The sound of the slap echoed through the garden, sharp and brutal, silencing the birds in the trees. It was the sound of a family breaking apart.
Ashlyn stood frozen, her hand hovering over her stinging cheek. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of shock and betrayal. Her mother, Lady Anita, the woman who had always coddled her, who had plotted with her, who had whispered sweet promises of power in her ear, had just struck her across the face in front of everyone.
Ashlyn stared at Anita. She saw a stranger. Anita’s face was twisted into a mask of pure, panicked self-preservation.
"You swore," Anita hissed, her voice trembling with a desperate fury. She grabbed Ashlyn’s shoulders, shaking her. "You swore back then! You told I shouldn’t worry! You took the deed from ! You mortgaged the estate to get silvers for usury loans!"
Anita looked at her husband, then back at her daughter, her voice rising to a shriek.
"You claid it would multiply!" Anita scread. "You said we would have three tis the money! You said we would be rich enough to buy the city! Where is it, Ashlyn? Where is the money?"
The words hung in the air, a confession that could not be taken back.
Lord Malone, who had been slumped in his chair, trying to process the loss of his property, suddenly went rigid. The words pierced through his shock.
Mortgage. Usury. Deed.
He stood up abruptly. His heavy garden chair scraped violently against the stone patio, toppling over with a loud clang.
"You what?" Lord Malone asked.
His voice was harsh, a guttural growl that sounded like a bear waking up. It was so low, so dangerous, that the two won stopped breathing. They cowered in fear, instinctively taking a step back to avoid his anger.
Lord Malone stepped over the fallen chair. His face was turning a deep, alarming shade of red. The veins in his neck bulged.
He raised a shaking finger and pointed it at them.
"You two..." he wheezed, his breath coming in short gasps. "You two conspired to cheat ?"
He looked at Anita, his wife of twenty years. He looked at Ashlyn, his favorite daughter.
"You stole the deed?" Lord Malone roared. "That was the land I took from my deceased wife! That was Marissa’s mother’s dowry! It was the most valuable land in the family! It was my retirent! It was my legacy!"
He took a step forward, his hands clenching and unclenching.
"And you two just gave it away?" he shouted. "You gave it to a money shark? To a usurer? For what? For a gamble?"
The rage was too much for his body. He stumbled. He reached up and held his chest, grimacing in pain.
Lady Anita saw him stumble. Her anger vanished, replaced by terror.
"My Lord!" Anita cried. She rushed to his side, reaching out to support him.
Lord Malone shoved her away. He didn’t want her touch. He looked at Ashlyn. He saw the source of his ruin.
He straightened up, fighting through the pain in his chest. He lifted his hand. He raised it high, his palm open and hard. He aid to strike Ashlyn, to punish her for her stupidity, for her greed, for destroying the Austen na.
Ashlyn flinched. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow. She knew she deserved it.
But the hand didn’t fall.
Lord Malone groaned. He looked at Ashlyn’s stomach. He looked at the layers of silk hiding her body.
He rembered the child. The child of the Thompson family.
His hand trembled in the air. Slowly, painfully, he brought it down. He couldn’t hit her. Not while she carried the ticket to the Thompson fortune. It was the only thing that might save them now.
"If not for your pregnancy," Lord Malone wheezed, his voice dripping with hate. "If not for the child... I would have beaten you to death right here."
Ashlyn opened her eyes. She saw the loathing in his gaze. It was worse than a beating.
Marissa stood to the side, watching the scene unfold. She was calm. She was composed. She brought her handkerchief to her nose.
Sniff.
She sniffed loudly, cleaning her nose. She took another one and dabbed at her dry eyes. She was still playing her part, the part of the grieving, wronged daughter.
"Ashlyn," Marissa said, her voice filled with a perfect mix of sorrow and accusation.
She walked closer to her father, standing just behind him.
"You took the deed," Marissa whispered. "That was my mother’s last keepsake. It was the only thing that was truly hers."
She looked at Anita, then at her father.
"How could you?" Marissa asked, her voice trembling. "How could you and Lady Anita do this to ? And to my father? He trusted you. He loved you."
The accusation was the final straw. It was the spark that ignited the powder keg in Lord Malone’s heart.
He looked at his wife. He looked at Anita’s guilty, tear-streaked face. He realized Anita had known. She had helped. She had betrayed him just as much as Ashlyn.
He turned to Anita.
SLAP!
With the last of his strength, Lord Malone slapped Lady Anita across the face. It wasn’t a strong blow, his energy was failing, but it was filled with disgusted fury.
Anita cried out, stumbling back, clutching her cheek. "My Lord!"
Then, Lord Malone gasped.
It was a wet, rattling sound. His eyes rolled back in his head. His face went grey. He clutched his chest with both hands, his fingers digging into his coat.
"You..." he choked.
He collapsed.
He fell forward, his knees hitting the stone first, then his body. He hit the floor of the pavilion with a heavy thud, landing hard on the cold stone.
"Father!" Ashlyn shouted, rushing to him.
"My Lord!" Anita scread. She dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulders. "Soone help! Guards! Servants!"
The garden erupted into chaos. The butler, Henry, ran out of the house. Maids ca running from the kitchen.
Marissa watched for a second. She stood perfectly still amidst the panic.
She saw her father lying on the ground, his mouth open, gasping for air that wouldn’t co. She saw Anita weeping over him. She saw Ashlyn frozen in shock, staring at the man she had destroyed.
Marissa felt no pity. She felt no sadness. She felt only a cold, quiet sense of completion.
She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief one last ti, removing the fake tears. Her face beca smooth and impassive.
"I have matters to attend to," Marissa said calmly.
Her voice cut through the screaming.
"I cannot stay for this," she stated.
She gathered her yellow skirt in her hand, lifting the hem away from the dirt. She turned her back on the man on the floor and the weeping won.
"I’ll take my leave," she said.
She walked out of the garden. She walked through the house, her heels clicking a steady rhythm on the polished floors. She walked out the front door and down the stone steps.
Behind her, she heard Anita’s voice, shrill and desperate, echoing from the garden.
"Call the doctor! Hurry! He’s dying!"
Marissa didn’t stop. She climbed into her waiting carriage. The footman closed the door.
She sat down on the velvet seat. She smoothed her dress.
"Ho," she ordered the driver.
The carriage rolled away, the wheels crunching on the gravel drive.
Marissa leaned back against the cushions. She reached into the deep pocket of her dress. Her fingers closed around a roll of parchnt.
She pulled it out.
It was the deed. The paper that had started it all. The deed to the Austen family estate. The deed to her mother’s land.
On her mother’s death bed, Lord Malone transferred the ownership of the estate to Lady Anita, forcing Marissa’s mother to sign. The estate belonged to him but was in Lady Anita’s na to reduce the gossip.
Marissa smoothed it out on her lap. She looked at the seal. It was hers now.
A small, sad smile touched her lips.
"I have taken back your estate, Mother," Marissa thought. "It is safe now. It is ours again. They can never touch it."
She looked out the window as the Austen manor disappeared from view, shrinking into the distance until it was just a speck in the landscape.
"Now," she whispered to the wind. "You have nothing that is yours in the Austen’s hand."
The carriage turned onto the main road, heading back to the Thompson estate, leaving the ruins of the Austen family behind in the dust.
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