Ariana stood before the door of the place her father called the heart of the estate, where every decision concerning the family was discussed and deliberated, where the scent of old paper, leather, and cigar smoke perpetually lingered in the air. The room, with its ceiling-high bookshelves crammed with leather-bound, yellow-spined volumes, was like a sanctuary of knowledge and power. The dim light filtering through the partially drawn, heavy curtains only illuminated the magnificent, intricately carved ebony desk, where piles of documents and maps lay scattered. A silent, black marble fireplace rested in the corner.
Lord Alistair Blackwood was seated at the desk, facing a woman. She had long black hair and a jade-green silk dress that clung to her slender figure. Her face, though beautiful, held a trace of weariness and anxiety. She was twittering her thanks to Lord Alistair in a soft, sparrow-like voice.
"Lord Alistair," she said, her eyes gazing up at him with profound gratitude, "I don't know how to express my appreciation for your generous financial assistance. For a poor woman, newly divorced from a drunken brute like Richard, I truly do not know what I can do to repay this kindness."
Her hand gripped a small purse tightly, as if still disbelieving her luck. "I swear, I will repay this debt, no matter what it takes."
Lord Alistair, with his usual imposing demeanor, gave a slight twist to his lips. He slowly rose from the leather-upholstered armchair, walked to the other side of the desk, and approached the woman. His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept over her face, missing no detail.
"Lady Isobel Vance," he spoke, his voice low and warm. "I look forward to your 'repayment'." With that, he reached out a gaunt hand to lightly touch Lady Isobel's shoulder, a courteous gesture that nonetheless made her instinctively flinch.
It was at that exact moment that Ariana's footsteps echoed on the oak floor. She had been standing on the threshold for a while, witnessing it all. A smile bloomed on her face.
"You may rest assured, Lady Vance."
"One of my father's most trustworthy qualities is that he never forgets what others owe him."
Isobel Vance departed immediately afterward with a hasty curtsy. Ariana stepped in, taking a seat on the other side of the desk, facing her father.
"How many has this been this month, Father?" Ariana said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Widows, ladies, even maids... those who seek help in this life always know how to find you. And indeed, Lord Alistair Blackwood here is always duly rewarded."
Ariana thought of her mother. She must have known about everything. Her mother, Eleanor, was a classic, gentle, and resigned woman who had never resisted in her life. Whenever Ariana questioned or hesitated, her mother's eyes would hold a look of weariness, and she would only utter the same familiar phrase, like a Sunday morning prayer at church. "Listen to your father, my daughter."
Alistair did not immediately respond to her taunt, instead leisurely settling back into the leather armchair. He stared at Ariana, his face expressionless.
"It is impolite to interrupt another person's conversation," he said flatly, but every word carried the weight of a rebuke. "It seems you have forgotten what you were taught."
Ariana did not back down. She knew this was a crucial moment. If she didn't speak now, there would be no other chance. Her life, her fate, would forever be decided by arrangements she did not desire. She took a deep breath, pouring all her courage into her voice.
"Father," Ariana said, looking him squarely in the eye with determination. "I want to talk about my wedding to Percival."
Alistair took a cigar from the wooden box on the desk and lit it. The small flame flared, illuminating his composed face. "So, he has proposed to you?" he asked, a thin smoke plume curling around his face.
"Practically every time we meet in this house," Ariana replied, her face slightly wrinkling with annoyance, as if recalling an unpleasant memory.
Alistair's lips curled into a fleeting smile that did not reach his eyes. "Yes, the boy is infatuated with you. He mentioned holding the wedding next year, as soon as you turn eighteen."
A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the cigar.
"But I don't want that," Ariana stated firmly.
Alistair looked at her, placing the cigar in the ashtray with a light clink. "Why? Is there something you find unsatisfactory about him?"
"Everything," Ariana said without hesitation. "I'd rather kill myself than spend the rest of my life with a man like him."
"Suicide," he repeated the word, contempt evident on his face. "A foolish act, but of course," Alistair said slowly. "If you wish it, hardly anyone can stop you. Look around this house, and you will find what you need. A small knife, a vial of poison, or a coil of rope, as you please."
Ariana pressed her lips together, her hands clenched so tightly beneath the desk that her fingernails dug into her palms. She did not reply.
Alistair laughed, an emotionless sound. "But of course, the daughter of Alistair Blackwood would never do such a thing. I know you too well." His voice shifted to one of conviction, sharp as a freshly honed blade. "You will marry him, whether you want to or not. This is not a request; it is an order."
Ariana stared at her father, her heart constricted. After a long moment, she could finally speak, almost a weak whisper. "Father, have you ever loved me?"
"Love does not bring money or power to this family," he replied without emotion. "But if you wish to hear it, then yes, I love you. And remember, you must learn to say this phrase in the future, to those you wish to charm. 'I love you.'"
Her father's words were a slap across Ariana's face. She almost wanted to scream, a surge of choked anger rising in her throat. "Then why not Julian?" she asked, full of indignation. "Doesn't Percival's sister, Charlotte Witherbottom, worship him like a god?" Ariana remembered the woman, a coarse, long-haired version of her brother, also fat and ugly.
And she recalled the way Charlotte always tried to insert herself into Julian's conversations, her eyes glinting frightfully like a predator's whenever he smiled at her, and never missing an opportunity to brush his sleeve or shoulder, even if it was just a deliberate, light touch.
Alistair shrugged. "Julian will be the heir; he is my most capable assistant in the family business," he said casually, as if explaining a simple arithmetic problem. "I have other, more important marriage goals for him in the future."
"But I can do it too," Ariana retorted, her voice strong, echoing through the space of the study. From her hand, she placed a tightly rolled and tied paper onto the desk. A plan she had spent many sleepless nights completing. A detailed business plan for developing an inland waterway transport system using the latest steamship technology, which she was utterly confident in.
Alistair initially seemed surprised to hear his daughter speak of such things, but then gradually grew intrigued by the topic she was discussing.
Ariana tapped her finger on the paper, her eyes full of confidence.
"Father," she began, her voice becoming articulate and persuasive, like a true businesswoman. "My plan is to build a fleet of steamships using advanced compound engines to transport coal from our mines to the seaports faster and cheaper, while also expanding service to other industries."
She proceeded to briefly explain the profit potential and how it could expand the Blackwood empire beyond traditional coal mines and tea plantations.
"Initially, we will optimize the transport of coal from Blackwood's mines to industrial centers and seaports. Imagine, Father, we will significantly cut the intermediary costs currently paid to external transport companies. This will not only increase the profit margin on every ton of coal we sell but also ensure stable supply, without dependence on any single partner."
Ariana paused briefly, letting the potential figures sink into Alistair's mind. "After firmly establishing the internal transport system, we will expand our services. With an efficient and highly reliable fleet, we can offer cargo transport services to other businesses, collecting shipping fees from booming industries, from textiles to steel manufacturing, and even agricultural products. We will establish new routes, connecting resource-rich lands with markets that are starved for goods."
She continued, emphasizing the long-term benefits. "This will not only generate a huge direct revenue stream but also be a powerful leverage. When Blackwood controls the transport lifelines, we will have a greater voice in the entire economy, solidifying the family's unshakeable position. This is an opportunity to diversify our empire, not just relying on coal or tea, but adding a new, sustainable, and highly potential pillar."
"Give me a chance, Father," she pleaded, a mix of urgency and determination in her voice. "Please let me prove my capability. And if I fail, I will return and marry him as you wish."
Alistair was silent. He picked up Ariana's plan, skimming through the pages. Placing the paper down, Alistair looked up at her.
"Who helped you write it?" he asked.
"My tutor, George Caldwell," Ariana replied calmly. "During a lesson at the estate five months ago. He told me about the potential of waterway transport, boasting that if he had the capital, he could turn this business into a golden goose."
A moment of contemplation appeared on Alistair's face. "George Caldwell?" He repeated the name slowly, as if weighing it. "Yes, your former tutor. Then why didn't such an intelligent man do it himself? Or propose a partnership with any businessman, or even myself or Julian?"
Ariana shrugged. "Because that man, though very intelligent, is a gambling addict. His wife divorced him because he gambled away the family's last penny instead of using it to save their son, who was in the hospital with a severe illness. Then the creditors came looking for him, and I haven't heard any news of Mr. Caldwell since."
"You completed this plan, alone?"
"Yes, I spent months, reading extra books and materials on the subject. And even in those meetings with Percival, when he rambled on for hours about his family's business, I gathered bits of information."
At the end of the conversation, Alistair sat silently, hand clutching his head, a rare gesture that indicated deliberation, while Ariana could barely breathe, waiting, a fragile hope flaring in her heart.
In the room, only the steady ticking of the antique clock could be heard.
But then, a voice rang out, simple and decisive. "Our conversation ends here, Ariana. Nothing has changed. The wedding will proceed next year."
Ariana closed her eyes, all her resolve seemingly turning to dust. Tears welled up, but she managed to suppress them. Her voice was lost in despair. "Why? Is it just because I wear a skirt in this house, Father?"
"Why won't you listen to my wishes, just once?" Ariana sprang to her feet, shouting.
Alistair sighed, a heavy sigh mixed with weariness, but not a sign of concession.
"Very well, let me tell you a secret," he motioned for her to sit down.
"Recently, there was a mine collapse. A mine in Durham, owned by our family, managed by a Blackwood cousin named Ephraim. The loss of life was immense."
"I tried to arrange things, negotiated with the miners' relatives, commissioned a large church to be built nearby. But that stupid bastard immediately fled; it took me a week to catch him, and after enduring interrogation, he confessed to cutting corners on the mine's safety measures. I dealt with him discreetly, but... our enemies have caught wind of the incident. They have sent people to begin an investigation, which I cannot entirely cover up. And the consequences will be extremely severe if the true cause is brought to light."
He paused, looking directly into Ariana's eyes. "I need the assistance of Duke Ashton, Percival's father."
Just then, the study door opened. The butler, Elias Thorne, with his silver hair and impeccably neat black uniform, entered. Despite witnessing the tense atmosphere between the father and daughter, he remained composed.
"Lord Alistair," Elias Thorne bowed. "You have an appointment with the businessman Greyson this morning. He is waiting for you in the drawing room."
Alistair stood up, a decisive motion as if the recent conversation had not affected him. He looked back at Ariana. "I hope you understand, Ariana," he said softly, yet carrying a subtle weight. "I need your help to protect this family. Think of your mother, your younger brother—especially him, you care about him the most, don't you? What will they do if we lose everything?"
Alistair left, the study door closing behind him, leaving Ariana alone in the silence. She sat there, motionless in the armchair, her eyes closed, almost accepting the harsh fate that had befallen her. The air in the room was stifling, carrying the scent of despair and the haunting presence of the secrets just revealed. The dim light from the window seemed to be swallowed by the darkness.
Then suddenly, a voice rang out. Not an echo of memory, not the sound of wind whistling through a crack, but a strange sound, as if someone was whispering right next to her, yet coming from a deep, undefined place.
"Come here, come here... I admire you..."
Ariana flinched, opening her eyes wide. She looked around blankly, trying to listen, searching for the source of the sound. The study was still empty, only the silent books on the shelves and the inanimate furniture. Was this a hallucination? A product of an exhausted mind after the bitter confrontation with her father? Or had she started to lose her mind, lost in the labyrinth of despair?
But then, the voice spoke again, clearer this time, almost touching her skin, passing through the thin fabric of her dress. It was no longer a whisper, but like a stream of icy air blowing into her ear.
"Come here, I need you... find me."
On the armchair, Ariana slightly curled up, her whole body tense, as if wanting to shrink into the leather upholstery. Her voice came out weak, full of fear. "Who... who are you?"
The voice replied, slowly, reverberating as if from another space, deep and full of allure. "You will know... when you see me. Please... set me free, Ariana... release me."
A cold current ran down Ariana's spine, but mixed with it was a strange urge. After a moment, when her breathing had become steadier, she managed to ask again. "Where are you?"
"In this study... there is a secret vault," it began to guide, each word like a solemn vow, planting a seed of irresistible curiosity in her mind. "You must find a way to make it appear, and a key beneath the desk drawer. You must know the code."
Just then, a scent permeated the air, subtle yet sickening, worming its way into Ariana's nostrils. It was the sweet and putrid smell of lilies, the scent that often lingered in a mortuary, or on bodies that had begun to decompose. It made her stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising from her gut, tearing through the hypnosis that enveloped her.
The horror suddenly flared, stronger than both fear and curiosity. With a gasp, Ariana sprang up, the armchair crashing backward with a dry thud in the stillness. She didn't hesitate for another second, turning and running out of the place, as if an invisible ghost was pursuing her closely. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her, leaving the smell of death and the haunting whispers trapped in the darkness.
Ariana barely remembered how she returned to her private room. The only memory that remained in her mind was the image of the maid Minnie, with her red hair and freckled face, listening to her request not to be disturbed, that she did not want dinner.
Once back in her room and opening the familiar door, Ariana looked around the spacious but unwelcoming room, which seemed designed more for display than for living.
The walls were covered in dark moss-green Baroque patterned wallpaper, and a large four-poster bed with thick velvet curtains dominated the center. Next to the elaborate vanity table was a large wardrobe full of expensive silk and satin dresses, taking up most of the space.
Ariana walked to the wardrobe, quickly changing out of her restrictive attire into a silk nightgown; its softness was the only thing that brought some comfort to her skin right now. Not bothering to brush her hair or remove all the hairpins, she let her golden hair fall loosely onto her shoulders. She climbed onto the high bed, burying herself in the thick duvet. Physical and mental exhaustion rushed over her, heavy and overwhelming. The room was plunged into the dim light of twilight, and Ariana slowly closed her eyes, trying to push away the thoughts in her mind. Sleep came quickly, pulling her into a world of her own, where the harsh reality was temporarily forgotten.
Ariana was dreaming; she saw herself as a child. On a cold and lonely October night, the seven-year-old girl had secretly crept out of bed in the middle of the night. Opening her room door with a key she had stolen from the butler, with a pair of lit candles in hand, she found her way to her father's study. Because Ariana was curious to know what was inside the room her father never allowed her to step into and look around.
That night, the moon in the sky was obscured by clouds, causing the long corridor to be covered in shadows. The light from the candle in the little girl's hand flickered onto the wall, forming dancing, ghostly shapes. Every sound of her footsteps echoing on the floor was like a warning that something terrible awaited ahead.
Ariana shivered, memories of the ghost stories her brother Julian used to tell rushing back. A mysterious creature hiding under the bed, or a boogeyman lurking to snatch children who wandered at night. The little girl dared not blink, as if just blinking would cause a cold hand to reach out from some crack and drag her away.
But Ariana was determined to move on. She told herself. "There's nothing to be afraid of, ghosts aren't real, they aren't real."
Even so, the small hand holding the candle trembled ceaselessly, betraying her faint reassurance.
When she stood before the room, Ariana realized that it hadn't been locked today; her father must have forgotten. She opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it again.
The room was vast, pitch-dark, with only towering stacks of books and the faint scent of old paper in the air. Ariana began to walk on the thick carpet, circling the room. Her little fingers lightly traced the thin layer of dust on the mahogany bookcase, then stopped before a tarnished brass globe. Ariana gently spun it, causing a creaking sound. Then her eyes finally turned toward the large ebony desk and the leather-upholstered armchair behind it.
With all her strength, the little girl climbed onto the leather armchair behind the desk, the chair which she knew, even in her young mind, symbolized the authority of the head of the household. She flipped through a few pages of a book, reading the incomprehensible letters dancing before her eyes, pretending to be an adult doing important work.
"Mr. Mark, Mr. Callahan, sit down opposite me; today we will discuss extending the time for your debts," the little girl imitated her father's mannerisms, chuckling as she spoke.
Ariana's laughter suddenly died out.
Someone was behind her.
A chill ran down her spine. The little girl heard nothing, saw nothing, but knew for certain that there was a presence. Someone... or something... had just moved in the darkness behind her.
"Who... who is it?" Ariana's voice trembled, quieter than the wind.
Was her father already here? Or Julian? The butler? A maid? But why were they silent? Why didn't they answer?
"Who... is it?" Ariana asked again, almost a breath.
No reply. Only the frantic, terrifying pounding of her own heart echoing in her chest.
"I'm just imagining things." The little girl reassured herself. "It must be."
But then the feeling returned. Stronger, closer. A penetrating gaze fixed on the back of her neck. Ariana's skin prickled. She could feel it, a cold, thin breath, exhaling onto her skin, making every hair on her body stand on end. Cold sweat beaded on her palms, each drop rolling down her temples onto her cheeks. The little girl dared not move, dared not breathe. Her body was rigid, still as a statue.
Ariana didn't know how long she sat motionless, perhaps a minute, perhaps ten. Before gathering all her courage, slowly, little by little, she turned her head back.
Behind her was only darkness and silent bookshelves. Nothing was there.
A sigh of relief escaped Ariana's lips.
At that very moment, from a dark corner of the room, a pair of eyes suddenly flashed, blazing for an instant like those of a wild animal. This almost made Ariana scream, but before the sound could escape her throat, it vanished. The room returned to its usual stillness, as if nothing else had ever been present besides her.
The door burst open, and Ariana saw her father, Alistair Blackwood, standing there, his face filled with fury in the candlelight.
"How did you sneak in here, Ariana?" His voice boomed in the darkness, every sentence filled with terrifying indignation.
"Have you forgotten the rules I tell you every day? Go back to your room immediately. And if I catch you doing this again, I will have someone cane your hands until you learn to obey."
Ariana burst into sobs, her crying breaking the silence. Alistair approached. He roughly picked up his trembling daughter, his hand gripping tightly.
"This is not a seat for you," he said, cold as ice, before carrying the little girl back to her room.
Ariana dreamt of that night, and she suddenly remembered the color of the eyes that had flashed in the dark.
They were the blue of a summer sky just before a storm.
The dream faded, but the feeling of helplessness lingered in Ariana's mind even as she sank deeper into sleep.