"Master, let me."
Nathaniel stood straight as a rod, that confident, the-prize-is-mine smile on his face.
Watching him, I couldn't name what I felt.
He'd done the same thing in my last life, shoving ahead of everyone to be first at the trial.
Back then I thought it was genuine confidence. Only later did I understand he simply wanted to put on a show for Hope Henson.
A pity his skill never matched his nerve. He misidentified one ingredient while gathering herbs, poisoned himself, and ended up paralyzed.
In the end he took his own life, bitter to the last.
He picked up the small knife from the table, measured a line across his palm, and prepared to cut.
"Wait!"
Hope's voice shot up. She was nearly out of her chair before the word finished.
Two strides carried her to Nathaniel. She clamped down on the hand that held the knife, her voice shaking.
"Are you out of your mind? It's a drug trial, not a death match. What are you doing taking a blade to yourself?"
Every person in the hall froze.
So did I.
Not because of what she did, but because of how she said it.
That urgency. That panic. That terror of being one second too late.
I had never once seen it on her face.
In my last life, she was married to me for forty years.
For forty years she was always gentle, always composed, always the picture of a proper wife.
I thought that was simply who she was.
A little cool, a little reserved. Nothing wrong with that.
But watching her now, gripping Nathaniel's hand and refusing to let go, I finally understood.
She could panic. She could come undone. She could throw everything aside for one person.
It just was never me.
Nathaniel flinched too and instinctively tried to pull his hand back. "Hope, this is the Henson rule for choosing an heir. The trial has to be done on yourself."
"To hell with the rules." She cut him off. "It's a drug trial. Bring a dog to test it. A rabbit, anything. Why does it have to be you bleeding?"
Antony's face darkened at her words.
His hand came down hard on the table.
"Insolence!"
"A rule the Hensons have kept for centuries, and out of your mouth it's garbage? You're just a girl. What do you know?"
Hope's chin came up, her lips pressed white.
She didn't let go. If anything, she gripped Nathaniel's hand tighter.
Looking at those two clasped hands, I felt a dull ache go through my chest.
I thought of our wedding night in the last life.
She sat at the edge of the bed in her red bridal gown, and when I lifted the veil, she gave me one look.
It was a faint look, so faint I'd assumed she was only tired.
Now I knew it wasn't fatigue. It was a heart already dead.
She had never spared me a single thought beyond duty.
From beginning to end, the only person she cared about was Nathaniel.
And I was a substitute she'd had no choice but to accept, a man she'd lowered herself to marry to keep the Henson legacy alive.
No. Not even a substitute.
I was a tool. A tool for running Henson Pharmaceuticals.
Antony was still raging, his voice climbing. "For centuries, every heir of this family has gone through it the same way."
"The clotting salve won't kill anyone. One cut to the palm is nothing."
"You're just a girl. Step aside and stop making trouble here."
Hope didn't move.
She stood in front of Nathaniel like a wall.
And she picked up that sharp little knife.
"Father, if you insist he put a blade to himself, then I'll do it for him."
"I mean it."
Antony shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked years older.
