CHAPTER 210: THE TIARAS

"Oh, dear... Are you alright?"

Joanne blinked, the haze slowly lifting, and Christina Winchester’s kind eyes came into focus.

"I’m fine, Mrs. Winchester," she said with a breathless smile, pressing a hand over her chest. "I just... I was asleep and got up too fast."

"Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you," Christina said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Jeffrey told me you needed some clothes and I thought~"

"Please, don’t apologize, Mrs. Winchester," Joanne said quickly, already feeling awkward for making the older woman feel bad. "Thank you so much for bringing them... really. You didn’t have to trouble yourself."

Christina gave a graceful shrug, stepping into the room with the ease of someone who didn’t need permission. This was her home, after all. Even in her gentle manner, there was a quiet command in the way she moved and a poised authority Joanne couldn’t help but admire.

This was the woman who had been running the Winchester household for almost six decades. Joanne truly admired her.

Joanne suddenly became acutely aware of how disheveled she must look. Her hair was likely a mess from sleep, and she was still barefoot in nothing but Jeffrey’s oversized sweatshirt. She had barged into their lives yesterday like an emotional hurricane and now stood here like some half-wild stray they had taken in.

She excused herself and quickly ducked into the walk-in closet to change. The clothes Jeffrey had arranged fit her perfectly. Of course, they did. He’d washed her laundry before. He would’ve noticed her sizes, probably without even trying.

He also had gotten her basic skincare products. He knew she’d want to look presentable. He was taking care of her just like he promised. That thought alone sent a strange little flutter through her chest.

When she came out, one of the staff had just entered with a tall glass of freshly made juice. Joanne blinked as Christina took it and handed it to her.

"You looked a bit pale," Christina said gently. "Drink this."

Joanne didn’t argue. The moment the cool liquid touched her throat, her stomach seemed to settle. She hadn’t even realized how queasy she’d been until the juice soothed it.

"You won’t feel any better locked up in this room," Christina said after a moment, her tone even.

It wasn’t quite a suggestion, more like a softly wrapped order. And Joanne didn’t mind.

She followed her out without hesitation.

Christina stepped out of Jeffrey’s quarters with practiced ease, her steps light but assured through the expansive hallways of the Winchester estate. Joanne followed beside her, conscious of every detail—the soft hush of their footsteps on polished floors, the whispering glances from passing housemaids and relatives. Most were women, all of them watching. One young lady, in particular, lingered far too long and trailed behind them like an unsure shadow.

Joanne didn’t comment, though her eyes noted everything. The quiet hierarchy. The unspoken curiosity. The guards stationed at the end of the hall like sentinels. This part of the house felt different—older, more preserved. It was a corridor rarely walked without purpose.

Christina, ever unbothered, kept their conversation afloat with her elegant voice, speaking of her own pregnancies like they were stories woven into the fabric of time.

"When I was expecting Junior, I couldn’t stand the smell of oranges," she said. "Robert, though... I craved cinnamon constantly. I used to sneak into the kitchens for cinnamon toast at midnight. It’s funny the things that stay with you, even after all these years."

Joanne laughed softly. "Your cooking... It’s so comforting. Thank you so much for the meals. I don’t even know why it settles my stomach like this."

"That’s probably why," Christina replied with a gentle smile. "It’s made with memory."

As they approached a large, double-doored room at the end of the corridor—its frame flanked by stoic security personnel—Joanne’s steps unconsciously slowed. She wasn’t sure why, but something in the air changed. The girl trailing behind them suddenly halted, and in a flurry of nervous movement, turned and scurried away.

Joanne raised a brow. Christina only lifted the hem of her sleeve with composure and opened the door without a word.

What lay beyond was not what Joanne expected.

The room was vast, dimly lit by natural light filtering through a stained glass window at the far end. It wasn’t merely a room. It was a curated gallery, an intimate vault. Paintings adorned the walls, interspersed with ancient vases, gilded frames, and tapestries that looked older than the nation. Joanne wasn’t an expert, but even she recognized one particular painting that was sold at a major European auction a few years ago for an eye-watering sum.

Her breath caught. So this was that room.

The Winchester family’s vault of legacy. Of wealth. Of secrets.

Christina stepped in like she belonged there, and of course, she did. Her fingers brushed lightly over a console table lined with old ivory boxes and framed photographs, stopping at one in particular.

Joanne followed slowly, eyes wide as she took everything in. It wasn’t greed that stirred in her, but awe. This wasn’t about money. This was history. Weight. Power. Everything about the Winchester name that loomed larger than life.

"Is this...?" she began, her voice low, respectful.

Christina gave her a quiet nod. "Few people outside the family see this room. But I thought... if you’re to understand what it means to be part of this family, you should see where it all begins."

Joanne nodded, swallowing softly. There was so much she still didn’t know. But this... this was a beginning.

But it wasn’t the end.

Inside the room stood another vault—taller than her, with a solid steel door so thick it looked like it belonged in a high-security bank or one of those heist films where the safe alone could eat a man alive.

Joanne’s feet slowed as they neared it. The air felt colder suddenly, and she couldn’t explain why, but her fingers went clammy and cold.

Christina merely offered her a serene smile. "I want to show you something."

She nodded at the nearby guard. With a soft mechanical click, the massive door began to turn, creaking open with a gravity that didn’t just belong to metal.

Joanne’s heart stammered as she followed Christina inside.

If the outer vault was history, this was legacy.

It was larger than a jewelry boutique and brighter than she could’ve imagined. Gold gleamed from every surface. Necklaces, bracelets, brooches, rings. Sapphire clusters, diamonds the size of marbles, cascades of pearls that glowed with soft luminescence. Platinum combs, emerald bangles... and tiaras.

Tiaras.

Joanne’s breath caught.

She didn’t even know where to look. Her eyes had never seen such wealth—not in pictures, not even in dreams. She wasn’t used to seeing real jewels like this. The heavy, baroque necklaces and ancient family heirlooms were breathtaking.

But the tiaras... they drew her in like a magnet.

She had dreamed of being a princess once, as a girl on a quiet farm under a roof that sometimes leaked during storms. And maybe, somewhere deep inside, she’d never stopped.