The afternoon sun was hot, beating down on the manicured lawns of the Austen family estate. The garden felt restless. The flowers seed to droop under the weight of the shouting.
"ASHLYN!!!!"
Lord Malone’s voice roared across the garden. It was a sound of pure, unbridled fury that shook the leaves on the trees.
He collapsed into a white iron garden chair, his legs too weak to hold his rage. He slamd his fist onto the small round table next to him. The teacups rattled, and a silver spoon fell to the grass with a soft ching.
"Co here!" Lord Malone bellowed, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. "Look at what you have done!"
Lady Anita stood beside him. She was trembling. She held Ashlyn, who was weeping uncontrollably, burying her face in her mother’s silk dress. Anita looked terrified. Her eyes darted around the garden, checking if the servants were watching, checking if the neighbors could hear.
"Hush, my lord," Anita pleaded weakly. "Please, calm down. Your heart..."
"My heart?" Lord Malone spat. "My heart is ruined! My na is ruined! And it is because of her!" He pointed a shaking finger at the top of Ashlyn’s head.
At that mont, the sound of carriage wheels crunching on gravel broke through the shouting. A grand carriage, bearing the crest of the Grand Duke, rolled into the courtyard and ca to a halt.
The Austen family butler, an old man nad Henry who had served the family for decades, rushed to the carriage door. He looked pale and frightened. He opened the door with a trembling hand.
Marissa stepped out. She was dressed in a simple, elegant gown of pale yellow. She looked fresh and calm, a stark contrast to the storm waiting for her. She adjusted her gloves, looking at the butler.
"Your Grace," Henry said, bowing low. His voice was a hushed whisper. "Your father... he is waiting for you in the garden."
Marissa nodded. She saw the fear in his eyes.
"Is it bad, Henry?" she asked softly.
"The mood is... dire, Your Grace," Henry admitted. "I have never seen the Master this angry."
Marissa nodded again. Her expression remained serene. She walked through the house, her heels clicking on the familiar floors of her childhood ho. She walked out the back doors and into the garden.
She stopped.
She saw the scene. Her father was slumped in the chair, looking like a man defeated by life. Her stepmother, Anita, was clutching a weeping Ashlyn as if they were passengers on a sinking ship.
Marissa walked forward slowly. She stopped a few feet away from them.
"Father," Marissa said, curtsying deeply. "You sent for ."
Lord Malone looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at Marissa, then at Ashlyn.
Before he could speak, Lady Anita turned to Ashlyn. She shook her daughter’s shoulders, her grip tight and painful.
"Tell !" Anita hissed. Her voice was shrill with panic so that Marissa could hear it. "Tell , Ashlyn! How could the estate be seized? The bailiff was at the door this morning! He brought a notice! He said the estate has a new owner now!"
Anita’s voice rose to a scream.
"That is the Austen family legacy!" Anita cried. "That is your father’s pride! It is the only thing we have left! How could it be gone?"
Ashlyn sobbed. Her body shook. She couldn’t tell the truth. She couldn’t say, "I stole from the Thompsons and then Marissa seized everything to pay back the theft."
She couldn’t admit to the theft. She couldn’t admit to the failure.
She lifted her head. Her face was blotchy and swollen from crying. She looked at Marissa.
In her eyes, Marissa saw a flicker of pure malice. Even now, cornered and ruined, Ashlyn wanted to drag Marissa down with her.
Ashlyn stamred, her breath hitching.
"I... I... I..." Ashlyn stuttered.
She raised a shaking hand. She pointed directly at Marissa.
"It’s sister!" Ashlyn wailed. "It is Marissa! She took it! She took the deed! She paid the bailiff to bring the notice."
Lord Malone’s head snapped toward Marissa. Anita stared at her stepdaughter with wide, accusing eyes.
Marissa stood perfectly still. Her mouth opened slightly in a perfect performance of shock. Her hand went to her chest.
Inside, her mind was working fast. She was applauding her sister’s audacity.
"What a performance," Marissa thought to herself. "Truly impressive. So this is why they called ? Not to check on . Not to invite for tea. But because their favorite daughter, the ’star’ of the family, got caught in her own trap and decided to bla ."
She looked at her father’s furious face. He was ready to believe it. He always believed Ashlyn.
She looked at Anita’s panic. Anita wanted a villain, and Marissa was the convenient choice.
"She is blaming for seizing the estate my father gifted her mother," Marissa thought coldly. "Technically, I did seize it. Because she owed money. But they don’t know that. They just know it’s gone."
Marissa felt a cold resolve settle in her chest.
"Well then," Marissa decided. "If it is a battle of tears, I will give my best performance. Anyone can cry. But can anyone cry like a victim who is also the winner?"
She knew she had to play the part of the confused, hurt daughter.
Marissa sniffed loudly. She let her shoulders slump, making herself look smaller. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears to co. She thought of her dead mother. She thought of the loneliness of her childhood. The tears spilled over, streaming down her face in hot, convincing rivulets.
"I haven’t returned ho since my bridal visit," Marissa cried out, her voice trembling with hurt. She took a step back, looking wounded.
"I have been busy managing the Thompson estate! I have been taking care of the dowager! I know nothing of the Austen family affairs!"
She looked at her father, her eyes pleading.
"Father, you know I have been gone!" Marissa sobbed. "I didn’t even know there was a mortgage! How could I seize a house I don’t own? What nonsense are you spouting, Ashlyn?"
She turned to Ashlyn, her voice full of betrayal.
"Why do you always bla ?" Marissa asked, wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Every ti you fall, you point at . I have done nothing but try to help the family!"
Ashlyn stopped crying for a second. She fud. She glared at Marissa through her swollen eyelids. She knew Marissa was acting. She knew Marissa had the deed. She knew Marissa had the deposit slip. But she couldn’t say it.
If Ashlyn said, "She has the deed because I gave it to her to pay a debt," she would have to explain the debt. She would have to explain the embezzlent.
Ashlyn was trapped by her own lies.
Lady Anita looked from one daughter to the other. She looked at Marissa’s confusion. It seed genuine. Marissa had been away. Marissa was rich. Why would she want their old estate?
Then she looked at Ashlyn. Ashlyn, who had asked for the deed. Ashlyn, who had promised to double the money. Ashlyn, who had been acting secretively for weeks.
Anita’s face crumpled. The realization hit her like a stone.
Ashlyn had lost the money and the estate.
Desperation clawed at Anita’s throat. The estate was gone. The shops she wanted to buy were gone. Her security was gone.
She grabbed Ashlyn by the shoulders. She shook her hard, her fingers digging into the expensive velvet of Ashlyn’s dress.
"Where is the deed, Ashlyn?" Anita scread. Her voice broke. "You said you had it! You said it was safe! You said you were investing! Where is the paper?"
Ashlyn opened her mouth. She tried to speak.
"I..." Ashlyn gasped.
She looked at Marissa. Marissa was watching her, tears still on her cheeks, but her eyes were cold and hard. Marissa patted her pocket gently with a smug smile. The gesture was unmistakable. I have it.
Ashlyn couldn’t say anything. Her silence was the answer.
Anita saw the guilt in Ashlyn’s eyes. In a fit of pure, panicked rage, Anita raised her hand.
SLAP!
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