What If?

Nora shut the door to her chambers with more force than necessary, the echo ringing through the quiet room. The moment she was alone, she let out a slow, shuddering breath, her hands trembling at her sides.

She had been clinging—desperately—to the hope that the book had been wrong. That her own knowledge of this story had been twisted, unreliable. That somehow, Caspian would not make the same choices he had made in those ink-stained pages.

But there was no denying it now.

He had left her at the ball.

He had gone home to Lacey.

And now, she was once again the one left behind.

She turned toward the vanity, her reflection flickering in the dim candlelight. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a tight line, but her eyes—her eyes held something darker. A glimmer of something sharp and unreadable.

Her gaze drifted to the book.

It sat where she had left it, resting on the vanity like an unspoken challenge. The pages that had once revealed the entire story to her were now cruelly selective, giving her only pieces—only the parts meant to hurt.

With hesitant fingers, she reached for it.

The pages flipped easily, stopping at the place they always did.

She recognized the words instantly.

Chapter Fifteen

"A Night of Freedom"

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as she read.

Caspian, Lacey, and their child, hidden beneath simple garments, slipping out into the city under the cover of darkness. Lacey laughing at something Caspian whispered in her ear, their hands brushing in the way of old lovers—instinctual, effortless.

The child, wide-eyed with wonder at the world beyond the manor walls, clinging to Caspian's hand as if he were the safest place in existence.

And Caspian—her husband—watching them both with a look of quiet contentment. A look of belonging.

Nora's fingers tightened around the book's edges.

She read it again. And again.

Until the words were burned into her mind. Until she could hear the echo of Lacey's laughter, see the glint of warmth in Caspian's gaze.

She had imagined this moment before. Had imagined what it would be like to confront this reality—to see the man she had loved choose another, to watch as history repeated itself.

But imagining it had done nothing to prepare her for this.

The nausea rose so quickly she had to press a hand against her stomach, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Why?"

She didn't know if the question was for Caspian, for herself, or for the damned book that continued to unravel her world piece by piece.

With a sharp, tearful exhale, she snapped it shut, as if that could banish the truth it held.

But the truth was already inside her. Lodged deep beneath her ribs, poisoning her from within.

She wiped at her face with trembling hands, her breath uneven.

Then, slowly, her thoughts shifted.

Not to Caspian.

Not to Lacey.

But to Lucien. He had known.

Not just about Caspian leaving. Not just about Lacey. But everything.

Far more than he should have known.

The way he had looked at her at the ball, smirking like a man who had been waiting for her to catch up. The way he had spoken, carefully chosen words laced with hidden meanings, with certainty.