Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Excuse me,” Genevieve murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

She turned on her heel and walked away from Alfred, her face ashen.

She ascended the stairs in a daze, her eyes swimming with tears. She brushed past a pair of ladies, their voices a muffled hum, their words floating around her in fleeting wisps.

Her hands trembled slightly on the polished banister, but she barely noticed. Her eyes blurred and burned with the strain of unshed tears and deep shock. The tears clung stubbornly to her lashes and threatened to spill over at any moment.

She pushed open a door that had been left slightly ajar and slipped into the drawing room.

The distant hum of laughter and music faded away as she closed the door and was swallowed by the thick stillness of the room. Shadows pooled in its corners, and the scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air.

She lowered herself onto a chaise lounge and clutched its edges with both hands as her shoulders quaked uncontrollably.

Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, and she hid her face in her hands. Heat pricked her eyes, and bitter bile rose in her throat.

Wilhelm, the man she had come to trust, the man who had seen through the ridiculous rumors and embraced her for who she truly was, had been using her all along. He had used the rumors about her alleged curse to instill fear in his rivals and manipulate them to his advantage.

He had married her not for love or companionship, but for the advantage their union would offer him in his business transactions. She was nothing more than a pawn in his game, a tool to further his ambitions.

A sob escaped her lips.

She had been so foolish, so blinded by his charm and the illusion of happiness he had woven around her. She had allowed herself to believe that he cared for her, that he saw her for who she truly was, but it was all a lie. He had used her, just like everyone else in her life.

A hand settled lightly on her shoulder, and she jumped.

“Genevieve?” The soft voice pierced through the fog of her thoughts.

Marianne knelt beside her, worry etched on her furrowed brow. Her hand settled gently on Genevieve’s arm.

“What is the matter, my dear?” she asked in a shaky voice.

Genevieve’s body rocked with each ragged sob, the sound cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. Her tears spilled over and poured down her cheeks in warm rivers. Her grief was inconsolable.

She gasped for breath as she sobbed, her chest heaving as though the air itself had thickened and was pressing down on her. Every shuddering exhale magnified the ache in her heart.

Marianne moved closer and wrapped her arms around Genevieve in a tender embrace. She held her firmly but gently, as though her touch alone might shield her friend from the heartache that threatened to consume her.

Her fingers stroked Genevieve’s hair and smoothed down the silken strands in a soothing rhythm.

“It will be all right, my dearest,” she murmured, her voice a protective coating against the hailstorm of grief.

“He used me, Marianne,” Genevieve sobbed, her voice thick with tears. “He has been using me all along.”

Marianne furrowed her brow, her eyes filled with confusion. “Using you?” she questioned. “But… how?”

Genevieve, her sobs subsiding slightly, recounted Alfred’s revelations, the words tumbling past her lips in a torrent of hurt and betrayal.

Marianne’s eyes widened in shock, her voice rising with each word.

“That… that scoundrel!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with fury. “How dare he use you in such a callous manner!”

She gently cupped Genevieve’s face and forced her to turn her head and look her in the eye.

“You cannot stay with him, Genevieve,” she declared, her voice firm and resolute. “You must leave Ravenshire immediately.”

Genevieve’s heart clenched at the thought of leaving Wilhelm behind, but she knew Marianne was right. She could not stay with a man who had used her and betrayed her trust.

“I will,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “But I must first confront him and put him in his place for his detestable behavior.”

Marianne’s gaze softened, and she reached out her hand to squeeze Genevieve’s. “I understand,” she replied sympathetically. “Promise me you will not stay a moment longer than necessary.”

Genevieve nodded dejectedly. “I promise,” she murmured.

Genevieve burst through Ravenshire’s grand entrance, the heavy doors groaning as they swung shut behind her. The cool air of the silent halls carried a faint scent of waxed wood and distant candle smoke.

Her hurried, purposeful footsteps struck the marble floor in a sharp, even rhythm and bounced off the shadowed walls. Without pausing, she quickly hurried up the sweeping staircase that led to Wilhelm’s room.

Halfway up, she nearly collided with Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper’s steady descent momentarily halted by Genevieve’s wild approach.

Mrs. Hughes clutched her skirts and blinked, her face etched with concern.

“Your Grace?” she inquired apprehensively. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Where is the Duke?” Genevieve demanded, her voice breathless and desperate with urgency.

“He is in his study, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hughes replied, looking down the hallway that led to Wilhelm’s private chambers. “But I have explicit instructions that he is not to be disturbed.”

Genevieve swept past the housekeeper without a second glance, the stiff rustle of her skirts and the sharp clicking of her heels breaking the silence. The wall sconces cast a trembling light, their glow barely illuminating the clenched fists at her sides.

The closer she moved to his door, the tighter the knot in her stomach became.

Genevieve grasped the iron handle and twisted it with a sharp jerk, but the heavy oak door refused to budge. A rush of frustration surged through her, and she yanked harder, as though sheer force would grant her entry.

When the door failed to open despite her efforts, she hammered on it violently with both fists, the resounding thuds reverberating down the corridor.

“Wilhelm!” she shouted, her voice raw with fury.

She struck the door even harder, the sting blooming in her palms as tears pricked her eyes.

The silence on the other side only fueled her anger, and she began to kick the door savagely, each blow punctuated by a ragged sob.

“Let me in!”

The stillness of the hall swallowed her voice, but she did not care. The door, solid and unyielding, was more than just a wooden barrier—it was Wilhelm shutting her out, and she would no longer tolerate it.

“Wilhelm!” she screamed with manic ferocity. “Open this door at once!”

A few moments later, the lock clicked softly and the door creaked open. Wilhelm stood before her in the dimly lit room.

The faint glow of a solitary lamp cast uneven shadows on his face, highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes. His usually meticulously groomed hair was disheveled and fell across his brow in messy waves, and his broad shoulders were slumped.

He stood motionless for a moment, as if unsure whether to meet her gaze or retreat further into the shadows of the room.

“Genevieve?” he inquired lethargically. “Whatever is the matter?”

Genevieve’s eyes locked onto his, filled with hurt and accusation. “Why?” she demanded, her voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. “Why have you been using me?”

Wilhelm furrowed his brow.

“Using you?” he questioned. “What do you mean?”

“My curse,” Genevieve retorted, her voice gaining strength. “You have been using it to intimidate your rivals and manipulate them to your advantage.”

Wilhelm’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze momentarily darting away. “Who told you such a thing?” he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of apprehension. “Was it Gaverton?”

Genevieve shook her head, her gaze unwavering.

“It does not matter,” she declared, her voice firm. “The fact remains that you have been using me. Just like everyone else in my life always has.”

Wilhelm’s expression hardened, and he clenched his jaw. “I have not been using you, Genevieve,” he retorted. “I merely… utilized your reputation to our advantage.”

“Utilized my reputation?” Genevieve scoffed, her eyes flashing with contempt. “Is that what you call it? What is the difference between utilizing it and using me?”

Wilhelm’s eyes softened. “It was merely a means to an end, Genevieve,” he explained regretfully. “I never intended to hurt you.”

Genevieve’s gaze wavered, and her chest tightened as the words trembled on her lips. She swallowed hard as the rawness of her emotions caught in her throat.

“You… I cannot believe…” She stopped, at a loss for words.

Utterly frustrated, she clenched her hands into tight fists.

“You… you did not mean to hurt me,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes searched his face desperately, hoping for even the faintest glimmer of regret, of humanity, of anything that might soften the sharp edges of his betrayal.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she took a shaky breath. “But you did.” Her voice cracked, the words heavy with sorrow as she dropped her gaze to the floor, her shoulders trembling. “Deeply.”

Wilhelm’s expression remained unreadable, though his jaw clenched. He inclined his head, his voice low and calm. “I did what needed to be done.”

Genevieve’s head snapped up, disbelief etched on her features.

“What needed to be done?” Her voice trembled with growing fury. “Using me as a tool? Exploiting the whispers of a curse that have followed me my whole life?”

He straightened, his gaze dark and unflinching. “Yes, Genevieve. The world thinks you are cursed, and I saw an opportunity. I used it.”

Her breath hitched, her face contorting with betrayal. “So that’s all I am to you? A weapon to wield?”

Wilhelm’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “Do not misunderstand me. You are far more valuable than that.” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “But I will not deny the truth. The Ton’s fear of you works in our favor. Together, we wield a power they cannot ignore. You should embrace that power instead of shying away from it.”

Genevieve’s chest tightened as the weight of his words crushed her. She laughed bitterly—a sound devoid of humor.

“Embrace it? When you do not even see me beyond it?” Her voice broke, her tears falling freely now.

“You do not understand⁠—”

“No, you do not understand!” she snapped, cutting him off, her body trembling with anger. “I have spent years of my life being shunned, whispered about, treated as less than human because of this curse. And now, the one person I thought might see past all of that… only sees what he can gain from it.”

He took another step towards her, his dark eyes glinting with frustration. “This is not personal, Genevieve. I have enemies who would tear us apart without hesitation. I need every advantage to ensure that they fail. That includes the fear you inspire.”

“This is not personal?” she repeated, her voice rising in anguish. “Do you even hear yourself? I thought—” She stopped, biting her lower lip hard.

“You thought I was a fool who could afford weakness,” Wilhelm said, his voice razor-sharp. “You thought love or sentiment would save you. They won’t. Not in this world.”

Her heart broke a little more at his words, but she refused to let him see her crumble.

She lifted her chin, her voice trembling but defiant. “I cannot stay here, Wilhelm. Not like this. Not if all I am to you is a tool to wield against your enemies.”

Wilhelm’s nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply. He reached for her arm but then stopped short, clenching his fist at his side instead.

“Leaving solves nothing, Genevieve,” he said, his voice low and steely. “I do not need to convince you to stay. You know I am right.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “You may be right about your enemies, but you are wrong about me. I am not just a weapon in your war. I am more than your pawn, Wilhelm. And if you cannot see that…”

Her voice cracked, her composure shattering.

“Then I cannot stay.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her tears blurring her vision.