ch:11

"Are you nervous, my lady?" one of the maids asked softly, adjusting the delicate lace of Ana's traveling cloak.

Ana's fingers trembled slightly as she touched the veil resting atop her head. "I don't know what to feel," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's understandable," the maid replied with a small, sympathetic smile. "A new home, a new life—it's a lot to take in."

Ana let out a slow breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. A wife. A woman about to step into a world she never belonged to.

She had chosen to stay one last night at her family home before moving to Caden's estate. It wasn't tradition, and certainly not something her father had encouraged. But Ana had insisted. It was her only chance to hold onto the last remnants of the life she once knew. The walls of her childhood room, the familiar scent of old books and lavender—everything felt like a fading memory. She wanted to say goodbye, in her own way.

"Lady Anastasia," another maid murmured, adjusting the folds of her dress. "The carriage is ready."

Ana exhaled, willing her heart to steady.

...

The heavy scent of fresh roses lingered as Ana stepped into the grand carriage, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The streets outside blurred past, noble onlookers whispering as the carriage rolled toward Caden's estate. She was no longer just Anastasia Vale—she was now Anastasia Voltaire-Falkner.

Her father's voice still echoed in her mind, his warning sharp. "Do not bring shame upon this family."

...

The grand estate loomed before her, its towering iron gates opening slowly. The cold stone walls felt more like a prison than a home. Servants stood lined up outside, their expressions unreadable.

Caden was nowhere in sight. He had left on urgent business, his absence making the weight of her arrival even heavier.

Instead, a woman, elegant and severe, stood at the entrance. His mother.

"Welcome," the woman said, though there was no warmth in her voice. Her eyes flickered over Ana's figure, unimpressed. "I hope you understand the responsibilities that come with your new position."

Ana met her gaze, straightening her shoulders. "I understand."

His mother didn't acknowledge her words. Instead, she turned sharply. "Follow me."

...

The estate was cold, much like the people inside it. The grand halls stretched endlessly, their towering windows letting in light that did little to warm the space. Ana walked behind Caden's mother, her steps echoing against the polished marble floor.

"Your chambers are in the west wing," the woman said, her tone clipped. "It is expected that you maintain proper decorum. This house has rules, and you would be wise to learn them quickly."

Ana bit the inside of her cheek but nodded, choosing silence over defiance—for now.

Upon reaching the chambers, Caden's mother pushed open the doors. The room was grand, decorated with the finest fabrics and gilded furniture. Yet it felt cold, unwelcoming.

"The servants will bring your things shortly," the woman continued, stepping inside. She smoothed the folds of her pristine dress before turning back to Ana. "You are now a Voltaire-Falkner. That name carries weight. Do not disappoint us."

With that, she left, the heavy doors shutting behind her with an unsettling finality.

A servant, an older woman with a sharp glare, set down a tray of tea.

"Drink it while it's warm, my lady," she said stiffly before walking away without another word.

Ana sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was here now. This was her life.

But she knew one thing for certain—this house was not her home.