"She asked me to help her escape the mansion at night," came Edward's voice, steady but soft, breaking the tense silence like a hammer to glass.
The Duke's head snapped up, eyes narrowing with disbelief. "What did you just say?" he asked, rising from his chair with a suddenness that made the guards flinch.
"You helped her?" His voice was no longer calm—it trembled with a storm of emotions: confusion, fury, and something deeper. "What kind of nonsense is this, Edward? You're a responsible man—trusted. How could you let her go on a wild chase for something no one even has a clue about? What if she runs into danger? What if something happens to her?"
Edward took a deep breath and stepped forward, his expression earnest. "I understand your anger, My Lord. When she first told me, I felt the same. I refused her, tried to make her stay. But then she said something that changed my mind—she told me she's certain she can find her mother."
The Duke's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
Edward continued, his voice firmer now. "She's not doing this on a whim. She believes she has a lead. And I know how much this means to her. She deserves the chance to uncover the truth, even if it's buried deep. And with all due respect, My Lord, I don't think I have the right to stop her."
"You should have come to me," the Duke murmured, his voice heavy.
"I know," Edward said gently. "But you would have said no."
The room fell silent again.
"You're worried about her safety," Edward added, "and I am too. But she is strong, My Lord. She's determined, clever, and resilient. She can take care of herself more than you think."
The Duke slowly lowered himself back into the chair, his shoulders suddenly sagging under the weight of everything. The anger in his eyes dimmed into something more painful—grief, maybe, or guilt.
But what ached the most was not that Isla had left—it was that she hadn't told him. His daughter. His only child. She had made this decision and walked away without a word to her father.
And then Sasha rose quietly from the corner where she had been kneeling. Her hands were shaking as she approached the Duke, and with trembling fingers, she pulled a folded letter from the pocket of her apron.
"My Lord," she said softly, "Lady Isla left this for you. When she shared her plan with me, she made it clear—once you discovered she was gone, I was to give you this. She didn't want you to misunderstand her… she wanted you to know the truth from her own words."
The Duke looked up at her, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused again. He reached out and took the letter from her hand, his fingers curling tightly around it.
The room held its breath as he opened the envelope and began to read.
Dear Father,
First of all, I'm sorry for my messy handwriting—I know it's probably driving you crazy right now. I also know you're angry and heartbroken because I left without telling you. But please, believe me when I say I didn't do it to hurt you. I was scared, Father. I was afraid that if I told you, you wouldn't let me go—because you care about me so deeply and always worry about my safety.
Even so, I wanted to tell you. I really did. But I had so little time.
Father, I promise I'll take care of myself. I'll be back soon—and I'll bring back Mother… and with her, the part of your heart that's been missing for so long.
Please, until then, stay safe and try to be happy. And if you must be angry, save it for when I return—I'll stand there and take every scolding word with a smile, just to see you again.
One last thing—Sasha. She's in love with Steven, one of the guards assigned to my courtyard. She's waited all these years, giving up her happiness just to protect me and stay by my side. Now, I want to do something for her. Please make sure their wedding happens without trouble—and please, let her continue working with me. I still want her as my personal attendant after her marriage.
I love you, Father. With all my heart.
Take care of yourself—for me, for mother, for us.
—Isla
The Duke's hands trembled slightly as he folded the letter shut, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He held it against his chest for a moment, then looked up at Sasha.
"You like some guard named Steven?" he asked, his tone unreadable.
Sasha's heart dropped. "My Lord… I—" she stammered, her voice caught in her throat, her face pale with fear.
But the Duke raised his hand to stop her.
"I want you and him in my study tomorrow morning. We will discuss your marriage," he said simply, his voice laced with exhaustion but not displeasure.
Sasha's eyes widened in disbelief, and she bowed deeply, nearly crying in relief.
The Duke then turned to Edward.
"You'll make sure all the guards responsible for tonight's negligence are punished accordingly," he said sternly. "And as for you—you'll help clean the horse stables for a week. You'll live among the staff during that time, eat with them, and serve with them."
Edward bowed in silent acceptance, the corners of his mouth twitching—not in defiance, but in understanding.
The Duke left the room, not giving Amelia a single glance, despite her desperate attempt to insert herself into the moment.
He walked with slow, heavy steps to his private chambers—the room that held her scent, her memories, her portrait.
He stood before the painting, his gaze softening. "Today our daughter left me… because she wants to find you," he whispered.
"I want to be angry with her… furious even. But I can't. Because she's just like me—when I was her age, filled with reckless hope and impossible dreams."
He let out a tired sigh, tears finally escaping down his cheek.
"I hope what she believes in is true… and I hope you come back to me."