Chapter 3

Scarlett POV:

To escape the suffocating pretense of the manor, I went to the one place that had always felt like a sanctuary: the old family wine cellar. The cool, damp air and the earthy smell of oak and aging wine usually soothed me, but today it did nothing to quiet the storm in my head. This cellar was the heart of the O'Hara legacy, rows upon rows of massive oak barrels, each holding a fortune in liquid history.

I walked deeper into the cellar, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Ryan Stone, the knight whose duty it was to oversee the estate's maintenance and my safety here, was nowhere in sight. Later, I'd remember seeing him exchange a look with Lily near the rose garden, a silent, chilling communication I hadn't understood at the time.

I was running my hand over a barrel from my birth year, a tradition my father and I shared, when I heard it. A low, groaning creak of stressed wood from the rack above me.

Then, it happened.

With a sharp crack, a support beam gave way. The world tilted violently. A multi-ton barrel, dark and monstrous, broke free from its cradle and began to roll, thundering down towards me. There was no time to scream, no time to run. I was frozen, staring at my own death.

Pain exploded in my shoulder as I was tackled from the side, a solid wall of muscle slamming me into the stone floor, away from the path of destruction. The barrel crashed into the ground where I had been standing a second before, shattering with a deafening boom. A tidal wave of priceless red wine flooded the floor, staining everything crimson.

"Are you hurt?" a voice snarled. I looked up into the furious, concerned face of Carter Grayson.

He was the head of a rival vineyard family, the Graysons. We were supposed to be competitors, but Carter had always been a quiet, steady presence at the edge of my life. He helped me sit up, his touch surprisingly gentle as he brushed dust and splinters from my hair.

"I... I don't think so," I stammered, my body shaking uncontrollably.

"Where the hell are your so-called guardians?" he snarled, his eyes scanning the empty cellar. His gaze then fell on the broken rack. He knelt, running his thumb over the splintered wood. His expression hardened.

"This wasn't an accident," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "This beam was cut. Almost all the way through. Someone wanted you dead, Scarlett."

Later that evening, Carter having seen me safely back to the manor and summoning a doctor, I was nursing a dislocated shoulder and a collection of painful bruises. I walked past the library, the door slightly ajar, drawn by the sound of hushed voices.

It was Lily, and she was crying.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan!" she sobbed. "I just wanted to scare her a little, make her rely on you boys more. I never thought the whole barrel would actually fall!"

Ryan's voice was low, comforting. "Shh, it's not your fault, Lily. Don't cry. It was my mistake. I shouldn't have kicked the support wedge out so hard."

I stood frozen in the hallway, ice flooding my veins. Kicked it. He'd kicked it after Lily had ordered the beam cut. This wasn't just a betrayal of love. This was an attempt on my life, all for the sake of their precious, manipulative queen.

They hadn't just broken my heart. They had tried to break my bones.