Cassandra remained where she stood long after Mary’s footsteps faded down the hall.
The letter was gone. There was no retrieving it now.
Her gaze drifted across the room before settling on the full-length mirror standing in the corner beside her wardrobe.
Slowly, she walked towards it.
For a long moment, she simply stared. The woman reflected back at her looked almost unfamiliar.
She was younger.
Healthier.
There was colour in her cheeks that had long since disappeared during the final years of her previous life.
No shadows lingered beneath her eyes. No lines of exhaustion marked her face.
Words could not describe what she felt in that very moment as she stared at this piece of herself she believed she lost forever.
Almost hesitantly, Cassandra raised her left hand. Her fingertips brushed the smooth skin of her cheek. There had been a scar there once, a constant reminder of what John was capable of.
She could still remember the pain she felt from that night. It had happened a year into her marriage.
John had returned home in one of his tempers. She no longer remembered what insignificant thing had angered him that evening. Perhaps she had questioned one of his decisions. Perhaps she had spoken when he wanted silence.
It hadn’t mattered. Nothing ever truly did.
The crystal decanter had left his hand before she had even realized he intended to throw it.
It struck the wall beside her head and glass exploded in every direction. One jagged shard sliced cleanly across her cheek.
The wound had healed and left a scar.
After that, all her mornings began the same way. With powder and face creams.
She learned to carefully apply cosmetics to conceal the mark. It wouldn’t do to have others see it.
She became frighteningly skilled at hiding it.
Not out of shame, but because every question forced her to choose between the truth and a lie. The lie was always easier.
Lies like; "I slipped."
"I caught myself on a broken branch."
"It was an accident."
People accepted those answers because they wanted to. No one looked closely enough to notice the truth.
Her fingers lingered against her cheek and a strangled laugh escaped her.
She had spent two years convincing herself the scar didn’t matter.
Yet standing here, looking at a face that had never known it, she finally understood how much of herself she had lost.
Never again. The words settled quietly inside her heart.
Never again would she allow herself to become a woman who concealed bruises.
Never again would she invent excuses for another person’s cruelty.
Never again would she mistake control for love.
She lowered her hand and met her own gaze in the mirror.
"You will never touch me again."
The words were barely louder than a whisper. Yet they carried a certainty she had never possessed in her previous life.
Drawing a slow breath, she turned away.
The past would remain exactly where it belonged.
Behind her.
***
The familiar scent of freshly baked bread and scones drifted through the entire house as Cassandra descended the grand staircase. It was a smell she had associated with home since childhood.
Once... She had believed it meant comfort.
Now it merely reminded her that some places could feel unfamiliar no matter how many years one had lived within them.
The dining room doors stood open.
Conversation was already underway.
"...and if the tenant refuses again, increase the rent after harvest."
Count Nathaniel Ashford’s voice came from the head of the table. He was an austere man with a rigid bearing and little patience for anything he considered improper. He cared deeply about the family’s reputation and expected everyone to uphold the standards he had spent a lifetime enforcing. In his mind, there was a right way to do things, and any deviation from it was unacceptable.
Age had done very little to soften this side of him.
Edmund, her younger brother, nodded emphatically, hanging on to their father’s every word.
"I thought as much. It’ll remind the others not to become complacent," came Edmund’s response.
"Precisely."
Neither of them noticed Cassandra enter.
Her mother, Vivienne, was the only one that noticed her. She looked up briefly from her plate before offering a distracted smile.
"There you are."
Then, just as quickly, she turned back to Edmund.
It didn’t offend Cassandra. Her mother’s interest in her had always been fleeting at best.
"And what did Lady Blackwood say after the concert?"
"She nearly choked on her wine when Lord Harrington started singing." Edmund laughed. He always loved being the center of their parents’ focus.
Vivienne covered a laugh with her hand.
"I told you inviting him was a mistake."
Cassandra quietly took her seat. No one else acknowledged her.
A servant stepped forward to pour her tea and only then did Nathaniel glance in her direction.
"You’re late." He said bluntly.
"I apologise, Father."
He gave a curt nod. Nothing more.
The conversation immediately returned to Edmund.
"So," Nathaniel said, "have you decided whether you’ll accompany me to the estate next month?"
"I’d like to."
"It is time you became more familiar with managing the tenants." Their father added.
"I’ve begun reviewing the accounts. I know much about the property already." Edmund said.
Nathaniel’s expression softened almost imperceptibly with pride. "Good. The estate will one day be yours."
A strange ache settled in Cassandra’s chest. She had always envied how her parents behaved with Edmund, how freely they gave their affection when it came to him.
There was no impossible standard he had to meet to gain their approval. He was loved and celebrated simply for existing.
Vivienne smiled proudly at her son. "I always said you would grow into the role."
"I still have plenty to learn." Edmund looked almost bashful.
"You do," Nathaniel replied. "But you’ll have us to guide you."
Cassandra lowered her gaze to her untouched breakfast. She couldn’t remember either of her parents ever saying those words to her.
Not once did anyone ask how she had slept. Not once did anyone ask about the work she had spent months doing for the Queen.
She might as well have been another piece of furniture.
Vivienne finally looked toward her.
For one hopeful moment, Cassandra thought her mother had noticed the change in her.
Instead, Vivienne asked, "I received another letter from Lady Winthrop yesterday. She was asking whether you’ve decided on the flowers for your engagement banquet."
The hope disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"I haven’t." Cassandra’s reply lacked enthusiasm but no one seemed to notice.
"You really should." Her mother said as she took a sip of tea. "The banquet is two weeks away. We cannot leave these things until the last moment."
Nathaniel finally joined the conversation.
"Lord Ravenshire’s family has already finalized the guest list. They’ve been exceptionally efficient in aiding the preparations. They’re clearly taking this marriage seriously."
Edmund grinned. "I ran into John yesterday. He asked whether I’d like to join him for a hunt after the wedding."
Nathaniel nodded approvingly. "A thoughtful gesture. He understands the importance of family."
Cassandra stared silently at the porcelain cup between her hands.
John.
Even hearing his name made her stomach churn.
Vivienne looked at her expectantly.
"Well?"
Cassandra blinked. "...Well?"
"Isn’t it wonderful?" Vivienne smiled.
"Lord Ravenshire has been nothing but devoted to you. He remembers every little detail. The books. The flowers. The walks. Honestly, Cassandra, I don’t think I’ve ever met a gentleman so attentive."
The words struck harder than they should have because they were true. That was exactly what John had done.
He remembered everything. He asked about her work. He noticed when she looked tired.
He listened.
He made her feel... Seen.
Nathaniel reached for the folded morning newspaper to his left.
"I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. This engagement is the finest accomplishment House Ashford has achieved in decades."
Cassandra’s fingers tightened around her teacup.
Not her appointment to the Queen’s council. Not her years of service to the crown, a feat that was quite remarkable for a woman of her age.
No. It was her engagement to John Ravenshire. That was her greatest accomplishment in her father’s eyes.
Vivienne nodded in agreement. "You’ve done well, Cassandra. There were moments I worried you’d devote yourself so completely to your work that no respectable gentleman would ever come calling. You are twenty seven years old, after all and not getting any younger. But Lord Ravenshire has changed all that. We’re very fortunate."
Fortunate.
Cassandra almost laughed.
A year from now, that fortunate gentleman would throw a crystal decanter at her head. Two years after that, he would stand among the crowd and smile as he watched her die.
All this talk of John made it harder for Cassandra to tell them that she had recently done the unthinkable by calling off the engagement.
Edmund leaned back in his chair.
"You know, I never understood why you spent so much time at the palace." He shrugged. "I suppose it all worked out. If advising the Queen is what brought John into your life, perhaps it was worth it after all."
The room fell quiet.
No one disagreed. No one corrected him.
To them, everything Cassandra had achieved—every sleepless night, every sacrifice, every problem she’d solved for the Crown—had led to one thing. Becoming Lord John Ravenshire’s fiancée.
Nothing else seemed to matter.
"I trust you’ll remember that once you’re married, House Ravenshire must become your first priority." Her father said. "The Queen will simply have to learn to rely on someone else. You’ve done enough."
Done enough?
She had given the Crown her youth.
She had buried her own ambitions beneath duty. She had stood beside Queen Delphine through twelve years of grief after Princess Lillian’s death.
Yet to her family, none of that had ever been enough to warrant a conversation.
Only a marriage.
Only John.
Only what she could bring back to House Ashford.
Cassandra looked around the table. Not one of them had asked a single question about her. Not one had noticed that something inside her had fundamentally changed overnight.
A familiar ache settled inside her heart. It was an old ache. One she had carried since childhood.
Perhaps that was why she had believed John so easily when he pretended to care about her. Because he had done something no one at this table ever had.
He offered her the attention and validation she had never gotten from her parents.