Love In Disguise: Rebirth of the Heiress Chapter 84

Lucian’s grandiose instructions, research sothing, had left in the mansion’s sprawling library with absolutely no clue what to look for.

Every shelf was cramd with books that ranged from ancient leather tos to neon-colored journals. The place was overwhelming, and I was this close to ripping my hair out.

"What the hell am I even looking for?" I muttered, glaring at the sea of books like they had personally offended .

The library’s silence was oppressive, save for the faint rustle of paper as I flipped through a random book.

It didn’t help.

It was written in so language I couldn’t even begin to understand.

Latin maybe? Doesn’t look like Latin?

Great.

I slumped back into the oversized chair, letting out an exasperated sigh.

This was ridiculous.

Everything about all these was ridiculous. Being reborn ca with more task than I needed. I had to worry about Jessica and Gideon while also worrying about the end of the world just because there was a mistake in the balance.

I sighed running a hand through my hair, it was becoming long again. Anyti I see long hair, I rember...how Gideon would pull it to the point that it hurts.

I sighed again.

"Are you really going to sit there whining all day?" a shrill, high-pitched voice complained.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I looked around the empty room. "What?"

"Here! Down here, darling!" the voice said again, this ti with unmistakable impatience.

I tilted my head, peering down at the ornate desk I was leaning against. My eyes widened in disbelief as I realized the sound was coming from a bronze inkwell perched on the corner.

"You’ve got to be kidding ," I whispered.

The inkwell shifted slightly, it shifted. Its lid flapped like a makeshift mouth. "Finally! So attention! I’ve been waiting ages to talk to soone who’s not the brooding type."

My jaw dropped. "You...you’re alive?"

"Alive?" the inkwell scoffed. "What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m alive, you oblivious little thing. Do you think Lucian keeps boring, non-magical items around here? Ha! I’m Harold, by the way."

"Harold?" I repeated, as if saying it out loud would make this whole situation less insane.

"Yes, Harold!" The inkwell’s voice went up an octave. "And you, my dear, are Kiara. Oh, I know all about you. You’re the pretty one Lucian brought in."

"Uh..." I blinked, completely thrown off. "Thanks, I guess?"

"You’re welco! Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You’re here to research, aren’t you? What exactly are you looking for, hmm? Forbidden spells? Ancient prophecies? A guide on how to not look so confused? I am sure soone would be able to help you. All you have to do is ask."

My head was spinning. "I—I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Lucian told to research sothing, but he didn’t tell what."

"Typical dark lord behavior," Harold said, his lid smacking shut before opening again with a sharp clang. "Keep her in the dark, let her flail around aimlessly. Honestly, it’s a miracle anyone gets anything done around here."

"Shush, Harold," another voice hissed from across the room.

My head snapped toward the sound, and my eyes landed on an elegant candelabra perched on a nearby shelf. One of its golden branches bent slightly, as if scolding the inkwell.

"Don’t you start, Gerald!" Harold snapped, his voice practically shrieking. "I’m having a perfectly lovely conversation with our guest!"

I raised both hands, trying to stop whatever argunt was brewing. "Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling ...everything in this room talks?"

Harold paused, and then Gerald chid in with a smug, "Not everything. Just the important things."

"Oh, great," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Please don’t tell the chair I’m sitting on talks, too."

"It doesn’t," Gerald said, his tone prim. "But if it did, it’d probably ask you to sit up straighter."

I groaned, leaning back in the chair. This couldn’t be real. "This is insane. I’m talking to furniture and desk accessories."

"Magical artifacts," Harold corrected. "And you’re lucky to have us. Without , you’d be wandering around clueless."

"Oh, sure," I said dryly. "Because a talking inkwell is exactly what I needed today."

"You could do worse," Harold sniffed. "Now, let’s focus. What do you need to find?"

"I already told you, I don’t know," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "Lucian wasn’t exactly clear."

Gerald’s flas flickered thoughtfully. "If Lucian left you here, it’s probably because there’s sothing important you’re ant to uncover by yourself. He doesn’t do things without reason."

"Reason?" Harold said, scoffing. "Oh, please. Lucian’s about as reasonable as a hurricane."

"That’s not helping," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Okay, let’s try this. Do either of you know anything about marks? Like, magical ones?"

Harold’s lid clanged excitedly. "Marks, you say? Oh, I’ve seen a few in my ti. Tell , is it fiery? Glowing? In a particularly scandalous location?"

I flushed. "It’s...on my shoulder. And no, it doesn’t glow."

"Hmm." Harold made a humming noise that sounded suspiciously like soone slurping tea. "That doesn’t narrow it down much, darling. Magical marks co in all shapes and sizes."

"But they’re usually significant," Gerald added. "Especially if Lucian’s involved."

"Great," I said flatly. "So, what? I’m supposed to dig through every book in here until I find sothing that matches?"

"Exactly!" Harold chirped.

I stared at him, unimpressed. "You’re useless."

"Rude!" Harold gasped. "After everything I’ve done for you—"

"You haven’t done anything!" I shot back.

"Not yet," Harold said, his tone suddenly sly. "But I could. For a price."

I groaned, leaning forward to rest my head on the desk. "Of course. There’s always a catch."

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Gerald said. "What Harold ans is that he wants you to treat him with so respect."

Harold’s lid flapped furiously. "Respect is earned, Gerald, and I think I’ve more than earned it!"

"You’ve earned a permanent spot on the shelf," Gerald muttered.

I sighed, cutting off their bickering. "Alright, fine. Harold, if you can help figure out what this mark ans and anything related to end of the world, opening of magical portals, I’ll...thank you properly."

"Properly?" Harold echoed, his lid tilting curiously. "Hmm. I suppose I can work with that."

"Just tell what you know," I said, my patience wearing dangerously thin.

Harold humd again, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "There’s a section of this library that Lucian rarely touches. It’s where he keeps the really old stuff. If your mark is what I think it is, you might find answers there."

I perked up, leaning closer. "Where is it?"

"Through the double doors," Harold said, his tone smug. "But be warned—it’s not exactly user-friendly."

I frowned. "What does that an?"

Gerald answered before Harold could. "It ans the section is enchanted. It doesn’t like strangers."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just this," Harold said, his lid flapping open and shut. "Be careful, darling. Marks like yours have a way of attracting...attention."

My stomach churned at his words, but I nodded. "Thanks, I guess."

"Don’t ntion it," Harold said breezily. "No, really. Don’t ntion it. I have a reputation to maintain."

I rolled my eyes and stood, heading toward the double doors with curiosity and dread swirling in my chest.

The door lood before , carved with runes that seed to shift and shimr when I looked too closely. I reached out and gripped the brass handle, taking a deep breath before pulling.

Nothing.

It didn’t budge.

I frowned, trying again. This ti I put my weight into it, tugging harder. Still, the door remained resolute, as if mocking .

"Of course," I muttered under my breath. "Lucian couldn’t just leave a key or so cryptic instructions. Nooo, he had to make it a damn puzzle."

The air around the door felt heavier now, like a presence was watching . A strange chill ran down my spine. I glanced back over my shoulder, but the library was as still as ever.

"Alright, fine," I whispered, brushing my hands over the runes. "How do I open you?"

The markings on the door seed to pulse faintly, almost as if they were alive. My fingers traced the grooves, and I half-expected the wood to shift beneath my touch. Nothing happened.

Just as I stepped back to examine it further, my phone buzzed loudly in my pocket, making jump.

"Shit!" My heart hamred against my ribs as I fumbled to grab it. Shaking slightly, I glanced at the screen.

Gabriel.

I groaned audibly, glaring at the na on the screen as if it were personally responsible for my misfortune.

"Of all people," I muttered. "What the hell does he want now?"

Harold’s voice piped up from the desk behind , startling again.

"I’d take that call if I were you, darling."

I whirled around, my gaze narrowing at the inkwell. "What? Why?"

Harold shifted slightly, his lid flapping lazily. "Just a feeling. Call it...intuition."

"Your intuition is based on what?" I shot back.

"Let’s just say," Harold began, his tone far too smug for my liking, "when you’re dealing with second chances and rebirths, every little detail matters. Even the annoying ones."

I scowled, crossing my arms. "And you think Gabriel calling is important? He’s probably just whining about sothing stupid."

"Or," Harold said, drawing the word out dramatically, "he’s about to tell you sothing you can use. You’re playing a long ga, aren’t you? Every move counts, Kiara."

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the "Decline" button. Harold wasn’t exactly wrong, as much as I hated to admit it. Gabriel was a pain, but he was also reckless and stupid. He might just spill sothing useful.

With a reluctant sigh, I answered the call.

"What do you want, Gabriel?" I snapped, holding the phone to my ear.

His voice ca through, agitated and breathless. "Kiara, finally! Why the hell weren’t you picking up?"

"I’ve been busy," I said flatly. "Get to the point."