Chapter 16

**camp-

The dim light from the flickering bulb cast long shadows on the brick walls of the storeroom.
Jeremiah's muscles strained as he hefted the heavy sack of corn onto the stack, sweat
glistening on his bare chest. He didn't need to turn around to know Ruth was there. He could
feel her eyes on him-cool, assessing.

"I didn't think you were the type to sneak up on people," Jeremiah muttered, his voice rough
with exertion.

Ruth leaned casually against the doorframe, a small smile playing on her lips. Her black
curls framed her face, and her loose robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a
glimmer of skin. "Is that how you say thank you?" she teased, her tone light but edged with
something more. "You've got a short memory."

He paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I didn't ask you to save me."

"No," she stepped forward, the soft sway of her hips catching his eye, "you didn't. But I did
anyway."

Jeremiah's eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, a tension building in the air.
"Do you have the key?" His voice was low, almost a growl.

Ruth's smile widened, her fingers playing absently with the loose fabric of her robe. "Maybe I
do. Maybe I don't." She moved closer, her eyes never leaving his. "Depends on what it's
worth to you."

She reached out, her fingers lightly grazing his chest, sending a ripple of heat through him.
"You're the one who owes me, Jeremiah. Or did you forget that too?" Her voice was soft,
teasing, yet beneath it lay something
dangerous, a reminder of the power she held over him.

Jeremiah's jaw tightened, the memory of his collapse flashing through his mind-the
helplessness, the darkened church, the feeling of her hands pulling him back from the brink.
Now, standing this close to her, the stakes felt higher.

She was no longer just the woman who saved him. She was something far more
complicated.
Her fingers trailed down his chest, and Jeremiah's pulse quickened despite himself. "You
should stop," he warned, though the words lacked conviction.

Ruth's lips curved into a knowing smile.

She chuckled softly, her hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him down toward
her. "You think that's all I came here for?" she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "A key?"
Before he could respond, she kissed him-hard, fierce, claiming.

The heat between them flared, his hands gripping her waist as she pressed closer, her body
moving with a fluid, seductive grace. It was all-consuming, pulling him under.

But as the kiss deepened, the cold metal of the key pressed into his mind like a sharp
reminder. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, eyes locked on hers.
"You're not walking out of here until l get what I need."

Ruth tilted her head, her lips still inches from his, her breath warm on his skin.
"Then come and get it," she whispered, pulling back just enough to leave him wanting more.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away, but the motion only brought her closer. Her lips
hovered near his, teasing him with the possibility, but refusing to give in completely. For a
moment, they were still, the tension building with each passing second, until finally, the last
thread of restraint snapped.

Jeremiah kissed her hard, his lips crashing against hers as he pulled her into him. Ruth
responded in kind, her hands running through his damp hair, gripping it as she pressed
herself closer. The kiss was fierce, filled with the pent-up intensity of their shared desire.

She pushed him back against the stacked sacks of corn, her body moving with a fluid,
seductive grace. He gripped her waist, pulling her robe further open as he tasted the soft
skin along her neck. Every touch between them was electric, each movement more heated
than the last.

Jeremiah lay back on the cold stone floor, catching his breath, a hint of laughter escaping his
lips. His eyes, still filled with the adrenaline of the moment, found Ruth as she stood to
dress. There was a flicker of something—satisfaction, maybe even joy—in his gaze. But as
he watched her, Ruth’s expression remained unreadable. She didn’t smile or return the look.

She adjusted her clothes in silence, and Jeremiah couldn’t help but speak. “Are you
leaving?” His voice carried a trace of vulnerability he hadn’t intended.

Ruth paused for a moment, looking back at him, her dark curls framing her face. “I thought
you didn’t like being disturbed,” she said quietly, her tone devoid of any affection, as if what
had just happened meant nothing to her.

Without another word, she walked toward the door, her steps quiet but deliberate.
Jeremiah’s gaze followed her, the room still heavy with the scent of sweat and the remains of
their heated encounter. He watched as she left, leaving him alone with nothing but the echo
of her parting words and the key she had left behind on a bag of corn.
Jeremiah let out a breath, lying back down, his mind swirling. What had just happened? And
why did he feel a strange hollowness settling in his chest?.

**the Thorntons estate**

Dinner at the Thornton estate was a tense affair. The long dining table, adorned with silver
candelabras and royal dinnerware, sat all the prominent members of the family. Yet, despite
the grandeur, silence reigned.

Charles sat to Maeve’s right, followed by Gabriel and Lucas. Alexander occupied the far end
of the table, across from Lawrence. At the head of the table sat Lady Eleanor Thornton, her
imposing figure a stark contrast to the quiet simmer of the room. Across from her was her
mother, Seraphina, while Emilie and her lover, Peter, sat further down.

The only sounds were the clinking of forks against ceramic plates, a fragile melody breaking
the oppressive quiet. Glances darted across the table, questions unspoken, as tension built
in the void of conversation.

Lady Eleanor’s voice broke the silence, smooth and deliberate. “I trust everyone is enjoying
their meal?”

The words hung in the air, thinly veiled with politeness. Gabriel glanced at his sister, his gaze
lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“It’s fine, Sister,” Gabriel said, his voice a controlled drawl. “It’s always fine.”

Charles shifted in his seat, his posture rigid. “We’ve all been so busy lately. It’s good to have
a quiet evening.” His words were pointed, as if reminding the family of their shared history of
power and duty.

Maeve’s eyes flicked between the two men, sensing the tension in the air. “Perhaps we’ve
forgotten the value of moments like these. Family. We should remember that.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Family is overrated,” he
muttered under his breath, just loud enough for those seated nearby to hear.

Emilie’s fork clinked against her plate, her eyes narrowing at Gabriel’s remark. “Is that how
you see it, Gabriel? Just another duty?”

“Duty?” Gabriel’s voice was icy. “No, Emilie. It’s survival.”

“You never can just sit and be,” Maeve commented, her voice light but sharp, like a dart
aimed at Gabriel’s carefully crafted walls.

Gabriel didn’t respond but instead turned his gaze to Charles. “Tell your bride to speak when
she’s spoken to,” he said, his tone cold and dismissive.
Lucas, always quick with a jab, smirked. “At least he has a bride,” he mocked, his eyes
gleaming with amusement.

Before Gabriel could reply, Emilie’s voice sliced through the growing tension. “Some of us
enjoy the quiet, instead of pretending it’s all some kind of game.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Lady Eleanor asked, her voice cool and cutting. “A game?”

Gabriel turned his gaze toward her, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s always been a game,
Sister,” he replied. “And some of us play it better than others.”

The table fell silent, the tension almost palpable. Everyone was too aware of the unspoken
words that lingered in the air.

At the far end of the table, Lawrence suddenly let out a sharp cough, his face flushed. He
quickly wiped his mouth, looking visibly uncomfortable. His eyes darted around the room.

Charles looked up, brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”

"Why would you ask if I’m okay?” Lawrence replied,his voice sharp, and there was a flicker
of paranoia in his gaze as if he was hiding something. “It’s just a cold.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden defensiveness. “Are you sure? You
don’t look alright.”

Gabriel, ever the provocateur, glanced at Charles with a raised brow. “Let the boy be,
Charles. He says he’s fine, so be it.”

With a smirk, he looked around the table, the weight of his next words hanging in the air.
“We should just enjoy dinner. Why make this more than it needs to be?”

Before anyone could respond, Seraphina’s laugh echoed through the room, cutting through
the thick tension, drawing all eyes toward her.

Lady Eleanor glared from her end of the table, her voice sharp with disdain. “Is there a
problem, Mother?”

Seraphina motioned for a maid, wiping her lips delicately with a cloth as she set her fork
down. “A problem? Oh, Eleanor, is this what you call a palace?” she mocked.

The air thickened as the table fell into an even deeper silence. Eleanor’s lips tightened into a
thin line.

“Excuse me?” Eleanor’s voice was low but carried a warning.

Seraphina’s gaze swept the room, her tone light yet cutting. “Look around. Are these your
warriors and knights? Your princesses and ladies?”
“Mother, not now,” Gabriel muttered, sensing the storm brewing.

Eleanor’s expression darkened, her composed facade cracking. “I will not have you come
into my home and insult me!” she snapped, slamming her hand onto the table.

“You’ve insulted yourself already,” Seraphina retorted, her gaze shifting toward Emilie. “Look
at her. Your only daughter consorts with a steward.”

Peter’s eyes fell to his plate as Emilie shot to her feet. “Ma!” she exclaimed, her voice
trembling with anger.

“Sit down, Emilie,” Charles commanded firmly. “Enough of this nonsense.”

“No!” Eleanor interjected, cutting through the tension. Her gaze bore into her daughter. “Let
her speak. She clearly has much to say.”

“My lady,” Peter began hesitantly, “if my presence is a problem, I can leave.”

“No, Peter,” Emilie snapped, her voice rising as her hands gestured furiously. “You are going
nowhere. I love this man, and I will not have this conversation!”

The table was now a battlefield of darting glances and whispered disbelief.

“She has a tone,” Seraphina noted, her voice sharp but unmoved by the chaos she had
sparked.

Eleanor’s response was cold. “The daughters of the Thorntons are allowed to speak their
minds.”

“Daughters?” Seraphina sneered. “That’s plural, darling. You only have one daughter, and
she lacks your blood. Does that even count?”

Her words sliced through Emilie like a blade. Rising to her feet again, Emilie’s voice cracked
with fury. “My lady, I respect you as my mother’s mother, but if you live in this stone, you
shall swallow your words and think twice before speaking to anyone!”

Peter tried to pull her back down, but Emilie stood firm. Seraphina tilted her head, her
expression cold and amused, before breaking into laughter.

“Oh, Emilie,” Seraphina began, her voice a cruel mockery. “Your mother must have been
desperate to lower herself to such a thing. And you—well, you’re just a reminder of that
mistake.......the chronicle of the bastard daughter and her steward lover. Peter Donovan,
wasn’t it?”

Peter stiffened, his name hanging in the air like a curse.

“You know my first name?” Peter asked, his voice low.

“That’s enough, Mother,” Lucas interrupted, his voice firm. “You’re causing trouble.”

The room had reached its breaking point. Chairs scraped against the floor as more of them
stood, tension rippling through the air.

Eleanor rose to her feet, her hands trembling, her face a mask of barely contained rage. She
inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, but her composure was crumbling.

Seraphina sighed dramatically, her tone dripping with mockery. “My own children, warring
against their mother. How tragic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gabriel muttered from his seat. “Can I finish my meal without you all
screaming like lunatics? Where are your manners?”

Seraphina ignored him, dabbing her mouth with her napkin as she rose gracefully. “I think
I’ve lost my appetite,” she announced, placing the cloth on the table before striding out, her
guards trailing behind her.

Eleanor slumped back into her chair, her breathing labored, her fury palpable.

“Are you all right, Mother?” Lawrence asked cautiously.

Eleanor raised her head, her eyes blazing with fury. Without answering, she pushed back
her chair and stormed after Seraphina, leaving the table in stunned silence.

---------

Seraphina’s heels echoed through the grand hallway, her stride unhurried, deliberate.
Eleanor followed behind her, her voice cutting through the cold air.

“Mother!” Eleanor shouted.

Seraphina paused mid-step, turning slowly to face her daughter, her expression cool and
unreadable. “What is it, Eleanor? I don’t have forever to listen to your self-pity.”

Eleanor’s fists clenched at her sides, her composure slipping further with each breath.
“Leave,” she snapped, her voice trembling. “All of you.” She waved her hand toward
Seraphina’s guards. Without hesitation, they bowed and retreated, leaving the two women
alone in the vast corridor.

“You can cry now—they’re gone,” Seraphina said dryly, her words laced with mockery.
“What do you want?” Eleanor demanded, her voice cracking as her hands trembled. She
gestured helplessly, her fury and fear bleeding into each word. “Why are you here? How
much do we owe you? Why are you doing this? I didn’t ask for any of this!” Her voice rose, a
desperate crescendo. “I don’t want to be fixed, Mother!”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Only the broken can be fixed,”
she said, her voice devoid of emotion. She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “You, my dear,
are the ashes of what’s left behind. I’m here to ensure you don’t stain everything in your
path.”

Eleanor’s breath hitched. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “How much do we owe
you? Is this about money? What do you really want?”

Seraphina chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down Eleanor’s spine. “You came into
this world with horrors of your own, Eleanor. And I failed you.” She reached out, her hand
grazing Eleanor’s cheek in a gesture meant to comfort but only serving to unnerve. “I failed
to be a mother. I want a second chance. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Eleanor’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. “No,” she whispered, her voice
breaking. “I want you dead. Erased from humanity, forgotten. I want you out of my life
because all you are is the shadow I see when I close my eyes—the darkness that made me
what I am.”

Seraphina tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “I am your mother,” she said softly.
“No one will love you the way I did.”

Eleanor’s laughter was bitter, hollow. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? I was
assaulted my entire life, and you knew. You made the deal. What part of that is love?”

“You lived in silver and gold,” Seraphina hissed, her voice rising. “There are sacrifices we
make to live this way.”

“And I was the sacrifice?” Eleanor shot back, her voice shaking with fury.

Seraphina’s mask of calm faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.
Her eyes were cold as she spoke. “I’m sorry your life turned out this way. That’s why I’m
here—to make it right, to make you stronger, to fix this… this wreck you call a home.”

Eleanor turned her back, her voice sharp as a blade. “You don’t fix something by breaking it
further. You are the wreck, Mother. Not me, not this house—you.”

Seraphina took a step closer, her heels echoing ominously in the empty corridor. “Such
words from a woman who still hides behind the walls I built. You’ll never escape me, Eleanor.
I am in your blood, your bones, your soul.”

Eleanor whipped around, her eyes blazing with fury and pain. “Then I’ll tear it out!” she spat,
the words trembling with raw emotion. “I’ll burn everything you ever touched until there’s
nothing left—not of you, not of your empire, not even of your name. You think you’re
invincible, but you’re just a ghost haunting what you can no longer control.”

Seraphina’s smirk faltered for the first time, her eyes narrowing. “And who will you become,
Eleanor, when I’m gone? You don’t know how to live without me.”

Eleanor stepped closer, the intensity in her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You’re
right. I don’t. But I’ll learn. And when I do, I’ll make sure the world knows exactly what you
are.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Seraphina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her face a
mask of cold calculation. “Be careful what you wish for, my dear,” she said softly, her voice
laced with a chilling finality. “The world is not kind to women like us.”

Eleanor’s expression hardened, her tears unshed but glistening in her eyes. “No, it’s not. But
I’d rather fight it alone than share your shadow for another second.”

Without waiting for a response, Eleanor turned on her heel and strode away, her footsteps
echoing defiantly down the corridor. Seraphina stood alone, the weight of her daughter’s
words settling over her like a shroud. For the first time, her confidence wavered, the cracks
in her facade showing beneath the dim light.

Eleanor didn’t look back.