Chapter 20 – A Day at the Lake

The lake was still and glass-like, its waters catching the light of the late afternoon sun in soft golden hues. Adele walked beside Henry down the gentle slope toward the dock, the sound of her heels muffled by grass and fallen leaves. Her pale blue gown fluttered in the breeze, her face calm, distant, unreadable.

Henry had insisted on a private outing—just the two of them, a day away from the stone walls of the manor, from expectation and glances and the weight of memory. He was unusually warm that morning, full of smiles and idle conversation, as though he were trying to polish something long rusted.

Adele offered polite replies, her hands gently folded before her. She smiled only for the sun, and for her own childlike memories of this lake, of running wild in those younger years when her life was still her own.

They arrived at the water's edge, Henry moving to pour wine into glasses laid out by the staff.

"It's peaceful here," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"Yes," Adele murmured, watching a swan drift across the lake.

Then, in the distance, came the sound of quick steps on the gravel path.

Adele turned slowly, and froze.

She recognized the woman instantly—tall, elegant, her red hair shining like fire, dressed too finely for the outdoors. Margot. Her perfume arrived before her voice, floral and heavy.

"Henry," she said sweetly, feigning surprise. "I didn't expect to find you here. What a coincidence."

Henry stiffened, the blood draining from his face. "Margot," he said sharply, a warning barely veiled.

Adele didn't move. She didn't glare. She didn't frown. She simply offered a neutral smile—elegant, practiced—and turned her gaze elsewhere, like the stranger hadn't arrived at all.

Henry's shame burned hotter with her utter indifference.

"Excuse me," Adele said softly. "I see Lady Clarendon by the terrace—I should say hello."

And without another word, she walked up the slope toward the waiting crowd, her spine straight, her stride as graceful as ever.

Henry was left standing between two storms—one wrapped in silk, the other cloaked in silence.

Margot watched Adele go, a smirk touching her lips.

"You didn't tell me your wife would be joining you today."

"Get out of here," Henry growled under his breath. "Now."

"You've never been this cold to me," Margot said, taking a slow, taunting step closer. "Not even when she was just your bride. What changed?"

"Everything," he hissed. "You don't get to show up like this, not when I've worked so hard to make things right."

Margot scoffed, arms folding across her chest. "Right? You mean playing pretend while she sleeps alone?"

Henry stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous.

"If you ruin this for me—if you so much as breathe about us to anyone—I swear, Margot, I will destroy you."

She faltered for the first time, eyes narrowing.

"You're threatening me now?"

"I'm warning you," he said through gritted teeth. "You've already done enough."

They stood there a moment, the sound of the wind rushing through the reeds, the water gently lapping at the shore.

Margot turned and walked away, her heels clicking furiously against the stone.

And Henry stood still, red with fury—not just at her, but at himself, and at Adele, for being too distant, too untouchable, too perfect in her quiet rejection.