked out. His voice was no longer the weak, rough sound of a sick man. Now, it was the loud, strong voice of the Duke of Berkshire.
"Your Grace?"
"Pack my bags. Call the pilot. We are going ho."
"Sir..." Axel started.
"Do not ’Sir’ , Mr O’Brien!" Silas roared, his eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying fire. "That woman... that monster I called a daughter is sleeping under my roof. She is spending my money. She killed my son’s mory and stole my daughter’s life. I am going back to Blackwood Manor, and I am going to throw her out into the snow with nothing but the clothes on her back."
He took a step toward the door.
"No," I said firmly, standing up to block his path.
Silas stopped, looking at in shock. "What did you say?"
"I said no," I repeated, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "You aren’t going back today."
"Layla, get out of my way. She needs to pay."
"She will pay," I promised, stepping closer to him. "But if you go back now, storming in there like a ghost, it’s just a dostic dispute. She’ll claim you’re senile. She’ll claim you’re confused. She’ll spin it, just like she spun everything else for twenty years."
"I am the Duke!"
"And she is the ’grieving daughter’ who just buried you," I countered. "The world is watching her, sympathising with her. If we do this, we do it right. We don’t just kick her out, Grandfather. We destroy her."
Axel stepped up beside , nodding. "Layla is right. We need to expose her publicly and that requires witnesses. We need the press and to make sure that when she falls, she never gets back up."
Silas stared at , his chest heaving. Slowly, the red rage in his eyes cooled into icy calculation.
"When?" he asked.
"Isabelle is hosting a ’Memorial Tea’ at the Manor in a week’s ti. She’s invited the solicitors, the local gentry, and the press. She plans to use it to formally announce herself as the executor, take control of the Trust and announce herself the Duchess."
A cruel smile touched Silas’s lips. "A morial for ."
"Exactly," I said. "We let her set the stage. We let her gather the audience. And then... we crash the party."
"We can’t just walk in," Axel noted. "She’ll have security. She’ll lock the gates."
"She won’t lock the gates for a Royal," I said.
Silas looked at , intrigued. "A Royal?"
I pulled out my phone. "I made a friend at the funeral. Prince Leopold. He offered a favour." I looked at Axel, then back at the Duke. "I’m going to call him. If he arrives with us and escorts the ’Resurrected Duke’ and his heir into that ballroom, Isabelle won’t be able to do a damn thing."
Silas let out a long breath, sinking back into his chair. He looked at the diary in his lap, then up at with imnse pride.
"You really are Victoria’s daughter," he whispered. "Ruthless."
"I had to learn to be," I said softly.
"Make the call," Silas commanded. "Tell the Prince we have a show to put on."
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