//CLARA//
Casimir didn't return as he'd promised.
Part of me was relieved. Every minute he spent in my room was another coal added to the fire of Aunt Cornelia's suspicion, and I didn't need a bonfire.
I sat against the headboard, trying to stitch my feelings back together.
This had been the plan, had it not? Use him. Do not get attached. I was too sharp, too modern, too selfish to be caught in a Gilded Age romance. I was here to survive, not to lose myself in it.
But the thought of destroying him turned my stomach to stone. Not because I would lose his protection or his name. Because I would lose him. Because I would be the one who pushed his pedestal over the edge.
I had spent my whole life walking away unscathed. But I had already chosen. And God help me, I had not chosen myself.
