"What I told you is exactly what Mabel told me!" Edward's voice grew more heated. "Lucille wasn't even in the bathroom when I rushed in with the servants!" He roared, still not understanding what Mitch's question really meant.
Seeing him so furious while almost defending his ex-mate's innocence, Mitch's lips curled into a small smile. His eyebrows lifted knowingly. There was a chance of re-bonding after all.
"Actually, she knew that the terms of servitude forbid physical assault, but she slapped her several times!" Edward continued, letting more details slip out.
The people in the room exchanged wary glances. It was clear this was more complicated than they had originally thought. Something had clearly triggered Mabel's current state.
"Edward," his father's calm voice cut through the tension.
"Sit," Williams ordered quietly.
Without argument, Edward sank into the sofa, his eyes meeting his father's.
"Who is Mabel to you?" Williams asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.
"We were classmates in university," Edward replied quickly, avoiding his father's gaze.
"What kind of relationship do you two have?" Williams pressed.
"Nothing... just friends," Edward answered, his response quick and almost too rehearsed.
Williams stared at him for a long moment, before letting out a frustrated sigh. "Why did she visit?"
Without thinking, Edward answered smoothly, "She said she was staying with a friend nearby, but when she got there, the friend wasn't home. She tried calling but couldn't reach her. Since it was late, she decided to stay the night at my place and leave tomorrow."
His voice was calm and unwavering, his eyes steady with no hint of deceit. "I'm telling the truth," he said, his expression betraying nothing.
"I see," Williams muttered, his gaze thoughtful, probing.
Mitch's voice broke the silence, his words casual but sharp. "Wasn't the girl supposed to test the water before stepping in?"
"That's why I think it's intentional. She deliberately stepped into that tub," Edward agreed, his tone firm, nodding at his cousin.
Mitch checked his watch, then stood up. "I'll take my leave. Let's wait for the Fletchers," he said, glancing around the room and giving a slight nod before he exited.
Half an hour later, the visitors had all left. Only Edward and his father remained in the sitting room.
"Don't stop her arrest," Williams said, his voice cold and commanding.
"Why?" Edward asked, confused.
"She's a commoner. Let the Fletchers deal with her," Williams replied firmly. "As for the girl, Mabel, we'll figure out her motive."
Edward nodded, and a heavy silence settled over the room.
The next morning, Lucille was on her knees, silently scrubbing the marble floor. Her cheek still stung from the slap the night before. The marks were fresh and visible, the redness lingering because she hadn't applied any ointment to soothe it. She couldn't let the only evidence she had against Edward for physical assault fade away.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching made her flinch. Though she had resolved to face whatever came next, she couldn't shake the fear that still simmered beneath her confidence.
She turned quickly. There he was. Edward.
He stood by the doorway, watching her. Their eyes met. She held her breath, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
His face was unreadable. No anger, no pity, no warmth, just an emotion she couldn't quite place.
His gaze lingered on her face, taking in the red streaks from Mabel's slap. The marks were so fresh, so deep. Mabel must have hit her hard. Edward's fists tightened involuntarily. No physical assault, yet the marks on her face told a different story.
He wasn't afraid of the tribunal council. They would never find him guilty, even if he were. But Mitch, Lord Mitch, his cousin, would be the obstacle. Mitch had reminded him countless times about the terms of Lucille's servitude. He wouldn't let Edward get away with this.
For a few seconds, his gaze drifted over Lucille, almost as if taking in every part of her.
She quickly looked away when his eyes refused to leave her, her hands gripping the scrub brush tightly, trying to steady her nerves.
Without a word, Edward turned and walked past her. She felt the breeze from his coat as he brushed by, but not even a glance came her way.
His silence made her heart race. She wouldn't deny it. Panic gripped her. She had hoped for a word, a look, anything to give her a sense of what he was thinking, to hint at what was coming next.
One thing was certain, she was going to be punished. From the moment Mabel screamed in the bathroom, her skin scalded and red, Lucille knew the punishment would be severe.
She watched him, hoping he might turn around, shout, ask, or even demand an explanation. But in an instant, he was gone, out of sight.
Lucille's gaze drifted back to the scrub brush in her hands, and she continued with the cleaning, her movements swift.
Hours later, the chores were done, and she had retreated to her room to rest before facing the next set of tasks.
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. Regret began to creep in, but she quickly pushed it aside, replacing it with a feeling of satisfaction. It was a strange comfort, but it was the only thing she could hold on to.
Then, a loud knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts, pulling her roughly back to reality. She sat up straight, eyes fixed on the door, her heart thudding in her chest. Was it Ophelia? But Ophelia never knocked that forcefully.
The knock came again, louder this time, as if trying to break the door down.
Lucille jumped to her feet, her breath quickening. She moved toward the door, her hands trembling as she stood still in front of it, eyes closed, trying to steady her racing heart.
Opening her eyes, she reached for the lock and unlatched the door. But before her hand could rest on the knob, the door was shoved open with such force that it slammed into her, knocking her backward.
She winced at the pain shooting through her side, but before she could steady herself, her eyes landed on the figures at the doorway. People in black uniforms, tags glinting on their chests. The Wardens.
She had expected this moment, dreaded it, and now, it was here.
Two Wardens stood before her, eyes cold and unreadable, their hands resting near the weapons on their belts. Their presence alone radiated authority and danger. Mercy would not be part of their visit.
"Lucille Clinton," one of them said, voice firm and final, "you are under arrest for intentional harm against Mabel Fletcher."