Evelyn stood near the grand ballroom''s edge, the candlelight casting golden hues over the polished marble. Laughter and chatter wove through the air, a melody of nobility at ease. But she was anything but at ease.


    Her gaze drifted over the sea of elegant figures, only to catch something—someone. A noble lord, older, refined, his presence nearly fading into the crowd. His expression was composed, but for the briefest moment, just as a passing noble muttered, "It''s a shame what happened to House Ravenshire… though, some would say it was inevitable," she saw it.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    A smirk.


    So fleeting it could''ve been imagined, but she knew better. It wasn''t pity. It wasn''t sympathy. It was something sharper, something colder.


    Her fingers curled into the silk of her gown, heart pounding. Did he know something? Was he involved?


    Before she could react, the noble''s mask of civility was back in place, his attention now on another guest. He hadn''t noticed her watching.


    Evelyn forced herself to take a steady breath. She would not act rashly. Not here. Not now. But deep down, a spark of suspicion had been ignited.


    And she would not let it go.