Chapter 4: Burning Bridges, Baiting Fears

This time, I wasn’t as reluctant as before. I happily flaunted my wedding gifts every day.

I made a show of it, twirling in front of the mirror, letting the necklace catch the light. If Mom wanted a happy bride, I’d play along—at least on the outside.

My brother frowned and scolded me: “How can you be so shameless? Can’t you learn some composure from Delilah?”

He caught me laughing with the maids, holding the necklace to my throat. “Nadine, honestly. Have you no sense of decorum? Maybe you should take a page from Delilah’s book—she knows how to behave.”

Delilah still smiled timidly: “Sister is so lively, that’s what makes her so adorable. I think the Duke of Northfield must like someone like Sister.”

Her words were sweet, but her eyes darted nervously between me and my brother. There was a tremor in her voice, a barely hidden fear that I might actually go through with the wedding.

There was unmistakable anxiety in her eyes. She was scared I’d really marry the Duke of Northfield.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her dress, knuckles white. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

…

One day, I got a letter from Sean Murphy. He said he wasn’t worthy of me and asked me to forget him, only hoping to see me one last time to say goodbye.

The letter was written in his careful, looping script. He claimed it was for my own good, that he wasn’t good enough for me, that I deserved better. It all reeked of self-pity.

I burned the letter without a flicker of emotion.

The flames curled around the paper, turning his words to ash. I watched until nothing was left but a faint, smoky scent in the air.

In my last life, when we met at St. Mary’s Church, we were caught by the Duke of Northfield and my brother. Even as I ended my life with a white bedsheet, I worried I’d drag Sean down with me.

I can still see the stained-glass windows at St. Mary’s, sunlight streaming through colored glass. I thought I was being brave, meeting Sean one last time. Instead, I handed them the perfect ammunition.

Later, under the Duke’s patronage, Sean Murphy got promoted and made a fortune. Once, when he was drunk, the Duke told him, “Buddy, Nadine Harrison is dead. I owe you a wife, but don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

The words stung, even in death. To them, my life—and my death—was just a debt to settle.

So, he’d already made a deal with the Duke of Northfield, so they could conveniently catch us together.

The realization was like ice water down my spine. All those whispered promises, all those stolen moments—they were just bait.

The plan was to expose our affair, so I’d be the ruined daughter forced to marry Sean, and he could control me forever.

It was a setup from the start. They wanted me boxed in, desperate and alone. The plan worked—almost.

Even after I died, under the Duke’s arrangement, Sean ‘accidentally’ saw another legitimate daughter changing clothes, and the two were forced into an engagement.

The cycle repeated, again and again. Another girl’s life ruined, another engagement forced. The machinery of reputation and power ground on, indifferent to the bodies it left behind.

That legitimate daughter was gentle and virtuous, but after marriage, Sean’s mother tormented her until she miscarried. Sean used it as an excuse to take dozens of mistresses.

The tragedy didn’t stop with me. It spread, like rot, infecting everyone it touched. Sean’s new wife suffered, and nobody lifted a finger to help.

…

On the day mentioned in the letter, I didn’t go. Instead, I sat in my room, calmly tucking a lavender sachet into my purse.

The air was thick with lavender, calming and sweet. I took my time, tying the ribbon, savoring my small act of defiance.

My failure to show up made Sean Murphy anxious, and he sent another letter: “Unless the world turns upside down, only then will I dare break with you. Nadine, I have no other wish, only hope to see you one last time and end this longing.”

His desperation bled through the page, the handwriting shaky and uneven. I could almost hear his voice, pleading and insistent.

“In this world, there are always those who are truly devoted. This regret has nothing to do with romance.”

He tried to make it sound noble, but all I heard was manipulation. True devotion, he called it. I called it cowardice.

…

When I burned the seventh letter, the Duke of Northfield couldn’t sit still any longer and personally invited me out.

By then, the pile of ashes in my fireplace was a small mountain. The Duke showed up at our door, all smiles and charm, but I could see the impatience simmering beneath his mask.

I still refused: “After marriage, there’ll be plenty of chances to meet. Right now, I just want to be with my family and fulfill my duty as a daughter.”

I kept my voice calm, almost sweet. “There’ll be time for all that after the wedding, Your Grace. Right now, I just want to be with my family.” The words tasted like honey and poison.

Such a reason the Duke of Northfield couldn’t argue with. He wanted to expose the matter between me and Sean Murphy, but he couldn’t make a scene—any scandal would damage the Harrison family’s reputation and, by extension, his beloved Delilah.

His jaw tightened, but he nodded, forced to accept my answer. The last thing he wanted was a scandal that might splash onto Delilah.

He wanted everyone to feel guilty toward Delilah and compensate her, while making me obediently follow his plan. But the only way for this to work was if the Harrisons exposed the secret themselves.