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—of 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—wealthy. 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.

  Stolen story; please report.

  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—her 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—Gairos 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—who should have been erased from the picture—met 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—that was forgivable. But not at the expense of her family.

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