Chapter 15

Athena’s voice was flat, almost emotionless, but the scorn in her eyes was unmistakable, and Willow saw it clearly.

She was being forced to choose: cut ties with the duke’s estate… or go back.

Willow’s face went sheet white. She swayed on her feet, looking like she might collapse at any second.

She bit her lip hard, trying to hold herself together, but tears spilled freely from her eyes, no longer held back.

“What’s wrong? Can’t bear to choose?” Athena gave a quiet laugh, but the sarcasm in her tone was impossible to miss.

She asked, “In the duke’s estate, you’re a highborn lady. You’ve got status, wealth, and even a perfect marriage lined up with someone from the Osborne family. But here? What are you?”

Every bit of color drained from Willow’s face. She bit down so hard her lower lip bled, and her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

When she still said nothing, Athena finished it for her. “Here, you’re just a dirt-poor village girl. What’s waiting for you isn’t a new life—it’s a slow descent into hell.”

She stepped in closer and dropped her voice, every word sharp and deliberate. “Your gambling father is just waiting to sell you to the highest bidder.

“Want to guess who it’ll be? Some lecherous old man in his sixties? Or maybe the half-wit son of the local landlord?”

“Athena!”

The voice came from outside. Michael stepped in, lifting the hem of his official robe as he ducked through the low doorway.

The cramped little room hit him like a punch of memory, reminding him of Athena’s childhood, alone and cast aside. But she wasn’t meant for this. She belonged in silk, not straw.

His eyes landed on her thin shoulders. The oversized robe she wore had slipped, exposing a flash of pale skin.

He strode over and draped his own cloak over her without a word.

At the brush of his hand against her skin, Athena recoiled instinctively, as if burned. She stepped back several paces.

“You’re worried Willow’s being bullied?” she said, her voice cold. “You always show up right on time. Makes me wonder—are you really that clueless, or just pretending to be?”

“What exactly happened here?” Michael’s throat worked as he swallowed. His voice was tight, urgent, carrying a rare hint of emotion. The stern edge he usually wore had softened.

Athena blinked in surprise. He wasn’t leaping to Willow’s defense like he always did. He was asking her.

But before she could respond, Willow’s soft sobs turned into choked wails. She whimpered, “Michael…” and then broke down completely, unable to speak.

Michael turned back to Athena, his gaze steady but heavy. “You told Willow to write a letter severing ties with the duke’s estate?”

Athena was already growing weary of the conversation, and her attitude toward Michael reflected that perfectly.

“Lord Osborne, this is a private matter within the duke’s estate. May I ask—what authority do you have to question me? If you’re speaking as the Marquis of Somers, then I’m afraid it’s none of your concern.

“If you’re here as Willow’s fiancé—well, you’re not quite there yet. If you want a say in the Monson family’s affairs, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Her voice was calm, but her words cut cleanly.

Michael felt a flicker of anger rise in his chest. This was about their future, and she was brushing it off like it meant nothing. Her indifference stung. He wondered, ‘Has her heart changed that easily?’

Still, he forced himself to stay composed. “Whatever my title is,” he said patiently, “the fact remains—we’re going to be family.

“Even if you and Willow aren’t blood-related, you grew up together. Couldn’t you show her a little kindness? Asking her to sign something like a severance letter… it’s too much.”

He was trying to reason with her, to remind her not to burn every bridge.

But to Athena, his so-called sincerity felt like the cruelest joke. She thought, ‘I am the one being cast out, yet it is I who am being told to be generous? Who, exactly, is pushing whom?’

She had thought she was past caring, but Michael’s words hit harder than she expected. Her chest tightened.

Willow, meanwhile, cast a bashful glance at Michael, a flicker of hope in her eyes. She wondered, ‘When he said ‘we’ll be family,’ did he mean… me?’

“Michael, please don’t blame Athena,” she whispered tearfully. “This has nothing to do with her—it’s all my fault…”

Her tears fell in steady streams, like pearls slipping from a broken strand.

She said it wasn’t Athena’s fault, but her tears made it clear who the villain was supposed to be. She looked every bit the gentle, wronged soul, as if she were enduring everything for the sake of peace.

Michael’s brow creased slightly. His gaze toward Athena carried a flicker of frustration, though he kept his tone gentle.

He asked, “Henry insisted on keeping Willow in the manor because he knew exactly what kind of man her father was. If you send her back here… aren’t you just putting her in harm’s way?”

At that, Athena suddenly looked up and let out a dry, mirthless laugh. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m the one putting her in danger?” she said, her tone laced with bitter amusement. “Jumping to conclusions without knowing the full story—did you leave your brain home?”

Michael flinched slightly, catching the icy glint in her eyes.

He took a breath, softening his voice, just about to respond—when Willow suddenly swayed on her feet and collapsed backward.

“Willow!” he called out, rushing forward to catch her before she hit the ground.