Chapter 2

When I returned to the grand hall, Stephen was making the rounds with a wineglass in hand. I sat down and patted him on the shoulder.

"Stephen, you've had quite a bit to drink tonight. You should head to your room and get some rest."

He blinked at me with those wide, innocent eyes of his. "But I'm not tired yet. The banquet's only just started."

"Do as I say."

My voice remained gentle, but my expression made it clear that I wouldn't take no for an answer. "You've already toasted to several people, and you can't hold your liquor. If you keep drinking, you'll wake up with a headache tomorrow."

I beckoned to one of the attendants from the Hartwell residence.

"Take Mr. Stephen to one of the guest rooms in the back and let him rest. Prepare a hangover remedy for him and then post someone outside his door. Don't let him wander off."

Stephen opened his mouth as though he wanted to protest, but I patted the back of his hand.

"I'm only looking out for you. We have a house full of guests tonight. If you get drunk and make a fool of yourself, you'll embarrass the entire Aldridge family," I said.

Only then did he flash me an obedient smile. "Alright. Whatever you say, Nicholas."

The attendant led him toward the inner courtyard.

I watched until he disappeared at the end of the walkway. Then, I withdrew my gaze, lifted the wineglass in front of me, and drained it in one gulp.

The cool wine slid down my throat and settled in my stomach.

I had done everything I could.

Isabel had already left, and Stephen was confined to the guest room with someone guarding the door. In theory, my plan was foolproof.

But the prophecy had warned me that it would happen in two hours, and less than half an hour had passed.

I gripped the empty glass so tightly that my fingertips turned white.

By the time the banquet began winding down, the entire residence remained quiet.

I finally allowed myself to relax, but while I was seeing the guests out, a scream rang out from the inner courtyard.

The guests exchanged bewildered looks.

Isabel's mother, Katherine Mercer's, expression shifted in an instant. Gathering her skirts, she rushed toward the inner courtyard before anyone else.

I slowly rose and followed at the very back of the crowd.

Along the way, I heard the helpers whispering among themselves. Their voices were hushed, but bits of their whispers still reached my ears.

"Why is there a woman in Mr. Stephen's room?"

"And at the Hartwell family's victory banquet of all places…"

My hands curled into fists by my sides, my nails digging into my palm.

The guest room door stood wide open, and a crowd had already gathered outside.

I pushed through the onlookers and stepped inside, where Stephen was the first person I saw.

He was huddled near the edge of the bed. His pale silver suit was rumpled, and the open collar revealed a faint red mark near his collarbone.

Behind him lay a woman in a thin nightgown, her back turned to the crowd.

Her hair spilled across the pillow, and her plain white nightgown had slipped down to expose a part of her shoulder. She had a slender figure, but with her face turned toward the wall, no one could tell who she was.

A dusty-rose gown lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. I recognized both the fabric and the color.

Isabel had worn a dusty-rose gown to the banquet.

The room erupted into chaos.

"My God! Isn't that Ms. Hartwell's gown?"

"Is she the woman in Mr. Stephen's arms?"

"This is outrageous! The future bride was found in bed with her fiance's half-brother, and at her fiance's victory banquet, no less!"

The color drained from Katherine's face. She clutched the doorframe as her body swayed. A maid standing behind her quickly caught her and steadied her.

Katherine's lips trembled as she pointed toward the bed, but she struggled to form a single syllable.

The commotion at the door seemed to wake Stephen. His eyes fluttered open in a daze. He first looked down at the woman in his arms, then raised his head and stared at the room full of people.

Confusion and panic quickly filled his doe-like eyes.

"I-I have no idea what happened…"

He released the woman and drew back, his voice still hoarse with sleep. "I fell asleep because I was drunk. Nicholas, why is your—why is she in my bed?"

His voice grew quieter with every word.

Finally, he lowered his head, his ears turning bright red as tears clung to his lashes, looking like the very picture of an innocent young man who had been falsely accused.

Anyone who saw him like this would've felt sorry for him, but his words unmistakably implied that the woman in his bed was Isabel.