"Don't heed her words," Lucien finally said after a moment of silence, his voice cutting deep.
Lucien curled his lips as his expression morphed into that of pure disdain and superiority. Using his height to his advantage, Lucien looked down on me.
"The Duke will never permit my mother, a woman of high class and dignity, to attend to a bastard like you born out of wedlock." Lucien said with his voice dripping with contempt.
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he turned on his heel.
The hem of his finely tailored coat sweept the marble floor as he strode away, leaving behind an electrifying silence that echoed in the lavish corridor.
Suddenly, before he rounded the corner, Lucien cast a glance over his shoulder, catching me off guard.
My anger evaporated in an instant, replaced by a jolt of surprise.
In that fleeting moment, as Lucien's eyes met mine, I noticed an unexpected warmth that pierced through the layers of disdain that usually shadowed his expression.
It was a look that confused me, stirring a mix of emotions within.
Was he trying to convey a deeper meaning behind his words, implying that the Duchess would never make the time to see me, thus I can relax?
The thought lingered, lingering in my mind and adding an air of uncertainty to our interaction.
—
A week had passed since that incident.
That weird dark energy that I felt whenever I was in danger did not show up again.
I had a feeling that this was some unknown power which never appeared in the original novel.
Why it was lingering around me, I had no clue.
I spent my week in my room located in the North Wing. My days consisted of lounging, sleeping, reading and eating my so-called meals. It was more like scrapes in my opinion.
I haven't stepped a foot outside my room but I was growing weary of the isolation and most importantly, of these bird feed meals with portions so tiny, I lost even more weight which is surprising, considering how small I already am.
The Duke did not outright order me to stay put in my room but guessing from the suppressing atmosphere when I first woke, I figured I would just stay put in my room.
I also wanted a chance to recuperate without the watchful eyes of this damned family.
Plus, who wouldn't want to laze around all day?
But, I did not expect such tiny portions for meals! The constant growling of my stomach distracted me from lazing around and even reading!
The isolation had become my new routine, drifting in and out of sleep or being buried underneath a stack of books which offered some escape yet I could not stand the hunger!
To top it all off, my room smells stale and there was barely any sunlight, even with the windows open.
It was one thing to be holed up in my room with books and lazing around but it was another to be trapped in such a disgusting room with barely any food!
A deep-seated fatigue was creeping into my soul, an insistent longing for the embrace of fresh air and the warm caress of sunlight that seemed almost out of reach in this desolate winter landscape.
Even the sounds of life beyond the door, the maids who appeared busy cleaning and passing by, seemed appealing, even though they were unwelcome.
In my previous life, while I often appeared quiet on the outside, turmoil and defiance raged within me, largely stifled by the oppressive presence of my stepfather.
But now, that man was long gone, dead in the world I had left behind, and with his presence gone, the shackles of fear that once held me back had mostly fallen away.
It was time for me to embody my true self.
With that thought ignited in my mind, I made the decision to visit my family in the South Wing.
A sly grin crept across my face at the prospect of confronting them.
Pulling the small, delicate bell from the table, I rang for my personal maid, Abigail.
At just sixteen, she had a youthful appearance, with her chestnut brown hair fashioned into playful pigtails that framed her round face.
I had chosen her a week ago because of her naivete; she seemed less hostile than the other servants who frequently steered clear of me. This would be the first time she will serve me, as I did not call for her until now.
"Yes, Young Master," She said, her voice laced with formality as she bowed with precision, a flawless display of respect.
I found myself taken aback by her perfect execution of etiquette, a rare quality in this household.
"Prepare some clothes. I need to go to breakfast," I commanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.
Her brown eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you sure, Young Master?"
"Absolutely," I replied.
Abigail went over to the bathroom to draw some warm water for a bath but only cold water came out to her dismay. To make up for it, she put in some scented soap that she stole from the head maid.
She walked back into my room and then began to sift through the garments in my wardrobe, but her search soon came to an abrupt halt. "Excuse me, Young Master, I can't seem to find any clothes that fit you. Is there a problem?"
"No, that's just how it is here. The Duke can't even afford fitting clothes for his youngest son," I said, my tone low but steady.
"But Duke Constello is very rich! Why does my Young Master only have scraps! We must tell the Duke at once." She exclaimed in distress.
"There's no use in complaining. Can you get me dressed, Abigail. I don't like repeating myself," I sighed.
"I'm sorry, Young Master, but my emotions got the best of me. Seeing you like this, face to face and not just the subject of gossip, I feel so bad for just watching from the sidelines and not doing anything!" She exclaimed.
"It was all in the past. What matters is right now. I chose you for a reason, Abigail. I hope you don't betray my trust."
"Thank you, Young Master. I will do my best to serve you from now on!" Abigail said as bowed, her face filled with tears yet she had a bright smile on her face.
"Good. I want to wear that black set." I pointed out.
Her face lit up, seemingly happy that even though I had no proper clothes, I had at least something that I preferred.
She grabbed the all black set and laid them out on the bed.
She walked over towards me and grabbed the hem of my pajama shirt, trying to help me get it off.
I flinched so hard it startled both us.
My hand shot out before I could stop it, smacking her wrist away with a sharp slap. The sound echoed off marble tile.
She gasped and stumbled back, clutching her in pain hand, eyes wide in shock.
I stood frozen, my hands curled into fist.
My chest started heaving, my breath fast and uneven as I tried to inhale air, trying to prevent memories of those days from resurfacing.