《Newpaper Tycoon's Fallen Bride》


 Chapter 1

    Rosemary Severon opened her eyes to a dimly lit room, her body weak, feverish, and aching. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon her, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had been cast into hell to atone for her betrayal.


    She lay motionless on a crude wooden bed, little more than planks set upon bricks, her mind drifting through the fragments of her life.


    Once, she had been the cherished daughter of a noble family, a girl who had dreamed of love and poetry. Her first love had been a scholar, a man of words who had gone away to university while she remained behind. Then, tragedy struck. Her father, her last protector, passed away, leaving her orphaned and vulnerable.


    Her cousin, who arrived to claim the family estate, brought with him a gentleman¡ªGraham Severan. A businessman. Not of the gentry, not the fairytale nobleman she had once imagined for herself, but a man of means. A man who could offer her shelter when she had none. And so, she married him.


    She bore him a son, fulfilled her duty as a wife, and yet¡­ her heart remained cold. Graham was a man of few words, a presence rather than a partner. He did not woo her with love letters or poetry, and day by day, an invisible wall formed between them.


    Then, her first love returned.


    With letters filled with longing, he spoke of how he had worried for her after learning of her father¡¯s death. The words were intoxicating, a sweet melody in contrast to the silence of her marriage. Slowly, through the ink of their letters, the past rekindled.


    The yearning was unbearable. Love, she told herself, was worth any sacrifice.


    She pleaded with Graham for a divorce.


    Of course, he refused. Divorce was a scandal, a stain upon a woman''s reputation that could never be washed away. But Rosemary did not care. Ignoring the whispers of society, she abandoned her husband and child, fleeing to the city in pursuit of her heart¡¯s desire.


    Only to find her lover standing at the altar, marrying the daughter of a wealthy merchant.


    She had not even been a temptation to him¡ªmerely a passing fancy, safe to indulge in because she had been another man¡¯s wife. He had never intended to make her his own.


    Stricken, humiliated, and alone, Rosemary barely made it back to the wretched little room she had rented before her body gave out. A fever consumed her, leaving her trapped between fitful dreams and cruel reality. She had eaten nothing for a day and a night. Her limbs were frail, her strength nearly spent.


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    Regret settled in her chest like a stone. Not for her husband¡ªshe had never loved Graham. But for herself. For the child she had left behind.


    If she survived, she swore, she would return to her son. She would be a mother to him, if nothing else.


    She needed to call for help. Needed to find a way to save herself. But when she tried to rise, her legs gave out, and she tumbled from the bed to the cold wooden floor. The impact was muted¡ªthe bed was barely raised¡ªbut even so, it left her winded.


    For a moment, she simply sat there, drawing ragged breaths.


    The room was pitifully small, its air thick with dust and neglect. No proper window, just a warped wooden table and a sagging bed. She had taken this place because she had nowhere else to go. Ten pence a day, she had agreed with the old woman who owned it. A fair price for a place to wait for a love that would never return.


    But now, waiting was no longer an option.


    Outside, the growl of an engine cut through the stillness, followed by the scrape of tires against the dirt. Footsteps¡ªheavy, deliberate¡ªechoed in the courtyard.


    Rosemary¡¯s breath caught.


    A deep voice rumbled outside, demanding, "Is there a woman from out of town renting here?"


    She knew that voice. Even feverish, even weak, she could never mistake it.


    Graham.


    She tried to call out, but her throat was parched, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. She clutched at the bed frame, then the table, dragging herself to her feet inch by inch.


    Outside, the old woman hesitated before mumbling, "A young lady¡­ she came looking for someone."


    "Where is she?" Graham¡¯s voice was sharp, urgent.


    The woman pointed to the small hut in the corner, eyes shifting nervously. "She should be there."


    Rosemary took a step forward, nearly collapsing. Just a little more¡­ if she could reach the door¡­


    A heavy fist pounded against the wood. "Rosemary! It¡¯s me!"


    Come in, she willed him. Come in before it¡¯s too late!


    Silence stretched. Then, without warning¡ª


    A loud crack.


    The door burst open under the force of a single kick, its hinges torn free. The old woman gasped, shrinking back in fear.


    And there he was.


    Framed in the doorway, Graham Severan stood with the sun at his back, broad-shouldered and imposing. The light slashed across his face, casting one half in brilliant gold, the other in deep shadow. His expression was unreadable¡ªcold, contained¡ªbut his presence filled the tiny space entirely.


    He exhaled slowly, his voice quiet but firm. "Rosemary."


    She swayed where she stood, gripping the table to remain upright. The fever blurred her vision, but she still saw the tension in his jaw, the storm brewing beneath his otherwise controlled exterior.


    His next words cut through the silence like steel.


    "I¡¯ll give you one last chance."


    He took a step forward, his voice low and unwavering.


    "Get a divorce¡­ or come home with me."


    Rosemary''s heart pounded. She had expected anger, maybe even hatred. But instead, standing before her was the man she had abandoned, offering her a choice.


    And this time, she know what to do.

 Chapter 2

    Graham Severan had not returned home for several days. After his last quarrel with Rosemary, he refused to grant her a divorce and chose instead to sleep in his office, believing that time apart might cool her temper. Never did he imagine that his wife would run away.


    When he finally stepped back into the house, he was met with the news¡ªRosemary had entrusted their child to the nurse and left him a letter.


    He unfolded the paper with steady hands, though his heart pounded in his chest. Graham had come from a poor countryside where literacy was rare. It was only after joining the army and attending literacy classes that he discovered his aptitude for reading, a skill that later allowed him to build his publishing business. And now, that very skill had led him to read words he never wished to see.


    Rosemary was determined to leave him. To pursue her own happiness.


    Graham Severan clenched his jaw, anger and bitterness coursing through him. He had never expected love from her, but he also never thought she would go this far. In the end, he gritted his teeth and made up his mind¡ªhe would go after her. If there was even a shred of possibility to keep their family intact, he would try. But if she was truly determined to abandon him for another man, then he would not beg.


    Their marriage had been a mistake from the start. Many of his friends had warned him about Rosemary, that she looked too frail, that there was always a faint resentment between her brows. But Graham, a man from humble beginnings, had wanted a wife of refined manners, someone from the higher classes. When he first met Rosemary, he had been captivated by her demure elegance, her graceful demeanor. He thought that marrying her would bring him closer to the world he had long admired.


    But she had never truly accepted him.


    From the beginning, their marriage was fraught with conflict, softened only by the birth of their child. He had sensed something amiss when Rosemary started exchanging letters too frequently with that lawyer¡ªher so-called friend.


    And now, she had run away.


    Fueled by anger, he stormed into the city, straight to the lawyer¡¯s office. He had no intention of making a public scene¡ªbeing cuckolded was not something to broadcast¡ªbut he needed answers.


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    The lawyer paled at the sight of him.


    "Rosemary and I are just friends," he stammered. "I got married yesterday. She even attended the wedding."


    Graham''s breath stilled. "What?"


    The lawyer nodded hastily. "She came, but only for a short while. She left soon after. She seemed... lost."


    Graham felt as though the floor had tilted beneath him. Rosemary¡¯s so-called elopement had been nothing more than a fantasy. A self-imposed delusion.


    His fingers tightened around the lawyer¡¯s collar. "You encouraged her. You fed her foolish dreams."


    The man, smaller and weaker than Graham, trembled under his grip. "I never promised her anything. We were just... talking."


    Graham''s knuckles ached to strike, but he forced himself to release the man. Instead, he turned on his heel and growled, "Where is she?"


    The lawyer gulped. "She left a message with my assistant. She¡¯s staying at a boarding house on Pence Lane."


    Without another word, Graham stormed out.


    ¡ª


    When he kicked open the door of the boarding house, he expected to find a defiant Rosemary. Instead, he found her barely standing, gripping a worn wooden table for support, her skin ghostly pale.


    "Rosemary," he called her name, but she only looked at him with an unreadable expression. And then, she smiled¡ªa faint, peaceful smile that he never see for a long time.


    Before he could take another step, she collapsed.


    Graham lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. Her body was alarmingly light, her skin burning hot under his touch.


    He didn¡¯t hesitate. He carried her out, his long strides swift as he barked orders to his driver.


    "To the hospital. Now."


    ¡ª


    When Rosemary awoke, the first thing she heard was an unfamiliar woman¡¯s voice, sharp with reprimand.


    "It¡¯s the modern age! How could you let your wife fall into such a state of malnutrition? You should be ashamed!"


    A low, rough voice responded simply, "Yes. Mmm."


    Graham.


    The nurse huffed, her tone softening. "She needs nourishment. When she wakes up, make sure she eats something nutritious."


    "Uh-huh."


    Rosemary blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the hospital room. When she turned her head, she met Graham¡¯s gaze. He was sitting on a stool beside her, his eyes dark and unreadable.


    For the first time, Rosemary did not feel disgust or resentment at his presence. Instead, a strange sense of gratitude stirred within her.


    This was the man she had abandoned, and yet he had come to save her.


    Graham stood, setting a tin lunchbox on her lap. "Eat."


    The lid lifted to reveal biscuits and sweets¡ªsimple, refined foods. Her stomach clenched with hunger, saliva pooling in her mouth.


    She hesitated, glancing at him. "Thank you."


    Graham¡¯s brow furrowed slightly, as if caught off guard.


    Rosemary turned slightly away and began eating. Graham sat silently beside her, arms crossed, his eyes occasionally flicking toward her.


    After she finished, he took the tin box, packing up. Then, he looked at her directly and asked, "Go home?"

 Chapter 3

    This time, Graham Severan did not say, "Divorce or go home."


    Of course, he wanted his wife to come home with him¡ªdivorce had never been what he truly desired. But Rosemary had always been unpredictable. Even though her obsessive extramarital affair had failed, Graham couldn''t be certain she would willingly return. His expression remained cold, but uncertainty churned within him.


    For Rosemary, a woman who had been abandoned by her so-called lover, having a home to return to was better than anything else.


    Now, she was being told to go home.


    Facing the man with his usual taut expression, Rosemary answered without hesitation, her voice light with an almost childlike joy. "Go home!"


    She couldn''t suppress the happiness in her tone. Her bright eyes met his with an unmistakable smile, as if she were looking forward to the rest of her life.


    Graham Severan was momentarily stunned.


    As they rode back, Rosemary sat in the back of the car, feeling an unfamiliar sense of security settle over her. A man who owned a car in this era meant stability¡ªmeant she wouldn¡¯t have to struggle just to survive.


    "Is Madam feeling better?" the driver asked as he maneuvered the vehicle onto the main road.


    The driver was a young man, barely in his twenties.


    Rosemary quickly recalled his surname¡ªCarter. Driver Carter.


    "Yes," she said, her voice steady.


    "What did the doctor say?"


    Since he was asking her directly, it meant he hadn''t asked Graham yet. Rosemary answered smoothly, "It''s just a mild cold."


    "Do we need to stop by and say goodbye to your relative?"


    Rosemary''s gaze drifted from the passing scenery to the rearview mirror, where she caught Graham Severan¡¯s warning look.


    When she had left home, she had told the servants she was going to visit a distant relative. The only person who knew the truth was Graham Severan because she had left a letter in their bedroom, saying goodbye and requesting a divorce.


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    Realizing that the driver was unaware of her attempted elopement, Rosemary chose her words carefully. Perhaps there had been speculation, but neither she nor Graham could afford for the truth to become public.


    She met Graham''s eyes in the mirror.


    With a soft, almost apologetic smile, Rosemary lowered her gaze. Guilt twisted in her stomach.


    Graham Severan frowned. He had been trying to determine whether Rosemary had lost her mind from the heartbreak. From the moment she had woken up, she had been different.


    How many times had she smiled at him? More today than in all the years of their marriage combined.


    Worried that she might say something careless and expose the scandal, he tensed.


    But Rosemary sighed gently and said, "It was just a distant relative. You know, I have no real family left. When I heard about the wedding, I rushed over to congratulate them."


    Graham Severan withdrew his gaze from the rearview mirror and looked straight ahead.


    With Graham silent, Rosemary, too, fell quiet. She turned her attention back to the view outside. The city streets present a charming blend of historic and modern elements. People stroll with leisure under the afternoon sun. She had never truly taken in these sights before, never appreciated their simple beauty. But now, after standing so close to death, her past obsessions seemed like echoes from another lifetime.


    She turned her gaze back to Graham.


    From this angle, she could see his profile¡ªthe hard line of his jaw, the thick eyebrows, the straight nose. Even in the moments when she had despised him, she had never been able to deny that he was a handsome man.


    But now, something had shifted. The excitement of being saved from the brink of death was fading, and the memories she had long suppressed began to surface again.


    Especially when she thought of home.


    A small figure formed in her mind, fragile and innocent.


    "Mom, when are you coming back?" A child''s voice echoed in her memory.


    He had asked her that, not understanding what her departure truly meant.


    The child didn¡¯t realize he had been abandoned.


    A sharp pang of guilt twisted inside her. She could still recall the hopelessness she had felt when she had collapsed on that dingy floor, the overwhelming despair of betrayal. But more than anything, she  felt remorse.


    She had abandoned her son.


    That little boy, too young to comprehend the cruelty of the world, had been left behind by his mother. And for what? A love that had never been real?


    She felt upset. No matter how her husband would punish her for her betrayal, she had to keep her marriage going. She knew that even if she was never happy in the marriage, she owed her son a stable life.


    She looked at the rearview mirror once more, only to find Graham meeting her gaze again.


    Sorry, husband, she thought, but I will still be your wife in your life. I promise!


    This time, she didn¡¯t look away.


    Graham Severan studied her for a moment before shifting his focus back to the road. His grip tightened slightly on the wheel.


    Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride.

 Chapter 4

    The car rolled to a stop, and Graham Severan stepped out first, moving around to open the door for Rosemary. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before accepting his hand, her grip light but steady. As soon as she was upright, he let go, his gaze sweeping over her in quick assessment, ensuring she was strong enough to stand on her own.


    Rosemary lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight and took in the sight of their house. The red-brick structure stood tall and dignified on the quiet, tree-lined street, its sturdy fa?ade softened by ivy curling along the edges. Large bay windows framed in dark wood hinted at the warmth within, while the wrought-iron gate, functional rather than decorative, formed a quiet boundary between the home and the bustling city beyond. Before, she had scorned its simplicity, longing for something grander, but now, with fresh eyes, she saw it for what it was: a home, unwavering and solid, patiently waiting for her return.


    She turned her head slightly and caught sight of Carter¡ªtheir driver, yes, but also Graham¡¯s old comrade from the war. Before, she had barely acknowledged him, viewing him as little more than another fixture in the household. But now, guilt stirred in her chest, pressing against the unfamiliar warmth of gratitude.


    ¡°You must be tired from the drive,¡± she said, her voice softer than it once was, lacking its usual indifference. Then, after a pause, she added, ¡°And for taking care of Graham all these years.¡±


    Carter¡¯s brows lifted slightly before he quickly straightened, nodding. ¡°Just doing my duty, madam.¡±


    Duty. It was a word Rosemary was only beginning to understand. She wasn¡¯t sure if she could truly make amends, but for the first time in years, she was willing to try.


    The air between them grew heavy again, thick with unspoken emotions. Just as she considered how to break the silence, Graham spoke.


    ¡°You go inside first. I¡¯ll pick up the boy.¡±


    And with that, he turned and strode off without another word.


    Rosemary watched him go before exhaling softly. Shrugging, she pushed open the creaking courtyard gate and stepped inside.


    The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt as if she had stepped from a dream into reality. The courtyard, with its uneven stones and creeping vines, looked just as she remembered¡ªyet different, too. Her memories of this place had always been colored by resentment, but now they returned to her like flickering images from an old film. It was strange how the same place could feel so foreign, as if she had never truly seen it before.


    The house itself bore the marks of time and repair. Though solidly built, sections of the fa?ade showed signs of patchwork¡ªnewer bricks filling in gaps where old ones had crumbled, wooden beams reinforcing areas once left to wear. This district had been rebuilt from the ruins of war, a settlement layered over the remnants of a lost era. Their home, once belonging to a declining noble family, had been salvaged, reinforced, and made livable again. Beneath the additions and repairs, one could still see the graceful bones of the past.


    Yet, despite its history, Rosemary had always found it lacking. Compared to the grand, symmetrical estates of the aristocracy, this home felt patched together, neither old nor new, neither lavish nor poor. Before, she had scorned its imperfections. Now, she recognized them for what they were¡ªsigns of resilience, of survival.


    Stepping into the house, Rosemary was immediately enveloped by a sense of quiet history. The layout was traditional¡ªa parlor in the front, flanked by rooms on either side. The west side housed Graham¡¯s study, a large desk positioned by the window, while the eastern rooms had been divided into a suite, one section serving as their bedroom and the other as their son¡¯s nursery.


    Her steps carried her toward the bedroom first. The furniture inside bore the weight of age. A grand wardrobe stood against one wall. Dust motes danced in the light as Rosemary reached out, her fingers grazing the cool glass.


    The reflection that met her gaze was both familiar and foreign.


    The woman before her wore fine clothes¡ªones that marked her as fashionable, elegant. Her hair, styled in the latest revolutionized fashion, framed a face that, despite illness, still retained a quiet radiance. She looked¡­ untouched, as if her months of turmoil had left no mark. But Rosemary knew better. The changes lay deeper, hidden beneath the surface.


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    Drawing in a breath, she stepped away and turned to the wardrobe, opening its heavy doors. Inside, a collection of dresses hung neatly, accompanied by gloves, hats, and shoes. The sight of them unsettled her. They belonged to a woman who had once taken her place in this house, yet they were hers. She was that woman, and yet¡ªshe no longer was.


    Closing the wardrobe, she glanced around the bedroom once more, reacquainting herself with what had once been familiar. Then, her gaze drifted toward the east room.


    Stepping inside, she found it much the same in layout, wooden toys were scattered across the floor. A rocking horse stood in the corner, its wooden head worn smooth from use. Slowly, Rosemary reached out and ran her fingers over it, a lump forming in her throat.


    The guilt was overwhelming.


    Before she could fully gather herself, a small voice interrupted her thoughts.


    ¡°Mommy?¡±


    She turned sharply.


    Graham stood just outside the door, watching, as a small boy took an eager step forward. And then, in an instant, he was in her arms.


    ¡°Mommy! You¡¯re back!¡±


    The moment the small body lunged into her arms, Rosemary felt a wave of warmth and sorrow rise in her chest. The scent of childhood¡ªmilk, sun, and a faint trace of honey¡ªfilled her senses, cutting through the numbness she had carried for days.


    When she came back to herself, she lifted her gaze, only to find Graham Severan watching her with an unreadable expression. His sharp eyes flickered over her, assessing, measuring. She hardly noticed. She was already kneeling on the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her son, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.


    She hadn¡¯t even gotten a good look at him yet.


    Loosening her embrace, she leaned back, allowing space for the boy to stand straight. Finally, they faced each other.


    People say you can tell a child''s character from an early age.


    Gairos Severan had inherited his father¡¯s striking features¡ªthe fine, well-formed brows, the straight, noble line of his nose. Though still young, he already carried himself with an air of quiet composure, like a boy well-mannered beyond his years.


    Rosemary could only stare.


    The boy, cheerful just moments ago, faltered at the sight of her tear-streaked face. His small mouth parted in concern. "Mama, why are you crying?"


    She wiped her cheek hastily.


    Rosemary had shed tears before¡ªalone, behind locked doors, where no one could see her weakness. But now, under Graham¡¯s silent scrutiny, she found herself exposed in a way she had never been before.


    Still, she forced a smile. "Because I missed you so much."


    Gairos let out a relieved breath, then nodded solemnly. "I missed you too, Mama! You¡¯ve been gone for days. I kept asking when you would come back, but Daddy always said he didn¡¯t know."


    Rosemary¡¯s eyes flickered toward Graham.


    He stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his posture still, his expression impassive. But when she met his gaze, he turned his head away.


    Oblivious to the silent exchange, Gairos continued, "I told Daddy to go find you, but he wouldn¡¯t. He said if I asked again, he¡¯d give me a good thrashing."


    The little boy pursed his lips in indignation, his eyes shining with grievance.


    Rosemary smoothed his hair. "And did he?"


    "No." Gairos sniffled. Then, with great conviction, he added, "But he¡¯s still bad for taking so long to bring you home."


    It was a big mercy that Graham hadn¡¯t raised a hand against the child in his frustration. Considering the circumstances, Rosemary suspected he had gone through his own share of anger, pain, and internal war. The fact that he had restrained himself¡ªhad not lashed out at their son, nor let his bitterness spill over¡ªwas perhaps the best proof of his control.


    Not bad for a man who had built all wealthy from nothing.


    "It wasn¡¯t your father¡¯s fault," Rosemary murmured, drawing Gairos into her arms again. Her voice softened. "It was mine." She pressed her lips to the top of his head. "And I promise you, my darling, I will never leave you for so long again."


    A vow.


    A mother¡¯s vow¡ªone that held more weight than any she had ever spoken before.


    She felt Gairos shift in her arms. His small hands patted her back clumsily, the way a child mimics an adult¡¯s gestures of comfort.


    "Don¡¯t cry, Mama," he whispered. "If you have to go away, take me with you next time."


    Rosemary exhaled a quiet laugh, wiping the last of her tears as she nodded. "Alright."


    When she glanced up again, Graham was no longer standing in the doorway.


    She didn¡¯t call for him.


    Instead, she focused on Gairos, asking gently, "Have you had your lunch yet?"


    The boy nodded. "Yes. There was rib soup and roasted vegetables. They weren¡¯t bad."


    Rosemary¡¯s gaze flickered over him. Though he had been apart from her, he looked well. His cheeks were full, his clothes clean and neatly pressed. The nurse had taken good care of him in her absence.


    She had always thought of her son as a quiet, reserved child¡ªwell-mannered but solemn beyond his years. But today, for the first time, she saw something different. The brightness in his eyes. The ease of his laughter.


    What would have happened if she had never returned?


    Would that light have faded? Would the joy in his voice have withered away?


    A deep ache settled in her chest.


    She reached out and cupped his small face, her thumb brushing his warm cheek.


    From now on, this boy would be happy.


    She would not let that smile disappear.


    She would not fail him again.

 Chapter 5

    Leaving Gairos to his play, Rosemary searched for Graham. He was not in the parlor, nor in the hall. As she moved toward the study, the faint creak of floorboards reached her ears.


    Stepping inside, she found him standing near the desk, his waistcoat removed, sleeves rolled up, exposing the sinew and strength of his forearms. The crisp linen of his shirt stretched against his broad shoulders, the fabric slightly open at the collar. His dark trousers, held firm by a sturdy leather belt, accentuated the disciplined strength of his frame. The lamplight cast long shadows, making him appear even taller, his presence filling the space with quiet authority.


    ¡°What is it?¡± His voice was calm but laced with a slight wariness.


    Rosemary opened her mouth but found herself momentarily at a loss. In the past year, she had barely set foot in the study, and Graham had long since accepted her avoidance as a given.


    Today, however, she had sought him out.


    Graham studied her in silence.


    ¡°If you want to use the study, I¡¯ll leave,¡± he said after a moment.


    It was habit now. She had always made it clear that she preferred the space to herself.


    But Rosemary did not move aside. The space between them had never felt so small. If he took even half a step forward, they would touch.


    Perhaps it was guilt, but for the first time, she did not find Graham so unapproachable. Up close, the strong lines of his face, the sharp brows, the straight nose, the solidity of his form¡ªnone of it was unpleasant.


    On impulse, she raised her hand and pressed it against his chest.


    Graham¡¯s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He looked down at her hand, then back at her with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, as if questioning whether she had taken leave of her senses.


    Rosemary withdrew her hand abruptly. She owed him an apology, but she had never imagined it would be this difficult.


    She pretended that nothing happened, pinched the fabric of her dress near the collar, and lifted it slightly, inhaling.


    ¡°Do I smell?¡±


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    Graham halted, his gaze sharpening. ¡°Did you bathe in the city?¡±


    She met his eyes without hesitation. ¡°I didn¡¯t even change my clothes.¡±


    Something flickered in his expression¡ªsomething softer. He did not answer but turned on his heel and left the study. Moments later, the sound of clattering and the rush of pouring water echoed from the kitchen.


    Soon after, a servant appeared at her door, informing her that fresh clothing had been laid out and that a bath awaited her.


    Rosemary exhaled a soft laugh.


    The warm water was a welcome relief as she sank into the tub, letting the heat seep into her weary limbs. The room was dimly lit, the scent of lavender rising with the steam. The tub was deep, the water filled nearly to the brim, a rare indulgence. She ran a washcloth along her arms, watching the grime of travel dissolve into the water.


    She had not realized how tense she had been until now. Her muscles ached from the days of unrest, her mind still tangled in the events of the past weeks. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes for a moment, allowing herself this fleeting sense of ease.


    Halfway through the wash, the door creaked open.


    Graham.


    Instinctively, she turned her back, crossing her arms over her chest, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders. The water sloshed softly as she shifted.


    But Graham did not even glance at her. He stepped inside with his usual measured composure and set a small wooden box beside the tub.


    ¡°Use this,¡± he said simply.


    Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.


    Rosemary hesitated before reaching for the box. A fine, imported soap¡ªfragrant and smooth to the touch. A luxury few could afford for bathing.


    She ran her fingers over the polished surface of the box, her lips curving into the faintest smile. He had not needed to do this.


    Then, shaking her head, she let out a quiet sigh and sank deeper into the warm embrace of the water, letting it wash away more than just the dirt of travel.


    After finishing her bath, Rosemary stepped outside and found Gairos running barefoot across the courtyard. His small feet, pale and soft, padded against the cool stone with childlike delight.


    ¡°Do you want a bath?¡± she asked, amused.


    Gairos shook his head. ¡°No, Nana washed me yesterday.¡±


    Rosemary hummed in response, then glanced toward the house. ¡°Where is your father?¡±


    ¡°Meeting with Mr. Sutton and Miss Silva,¡± Gairos answered without hesitation.


    Rosemary froze mid-step. ¡°Miss Silva?¡±


    She turned back, frowning. ¡°Who is Miss Silva?¡±


    Gairos shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But she calls Mr. Sutton uncle.¡±


    His simple logic made her pause. He did not know Miss Silva personally, so he provided only what little information he had.


    Rosemary, however, knew exactly who Miss Silva was.


    A memory surfaced¡ªwhispers among the servants, a name spoken in hushed tones. Miss Silva had never concealed her ambition to become the mistress of this household. Once, Rosemary had not cared. At that time, she had been consumed by her own desires, blinded by her longing for another.


    But now¡ªnow, she had to care.


    As this realization settled over her, movement at the courtyard door caught her attention. She turned, just in time to see a young woman standing there, her bright eyes widening in disbelief.


    Miss Silva¡¯s lips parted slightly as she took in the sight before her. ¡°You¡¯re really back?¡±

 Chapter 6

    Silva was caught off guard.


    From what she had gathered, Graham¡¯s wife had eloped with another man. The whispers of servants and the knowing glances from those around her had reinforced the belief that Rosemary Severan had abandoned her husband and child. This understanding had only fueled Silva¡¯s ambition.


    Before Graham had wed, Silva¡¯s uncle, Sutton, had considered introducing her to him. However, upon hearing that Graham, like herself, was born in the countryside, she dismissed the idea outright. She had no intention of marrying someone who reminded her of the unkempt village boys she had grown up with. Silva had always dreamed of the city¡ªof wealth, refinement, and a husband who could provide her with both.


    Her mother was a woman of limited intellect, but she hoped that Silva would have a good marriage. She had told her brother to find her a good husband in the city, and sent her straight to Mr. Sutton. Her charm quickly won over the Sutton family.


    Yet when she finally laid eyes on Graham Severan, she had been stunned. He was nothing like the men from her past. Tall, broad-shouldered, exuding an effortless air of authority, and more importantly¡ªwealthy. Regret had clawed at her ever since. She had been foolish to reject her uncle¡¯s offer.


    Fortunately, fate had given her a second chance. Graham¡¯s wife had disappeared, and she had quietly observed the situation, hoping to step into the vacant position. But now, against all reason, Rosemary had returned.


    She stood at the courtyard entrance as Graham¡¯s voice confirmed the news: His wife was back.


    Silva barely concealed her disbelief. He did not mind her infidelity?


    As if to taunt her further, Rosemary emerged from within, her damp hair clinging to her fair skin, her delicate features still flushed from the heat of a bath.


    She looked beautiful, yet shameless.


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    Silva¡¯s lips parted slightly in surprise, her expression unguarded for a fleeting moment before she quickly schooled herself.


    Rosemary caught sight of her and, with a small tilt of her head, turned to Graham. "Who is this little girl?"


    Graham, "This is Miss Silva, Sutton¡¯s niece. She arrived a few days ago while you were away."


    Silva forced a polite smile and stood, gathering her composure. Though her mind reeled, she was not without manners.


    "Mrs. Severan," she greeted, inclining her head slightly.


    To her surprise, Rosemary¡¯s lips curved into a smile. "Call me Rosemary, please. Very pleased to meet you."


    She turned to Graham, her expression unreadable.


    Graham found himself pausing. He had been married to Rosemary for years, but tonight, she looked... different. When he married her, it had been partly due to her noble lineage and partly because of her beauty. But their marriage had been cold, and the unhappiness had etched itself onto her face¡ªher once lively eyes dulled, the corners of her mouth often drawn downward.


    Yet now, she stood before him, freshly bathed, relaxed, and... radiant. It was unsettling how much joy could transform a person.


    Silva¡¯s eyes flickered.


    "Mrs. Severan," she repeated with a measured tone.


    "So... how old are you?" Rosemary asked, tilting her head slightly.


    "Seventeen," Silva answered cautiously.


    Rosemary¡¯s smile widened. "What a lovely girl. Not of our generation at all. Please do visit often¡ªGairos would love to have a sweet girl like you to play with."


    Silva froze. The implication was unmistakable. Rosemary had placed her on equal footing with a child.


    "Why don¡¯t you stay for dinner?" Rosemary offered.


    Silva snapped out of her daze. "No, my uncle is expecting me. I must assist him."


    Rosemary inclined her head gracefully. "Then take your time."


    As Silva turned to leave, she risked one last glance at Rosemary. This woman¡ªwho should have been erased from the picture¡ªmet her gaze head-on, unwavering. There was no hostility, no overt challenge, yet something in her expression sent a chill down Silva¡¯s spine.


    It was Silva who first looked away.


    As she walked to her uncle, her hands curled into fists. How was it possible? How could someone who was meant to be gone still stand so confidently before her?


    Graham, oblivious to the battle that had just begun, spared no further thought for Sutton¡¯s niece. She was, after all, merely a fleeting presence in his household.


    Rosemary, however, knew better. She understood Silva¡¯s kind. A girl who wanted a comfortable life¡ªthat was forgivable. But not at the expense of her family.


    She had made a decision. She would protect what was hers.