The party was over. Or rather, it had imploded.
In the aftermath, Chloe found herself in the estate's formal study. Jacob Townsend sat behind a large mahogany desk, his face grim. Eleanor sat in a nearby armchair, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. Preston stood by the window, arms crossed, radiating hostility.
From upstairs, the faint, muffled sound of Juliet's sobbing could still be heard. She had locked herself in her room.
Jacob finally broke the silence. His voice was heavy, devoid of warmth. "Tell me about your life."
It was a command, not a request.
Chloe recounted the story she and her mentor, Elias, had carefully constructed. The story of being found and raised by a kind, elderly herbalist named Walter Potts in a small, forgotten town in Pennsylvania. She painted a picture of a simple, poor, but stable life. A life that fit their preconceived notions of a "country girl."
Eleanor listened, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Guilt and pity warred on her face.
Preston remained unmoved, his suspicion a palpable force in the room. He didn't buy it. Not for a second.
Chloe's gaze drifted around the study. She noted the shelves of leather-bound medical texts, all of them coated in a thin layer of dust. A library of forgotten knowledge.
She reached for her canvas tote bag, placing it on the polished surface of the desk. "I brought gifts."
Eleanor leaned forward, a flicker of hopeful curiosity in her eyes. Even Preston glanced over.
Chloe pulled out several items wrapped in simple brown butcher paper. Inside were what looked like dried, gnarled roots. Ugly, brown, and worthless.
Preston's lip curled in a sneer. Disappointment and contempt washed over his face. This is what she brought? Weeds?
Just then, the study door burst open.
Juliet stood there, her eyes red and swollen, her expensive dress stained with tears. She saw the pathetic-looking roots on the desk and let out a harsh, broken laugh.
"What is that?" she spat, her voice raw. "Did you dig those up from your backyard?"
She snatched one of the roots, her fingers recoiling as if it were a snake, and threw it back onto the desk. "We don't need your charity, Chloe. The Townsends are not so poor that we need you to buy our affection with cheap, pathetic things."
Jacob's face darkened. He didn't know what the roots were, but Juliet's behavior was unacceptable.
Chloe remained calm. She looked at the discarded root with an unreadable expression. "That's Frost-Vein Fern," she said quietly. "And that one is Stone-Heart Lotus. My adoptive father taught me they are very effective for nerve pain and old injuries."
The hidden meaning, a reference to Jacob's chronic leg pain from a riding accident and Eleanor's debilitating migraines, was lost on them.
"Stop making up ridiculous names!" Juliet shrieked. "Do you think you're in some medieval fantasy movie, brewing potions?"
Eleanor, desperate to restore peace, quickly gathered the roots. "Thank you, child. It's the thought that counts." She turned to Chloe, her voice soft and placating. "Your birthday is coming up as well. Is there anything you want? Anything at all? We want to make it up to you."
The word "compensate" was like a lit match to Juliet. Flames of jealousy and rage flared in her eyes.
Preston watched Chloe, a predatory stillness about him, waiting to see what exorbitant price this long-lost sister would demand. A car? A trust fund? A condo in the city?
Chloe was silent for a long moment. Her gaze seemed to look past them, through the walls of the study, to a future only she could see.
Then she lifted her head.
Her eyes, which had been so placid, now held a sharp, unwavering focus. A glint of steel.
She met the gazes of her father, her mother, her brother, and the broken girl who had taken her place.
Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and firm, each word a carefully placed stone.
"My wish is simple."
Her eyes locked onto Juliet's pale, tear-streaked face.
"I want to take her place. I will fulfill the Townsend family's marriage contract with the Sinclairs."
