Cassandra's heels clicked softly against the polished marble floor as she strode through the west corridor of the estate. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, catching the gleam of her epaulettes and the glint of her earrings. She passed the bust of a long-dead general without a glance, her mind elsewhere.
She wasn't smiling.
Her expression was still—purposeful. Calculated.
Lady Eleanor.
The name echoed in her mind like a sneer. How easily that little commoner had taken the title, draping herself in silk and pearls as if bloodlines meant nothing. How pitifully proud she'd looked, chin raised high, pretending not to notice the cracks forming beneath her feet.
"Oh, you'll learn soon," Cassandra murmured, her voice smooth as silk. "You're not built for this world, Eleanor... or should I say Evelyn."
She reached her quarters, where a slender woman in a maid's uniform waited just inside. Cassandra's aide—Kira. Quiet. Loyal. Most importantly, discreet.
