Chapter 2

Life at Blackwood Manor was a trip.

One minute I was arguing with my mom about whether I was eating enough vegetables, the next I was being served tiny, unidentifiable things on silver platters by silent staff.

Veronica Sterling was my main source of entertainment, and irritation.

She' d find me in the library, or the garden, or even trying to sneak a normal donut in the kitchen.

"Sarah, darling," she'd purr, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Feeling... delicate today?"

I quickly figured out that a well-timed hand to my forehead and a dramatic sigh could work wonders.

"Oh, Veronica," I' d say, my voice weak. "It's the baby. So demanding."

She' d narrow her eyes, but what could she say?

I was the golden goose, or incubator, or whatever.

One afternoon, she cornered me by the ridiculously large indoor fountain.

"You know, some women just aren't cut out for this kind of... lineage," she said, flicking an invisible speck of dust off her silk blouse.

"They lack the, shall we say, fortitude."

I clutched my stomach. "Oh! A kick! A very strong one! Right in the... uh... lineage-appreciating part of my womb!"

Veronica' s perfectly sculpted lips thinned. "Really."

"Yes! He's a feisty one. Probably takes after his father." I gave her my sweetest, most innocent smile.

She huffed and stalked off.

Daisy, a young housekeeper who was probably my age and the only normal person in the entire estate, giggled from behind a potted fern.

"You're a menace, Sarah," she whispered, handing me a contraband chocolate bar.

"I try," I said, unwrapping it.

My parents visited sometimes, looking more bewildered each time.

"Are you sure about this, love?" Mom would whisper, eyeing a stern-looking portrait of some Blackwood ancestor.

Dad would just clear his throat and ask if the Blackwoods needed any help with their... plumbing. He was a plumber. He thought everyone needed help with their plumbing.

But even with Daisy' s friendship and my parents' flustered support, a knot of worry tightened in my gut.

The night of conception. It was a masquerade. The Blackwood charity ball.

Someone had definitely messed with the champagne. I remembered a sudden blackout.

And a man. His face was a blur behind a mask, but his cufflink... it had a dragon crest.

I' d seen that crest everywhere in this mansion.

Alexander Blackwood wore those cufflinks.

But so did Julian Thorne.

They were both there that night, dressed in similar dark, expensive suits.

Julian. He was always watching, his expression unreadable. He was imposing, a shadow that fell long and cold.

Could it have been him?

No. It had to be Alexander. He was the main heir, the one everyone was focused on.

Pinning it on Alexander was safer. Simpler.

I was carrying Alexander Blackwood' s child. That was the story, and I was sticking to it.

My future, whatever it was going to be, depended on it.

If this baby was a Blackwood, I was set. Maybe.

If it wasn' t... I didn' t want to think about that.