The moment the doors opened, Garrick practically shoved me into the room.
I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before I lost my footing completely. Pain shot sharply through my injured shoulder from the sudden movement, the old gunshot wound flaring violently enough to make me grit my teeth.
Behind me, the doors shut heavily.
Lady Cavendish's office looked exactly as I remembered it.
Dark wooden paneling lined one side of the room, rich and imposing beneath the dim golden lighting, while towering windows stretched across the other wall overlooking the estate courtyard below. Rain clouds had begun gathering outside, casting the grounds in a dull grey haze.
The last time I had stood here, just one or two years ago, Lord Cavendish was still alive.
I could still remember him seated behind that massive mahogany desk, smiling warmly at Garrick and I while his wife stood elegantly beside him like the perfect aristocratic couple pulled straight from old British society magazines my mother used to read.
Back then, Garrick had looked almost identical to his father. With the same sharp jaw, the same blue eyes and beard.
It felt weird, as I made my way to the same large oak chairs, upholstered in deep red velvet. The same set where I sat, a lifetime ago, while his parents congratulated us on our engagement, speaking about our future as though it had already been written in stone.
God, I can't believe I had truly believed I would marry him once.
I took a seat on one of the chairs, my grip still tight around the knife in case any of them decided to pry it from my hands. My eyes drifted toward the large desk, lingering on the fresh flowers arranged carefully on one corner before moving across the rest of the room.
The feminine touches woven subtly into the decor. Cream-colored candles flickering behind her. Delicate porcelain pieces displayed neatly on the shelves. Books stacked with meticulous precision, every single thing placed exactly where she wanted it to be.
There was certainly no question anymore about who truly held power in this family after Lord Cavendish's untimely death.
"So," Lady Cavendish began smoothly, settling back into her chair as though this were nothing more than an ordinary business negotiation, "I am willing to hear what it is you believe you can offer us."
"Set Marcus free, and I will marry your son," I said.
Lady Cavendish's expression barely shifted.
"And why," she asked calmly, "would I do that when I can simply send him back to Rome and have you marry Garrick regardless?"
"Because the marriage would not be legitimate," I replied.
That finally made her pause.
I leaned forward slightly, tightening my grip around the knife still resting against my lap.
"You said it yourself," I continued quietly. "Your family has spent centuries trying to undo what happened that night. Betrayal. Bloodshed. Forced loyalty." My eyes locked onto hers. "And now you want to repeat the exact same thing?"
Silence settled between us.
"You believe this curse is tied to bloodlines, intention, vows." I swallowed hard. "Then you know forcing me into this while Marcus is dragged away in chains would poison the marriage before it even begins."
For the first time since entering the office, Lady Cavendish did not immediately respond.
"She has a point," Garrick muttered reluctantly from behind me.
I looked at him in surprise.
His jaw clenched.
"Mother," he approached carefully, his hand on the empty seat next to mine, "if the curse truly began because our ancestors destroyed her family and stole what was promised willingly..." He exhaled slowly. "Then forcing her now may simply repeat history."
His mother's gaze sharpened dangerously.
"I asked you for one thing, son," Lady Cavendish said, turning slowly toward Garrick. For the first time that evening, genuine irritation slipped through her polished composure. "I gave you another opportunity, and yet somehow, you still managed to ruin it."
"Mother—"
"You were already engaged," she snapped. "By now, the two of you should have been married. All of this could have been avoided entirely."
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"If we had gone through with the wedding," he argued carefully, "Marcus's presence was still foretold. The problem would have remained regardless."
The words hit me like ice water.
I stared at him.
"What?"
My voice came out quieter than intended.
Had he been using me all along? Was anything even real?
Slowly, I turned toward Garrick fully.
"What do you mean his presence was foretold?"
For a brief second, something unreadable crossed his face. Hesitation, then regret. Maybe even guilt.
Like he had already said too much.
His lips parted slightly, as though he intended to answer.
But Lady Cavendish cut in sharply before he could.
"Enough," she said coldly. "You have already done sufficient damage tonight."
My hands drifted instinctively toward my neck.
The bleeding had mostly stopped now, but the shallow cut still burned beneath my fingertips. A sharp, constant sting that felt almost deliberate, as if my own body was reminding me not to lose focus.
"We shall entertain your terms for now," Garrick's mother said at last, her gaze dropping briefly to the wound at my throat before lifting back to my face.
Slowly, I lowered my hand back onto my lap.
"Since you already agreed to marry my son, you will marry him tonight," she continued coolly, as though she was announcing nothing more than a change in dinner arrangements. "Or I will personally ensure your precious Roman is sent back to his own time before sunrise."
Her expression hardened faintly.
"Either way," she said, "this curse ends tonight."
Then, without another word, she reached toward the small silver bell resting on her desk and rang it once.
The sound echoed softly through the office.
A moment later, the doors opened and two guards stepped inside immediately.
"Take Miss Wright upstairs," she instructed calmly. "Prepare one of the guest suites."
I stiffened.
Garrick remained silent standing at the side, though I could feel his eyes on me.
His mother's gaze swept slowly over me then. From my wrinkled clothes, my windblown hair, the dried blood near my neck, the knife still clutched tightly in my hand.
A faint look of distaste crossed her otherwise elegant features.
"And do see to it that she is dressed appropriately," she added smoothly.
My stomach twisted violently.
"If she is to become a Cavendish," she said, leaning back into her chair once more, "then she ought to start looking like one."
One of the guards stepped toward me.
I immediately tightened my grip around the knife again.
"Oh, and release Marcus from his chains."
I froze.
For a second there, I genuinely thought I had misheard her.
Even Garrick looked toward his mother in surprise.
"Mother—"
"I said release him," she repeated coolly. "He is hardly going anywhere now, in his condition."
Despite relief hitting me so suddenly, suspicion followed right behind it. In his condition'?
"What are you—"
Her eyes shifted back to me, something unreadable flickering behind them.
"I am a woman of my word, Elena," she said softly. "You asked for him to be freed. And so I released him."
My throat tightened.
There must be something else. It couldn't be this easy. What had she done—
"What did you do to him?" I demanded immediately, rising halfway from my chair. Before she could answer, one of the guards stepped forward and firmly took hold of my arm.
"You bitch! What did you do—"
"Take her upstairs," Lady Cavendish ordered calmly.
"Elena—" Garrick started, reaching out for me.
"Fuck no!" I snapped, struggling against the guard as panic rose violently in my chest now. "Let me see him! What the fuck have you done to him?! Where is he?"
But nobody answered me.
The guards merely dragged me toward the doors, and the last thing I saw as I struggled, was Garrick's mother, watching me silently from behind her desk—
smiling.