Lorraine stepped out of Aralyn's room, her footsteps soft, almost hesitant. The hall was empty, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. And there, standing in the quiet, was Leroy.
"She's fine," Lorraine whispered, her voice low, careful, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile balance between them.
Leroy nodded without a word. His hand came to rest firmly on her back, grounding, steady. But more than Aralyn, it was her he worried about. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered on the closed door, in the way her chest rose and fell with silent concern.
Lorraine genuinely cared for Aralyn.
For the first time, a deep regret settled in Leroy's chest, sharp and undeniable. He shouldn't have left her to deal with the Dowager at all. This mess, this cruel arrangement, had only made everything worse. Never once in his life did he regret a decision he had made this soon.
