CHAPTER 28: CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Lady Anita held her wrist aloft, turning it back and forth so the pearls of her new bracelet caught the light, a look of materialistic bliss on her face.

"Just look at this bracelet," she cooed, running the fingers of her other hand over the smooth, lustrous spheres. "It is so perfectly crafted. It looks as though it was forged just for me. My daughter really knows good things."

Ashlyn, seated opposite her, smiled and took a delicate sip of her tea. The bitter taste of Marissa’s parting words was already fading, replaced by the sweet, comforting validation of her mother’s praise and the tangible evidence of her husband’s devotion. She had won. That was all that mattered.

Just then, Lily, who had left for a while entered, approached Marissa and leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

Marissa’s serene expression didn’t change, but a small, knowing smile touched the corners of her lips. She nodded once at Lily, then rose gracefully to her feet.

"Father, Lady Anita," she said, her voice polite and formal. "I have something important that requires my attention. I will excuse myself for now."

Lord Malone, who was busy examining the fine craftsmanship of the lace fan, just waved a dismissive hand, his attention fully absorbed by the gift. Marissa’s eyes, however, flickered to Ashlyn, a quick, almost imperceptible glance that was sharp with hidden meaning. Then, her smile widening slightly, she turned and swept from the room leaving Lily to look after Ryan.

The moment she was gone, Anita let out a condescending sigh. "His Grace didn’t even accompany her back home, and she still manages to smile like that," she sniffed, shaking her head in pity. "Some people have no sense of shame." She then turned her bright, cheerful gaze back to her favored daughter. "Ashlyn, my dear, our wonderful son-in-law has been gone for quite some time now. Where has he run off to?"

The question, so innocent on the surface, struck Ashlyn. Her mind, suddenly and violently, replayed Marissa’s whisper from earlier: "If you hadn’t insisted on swapping grooms that day, your current, loving husband would have been your brother-in-law. Surely, in all this joy, you haven’t forgotten that?"

Marissa’s whisper. Carlos’s long absence. Marissa’s secret smile and sudden, mysterious departure.

The pieces clicked together in Ashlyn’s mind, forming a terrible, sickening picture.

CLATTER!

The fine porcelain teacup slipped from her trembling fingers, shattering on the small table beside her, its contents splashing across the polished wood.

"That flirt," Ashlyn whispered to herself, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs. Her breath grew short. "She wouldn’t... she couldn’t possibly have other ideas, could she? She wouldn’t dare try to take Carlos for herself, would she?"

The thought was poison, spreading through her veins, turning her blood to ice. The man she had praised, the symbol of her happy, secure life—had her sister, the woman who had stolen her title and her glory, now come for her husband as well?

Without a word of explanation to her startled mother, Ashlyn shot to her feet and fled the drawing room.

She found Marissa standing at the arched entrance to the gardens. She was alone, dabbing delicately at her forehead with a lace handkerchief, her posture suggesting a woman who had just exerted herself. Her hair was slightly, almost imperceptibly, disheveled.

As Ashlyn approached, her steps quick and angry, Marissa turned, holding up a hand to stop her. "Ah, sister," she said, her voice a little too breathless. "I advise you not to go in there just now."

The warning was like throwing oil on a fire. "Now you want to stop me?" Ashlyn shrieked, her voice high and ragged with a mixture of rage and panic. "When you were in there, doing those shameful things with my husband, did you ever once think of how I would feel?"

Marissa’s expression was one of sad, knowing pity. "There are some things in this world, little sister, that are like a stone," she said, her voice soft and full of a strange, cryptic wisdom. "If you don’t speak of it, the stone lies heavy in someone else’s heart. But if you poke it, if you insist on turning it over, then that heavy stone will be in your own heart for all time."

It was a confession. It had to be. Ashlyn was blinded by anger so intense it made her vision swim. "Get out of my way!" she screamed. She shoved Marissa with all her strength. Marissa stumbled to the side, catching herself on the stone archway. As Ashlyn stormed past her and into the garden, a wide, triumphant, utterly cruel grin appeared on Marissa’s face.

The garden was a maze of manicured hedges and fragrant rosebushes. Ashlyn’s eyes scanned the area frantically. Then she saw it. Lying discarded on the gravel path was a man’s formal coat. Carlos’s coat.

Her heart stopped. She followed the path, her feet moving as if in a nightmare. She rounded a tall, thick hedge that formed a secluded, private alcove.

And she saw him but he wasn’t alone.

He was behind a woman—a woman Ashlyn now recognized as one of the maids from the Thompson estate who bore Marissa’s gift. The maid was bent over, her simple uniform dress pushed up to her waist, her hands gripping the hedge to steady herself. Carlos’s hands were clamped firmly on her hips, his own trousers pooled around his ankles. He was pounding against her rigorously, his movements a wild rhythm of pure, animalistic lust. They were both trying to muffle their sounds, their moans and groans becoming low, guttural grunts of pleasure that were almost more shocking than a full-throated cry.

Ashlyn saw the sweat on his back, the way his muscles bunched and strained with each powerful thrust. And she saw his face. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, an expression of complete, unadulterated satisfaction written across his features. This was not the kind, devoted man she knew. This was a stranger, lost in a pleasure that had nothing to do with her.

The ideal scene of her perfect marriage, the foundation of her smug happiness, the very core of her "victory" over her sister—it all shattered in an instant, exploding into a million sharp, glittering pieces of an ugly, unbearable truth.

The sound that was torn from her own throat was not a word. It was a scream of agony and betrayal.

"CARLOS!!!"