A wife barred from her own household’s banquet was a blatant humiliation.
But I felt nothing.
By the time the gathering ended, the mansion was alive with laughter, the distant hum of cheerful voices seeping through the walls.
I stepped into the hallway just in time to see Carlos and Stephen, their hands intertwined with Tessa Cavendish’s, heading toward the bedroom at the far end.
Seven years had passed in the blink of an eye. The once-young daughter of the Cavendish family had grown into a woman—one who bore an uncanny resemblance to Evie.
That room had once belonged only to Carlos and Evie.
I had once entered it by mistake. My punishment? After three days of kneeling in the snow, my legs were nearly ruined.
When I finally collapsed onto my bed, my knees raw and festering, the agony eating away at me, Carlos came.
For a moment, I had foolishly thought he had softened.
But instead, his voice was cold, void of warmth.
“If it hurts, good. Maybe next time, you’ll remember not to step where you don’t belong.”
Now, Tessa, with a face eerily similar to Evie’s, had moved in effortlessly.
The servants barely concealed their disdain, their whispers cutting through the air like knives.