Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

H anna rushed up the stairs, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. The weight of her lie, of her betrayal, pressed down on her chest like a vise. As she reached her chamber, she shut the door with trembling hands and leaned against it, her back sliding down the smooth wood until she collapsed onto the floor.

“It’s done,” she whispered to herself, though the words felt hollow.

The sobs came before she could stop them. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands.

Everything felt wrong. Edwin had suspected something was amiss—that much was clear in his eyes when he’d looked at her, confusion and disappointment written all over his face. He knew that she had lied to him. She had lied to protect him, she told herself. To protect Emma. To stop her father from following through with his threats. But the justification did nothing to ease the sickening guilt twisting inside her.

She had given Edwin forged letters—documents her father had ensured would shift the blame entirely onto Benjamin. She had handed over the evidence as though it were the truth, all to stop him from continuing his investigation, to protect him from what her father might do if Edwin kept prying.

And yet… deep down, a part of her wasn’t sure. Was her father truly capable of such terrible things? Did he really have Benjamin killed? Could he do the same to Edwin? Would he force Emma into a life of misery with Lord Whitcombe?

Hanna didn’t know anymore. She couldn’t tell what was real, what was manipulation, and what was her desperate need to believe that she could somehow control this spiraling disaster.

Her tears flowed harder at the thought. If she succeeded in stopping Edwin’s investigation, her father would back down. That was what she had to believe in. That was the hope she clung to. Otherwise, all of this would’ve been for nothing. The lies, the betrayal, the guilt gnawing at her—none of it would matter if she couldn’t keep Emma or Edwin safe from her father’s reach.

But the guilt… the guilt was unbearable. Her breathing quickened, and she felt the old, familiar anxiety claw at her throat as her heart pounded in her chest.

“Breathe,” she told herself and started doing the breathing exercises Edwin had taught her.

Slowly, she calmed herself enough to recover—though as she did, she let out a bitter laugh. She’d pulled herself out of a fit with a technique taught to her by the man she was betraying.

She crawled to her bed, each movement sluggish, her limbs heavy with exhaustion and shame. As she pulled the covers over herself, she curled into a ball, drawing her knees up to her chest, hiding away from the world and the web that seemed to be tightening around her with every passing day.

She had never felt so trapped, so tangled in something beyond her control. Her father’s demands, Edwin’s trust, Emma’s future—it was all falling apart, and she was in the middle of it, suffocating under the weight of her choices.

The tears kept coming, silent now, soaking the pillow beneath her head. She had thought she could fix things, that she could manage her father’s threats, protect Emma, and shield Edwin from the truth all at once.

But now, as she lay there, trembling and broken, she wasn’t sure she could.