Chapter 19 - A Cook's Fury, A Daughter's Pain

I slipped into the kitchen quietly, hoping to find a moment of peace after witnessing Clara's cruel burial of my kitten. The warm, familiar smells of baking bread and herbs enveloped me as I stepped inside.

"Matteo?" I called out softly.

The old cook startled, nearly dropping the pot he was scrubbing. His weathered face broke into a smile when he saw me, but concern quickly replaced it.

"Miss Isabella! Should you be here? I thought you were confined to your room after... well, after everything."

I shrugged, settling onto a wooden stool near his worktable. "I needed to see a friendly face."

Matteo dried his hands on his apron and studied me. "You look different today. Something's happened."

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "I'm getting married, Matteo."

His bushy eyebrows shot up. "Married? To whom?"

"The Duke of Blackwood."

Matteo's mouth fell open. "Duke Thorne? The one they call—"

"The monster," I finished for him. "Yes, that one."

"But... how? When?"

"It's happening quickly. Two days from now, I'll leave this place forever." I leaned forward, suddenly earnest. "Matteo, come with me. You've been more family to me than anyone in this house."

The old cook's eyes softened, but he shook his head. "I can't, child. I still owe your father for taking me in when no one else would. But knowing you'll escape—" His voice cracked slightly. "That brings me more joy than you can imagine."

I nodded, understanding but disappointed. "I had to try."

"Tell me everything," he urged, sliding a mug of tea toward me.

As I recounted the events of the past day—Alaric's proposal, my father's shocked acceptance, and the tense dinner—Matteo listened intently, his eyes widening at certain details.

"And Clara?" he asked. "How is she taking your sudden good fortune?"

I snorted. "As well as you'd expect. Father forced her to apologize for killing my kitten."

"That must have been a sight," Matteo chuckled.

"It wasn't sincere, of course. And now she's digging a grave for it under the willow tree."

Matteo's expression darkened. "Don't trust their sudden kindness, Isabella. It's only because they fear the Duke now."

"I know." I traced the rim of my mug with my finger. "They're already plotting. Father wants to send Clara to live with me at Blackwood Manor."

"As what? Your lady's companion?" Matteo barked out a laugh. "The Duke would never allow it."

"They think she can seduce him," I said quietly. "Father even suggested she try to get pregnant."

Matteo slammed his fist down on the table. "That man has no shame! No decency!" His voice dropped to a fierce whisper. "Listen to me, child. When you go to that manor, you make them pay. Make Clara and Lady Beatrix's lives hell whenever you can. You'll have the power now."

I shook my head slowly. "It's not them I'm angriest with, Matteo. It's him. My father. He was supposed to protect me." The words felt bitter on my tongue. "After Mother died, he just... forgot I existed. He let them hurt me, year after year."

Matteo's face crumpled. "I know, child. I know." He reached across the table, his calloused hand covering mine. "Some wounds cut deeper than others."

We sat in silence for a moment, the kitchen quiet except for the crackling fire.

"I should go," I finally said. "I want to get a book from my room to read tonight. And I should check what Clara's doing with my kitten."

Matteo nodded. "Be careful. And remember—two days. Just two more days in this house."

I squeezed his hand. "I won't forget everything you've done for me."

"Go on now," he said gruffly, turning back to his pots.

As I climbed the stairs toward my bedroom, I heard Clara's voice from the hallway. She stood near my door, giving instructions to a maid who looked nervous.

"Make sure her things are packed properly," Clara was saying. "We can't have her looking shabby when she arrives at the Duke's mansion."

"Yes, Miss Clara," the maid murmured.

Clara noticed me and her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Isabella! I was just helping organize your packing."

"How thoughtful," I said dryly.

"Did you finish the burial?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

"Oh yes," Clara's smile widened. "Your little pet has been properly laid to rest. Such a shame about the poor creature."

Something in her tone set alarm bells ringing. There was a smugness, a satisfaction that went beyond her usual cruelty.

"What did you do?" I asked quietly.

"Nothing more than you asked," she said innocently. "I buried the cat under the willow tree. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

I grabbed her arm. "What else, Clara? What are you hiding?"

She yanked away from me, her eyes flashing. "Don't touch me! You may be marrying a Duke, but you're still the same scarred freak underneath that mask."

"Tell me what you did," I demanded, my voice rising.

Clara backed away, her smile turning vicious. "Why don't you go look in your room? Or better yet, under the willow tree?" She turned to leave, then paused. "But I wouldn't dig it up if I were you. The Duke might not like a bride with dirt under her fingernails."

My blood ran cold as I rushed past her into my bedroom. The first thing I noticed was the small box where I'd placed my kitten's body—gone. I'd expected that.

But something felt wrong. I scanned the room quickly. Nothing else seemed disturbed at first glance. My few books remained on the shelf, my brush on the dressing table.

On instinct, I moved to my small closet and pulled it open. My everyday dresses hung there, but something was missing. My heart pounded as I pushed the garments aside, searching desperately.

My mother's wedding dress. The ivory silk gown with delicate lace that I'd carefully preserved for years, my only memento of her. Gone.

"No," I whispered, falling to my knees. "No, no, no."

Clara's words echoed in my mind: "Why don't you go look under the willow tree?"

She wouldn't. She couldn't be that cruel.

But I knew she was.

I flew from my room, down the stairs, and out into the garden. The freshly turned earth under the willow tree confirmed my worst fears. Clara had buried my mother's wedding dress along with the kitten.

I stood there, staring at the small mound of dirt, feeling something break inside me. Then, slowly, something else began to build—a white-hot rage unlike anything I'd felt before.

This wasn't just about the dead kitten anymore. This was about erasing the last physical connection I had to my mother, to the woman who had loved me unconditionally before the scars, before the mask.

I could dig it up now, but the dress would already be ruined by the soil and the dead animal. Clara knew exactly what she was doing. This wasn't a childish act of spite—it was calculated to cause maximum pain.

I turned back toward the house, dragging my feet to the window where the barn was in perfect view. A determined glint entered my eyes as I stared at the structure where Clara kept her prized horses—especially the white mare she'd received for her sixteenth birthday.

Two could play at this game. And I no longer had anything to lose.