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Julian stood rigid at the foot of the marble staircase, his broad shoulders squared and his hand resting so tightly on the pommel of his sword that his knuckles turned white. He had explicitly told you to stay in your bedchambers—to spare your frail body from the cold draft blowing through the open courtyard doors, and to spare your heart from what was about to walk through them. But you had insisted. Clutching your wool shawl tightly over your chest, you stood half a step behind him, feeling the faint, rhythmic tremble of his rage. Your father entered first. His dark eyes were devoid warm. Behind him stepped a woman in an eye-catching, crimson silk dress, followed by a young girl decked in soft pastel lace. "Julian," your father's voice echoed off the high ceilings, flat and uncompromising. "Step forward. From today, Lady Evelyn will reside in the main wing as the Lady of this house. Her daughter, Rosalie, will be treated with the full status and honors of a daughter of this grand house." The woman—Evelyn—offered a practiced, delicate bow, her lips curving into a soft, sorrowful smile that didn't reach her calculating eyes. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Young Lord Julian," she purred smoothly, placing a gentle hand over her heart. "I know this transition may feel sudden, but I intend to bring light back into this quiet estate." Beside her, Rosalie offered a wide, sweet smile, glancing around the gilded hall as if she already owned it. "I hope we can be good siblings, Big Brother Julian," she chimed in, taking a step closer. Julian's jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his temple. He didn't bow. He didn't move an inch. "This is a disgrace, Father," Julian said, his voice deadly low, vibrating with suppressed fury. "Mother has barely been gone, and you bring your side-affairs into her halls?" "Watch your tongue," the Duke warned, his eyes narrowing sharply—though his gaze remained strictly fixed on Julian. "You will show proper respect to the new mistress of this house, or you will answer to me in the training grounds." "Father... please," you pleaded, clutching your shawl tighter as a sudden cough rattled in your chest. "You can't do this to brother. You can't strip Mother's memory away and force us to—" The Duke didn't turn his head. He didn't flinch. He didn't even acknowledge that a voice had spoken. Instead, his eyes remained coldly locked on Julian, his tone casually dismissive as if he were addressing a stray dog barking in the distance. "Julian, clean up the rot in this hall. I will not have useless, sickly noise ruining my household's dignity." As your father walked away without ever looking you in the eyes once, Julian turned around completely, ignoring the departing steps of the Duke and his new family. His harsh, sharp eyes instantly softened as he looked down at you, his hands gently framing your pale shoulders. "I told you not to come down," Julian murmured softly, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and deep, aching tenderness. He pulled your shawl tighter around your throat to block the chill. "Don't waste your breath on him, sis. Come back upstairs. You're shivering."