Chapter 4

Dawn crept over the Ashcroft estate like a reluctant witness.

The manor was in disarray. Shattered glass swept into corners, bloodstains scrubbed from marble floors, and guests long since fled under heavy guard. Official investigators from the capital had arrived at first light—stern men in dark coats who asked careful questions and took even more careful notes.

Elias stood in his father’s study, the morning light harsh on his face. The cut on his arm pulled with every movement, a sharp reminder that last night had been real.

Reginald paced behind his desk. “An outrage. The Valmonts will use this as an excuse to pull out of the eastern trade agreements. Cecilia is hysterical. And you—” He stopped, staring at his son. “You fought like a common soldier. Where did you learn that?”

“Instinct,” Elias replied with a shrug. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Better than dying elegantly, don’t you think?”

His father’s expression darkened, but before he could respond, the door opened. Adrian entered with a silver tray of coffee and documents, as composed as if the manor hadn’t nearly burned the night before.

“The investigators request another interview with the household staff, my lord,” Adrian said smoothly. “I have prepared statements.”

Reginald waved a hand. “Handle it, Vale. I need to send letters to the council.”

As his father dismissed them both, Elias caught Adrian’s eye. A silent understanding passed between them.

They met later in the library, the same room that had sheltered them hours earlier. Sunlight now poured through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes and the heavy tome Adrian had been shelving the previous day.

Elias spread the mysterious note on the oak table between them. “What do you make of this?”

Adrian studied it, gloved fingers tracing the unfamiliar seal. “The handwriting is educated. The phrasing suggests someone with access to inner circles—perhaps a minor noble or a disgruntled courtier. ‘The bloodline cannot inherit what is coming’… it implies more than simple assassination. A larger succession struggle.”

Elias watched him closely. “You’re very good at this.”

“I manage the household correspondence. One learns to notice patterns.” Adrian paused, then added quietly, “And I have served long enough to see how fragile power truly is.”

There it was again—that undercurrent of exhaustion. Elias wanted to press, but instead he leaned forward.

“I meant what I said last night. I need you with me on this. Not just as butler. Tell me what you really think is happening.”

Adrian was silent for a long moment. He removed his gloves—another rare crack in the armor—and set them aside. His hands were elegant but marked with small scars, the hands of a man who worked harder than his position suggested.

“The Ashcroft family has many enemies,” he said finally. “Your uncle, Lord Edmund, has been vocal about inheritance reform. The northern houses resent your father’s trade monopolies. And then there are the whispers about… your own legitimacy.”

Elias’s eyebrows rose. In his first life, he had never dug this deep. “My legitimacy?”

Adrian met his gaze steadily. “There were rumors years ago. That your mother’s final illness was… convenient for certain parties. I dismissed them at the time.”

A new twist. Elias felt the timeline shift again. His mother had died when he was twelve. He had always accepted it as illness. Now doubt bloomed.

Before he could respond, a soft knock interrupted them. A young maid entered, curtsying nervously.

“Begging pardon, Mister Vale. One of the guards found this near the western gate. Thought it might be important.”

She handed over a small, bloodstained handkerchief embroidered with a familiar crest—not Ashcroft, but close. It belonged to Elias’s cousin, Victor Ashcroft, a quiet man who rarely attended family events.

Adrian’s expression tightened imperceptibly as he dismissed the maid.

“Victor,” Elias murmured once they were alone. “Always the forgotten branch. He was at the gala last night.”

“He left early,” Adrian confirmed. “Claimed a headache.”

Elias laughed softly, the sound edged with dark amusement. “Reckless plans it is, then. I want eyes on Victor. Discreetly. And I need you to pull the financial ledgers for the last two years. Something about ‘what is coming’ feels like money. Or land.”

Adrian hesitated. “This goes beyond a single night’s attack, my lord. If we pursue this, we risk fracturing the family further.”

“Good,” Elias said, that crooked grin returning. “It’s been rotting from the inside for years. Time to cut out the decay.”

He reached across the table, briefly covering Adrian’s hand with his own. The contact was brief, but deliberate. “I trust you more than anyone in this house. Don’t make me do this alone.”

Adrian didn’t pull away immediately. When he did, it was slow, almost reluctant. “As you wish… Elias.”

The use of his given name sent a quiet thrill through him.

The rest of the day passed in controlled chaos. Investigators found little. The captured attackers were hired blades who knew nothing useful. Reginald raged and made political calls. Cecilia fluttered between tears and excitement at the “drama.”

Elias played his part—charming, slightly reformed, concerned. But late that night, long after the manor had settled into uneasy quiet, he found himself in the library again.

Adrian was there, sleeves rolled up, poring over ledgers by lamplight. A half-empty pot of tea sat beside him.

“You should be resting,” Elias said from the doorway.

“So should you.” Adrian didn’t look up, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yet here we both are.”

Elias crossed the room and dropped into the chair opposite. For a while, they worked in companionable silence—Elias scanning letters, Adrian noting discrepancies. The quiet felt… right. Stolen, but right.

At some point, Elias spoke. “In my dreams—the bad ones—you stayed until the end. Even when the rest of the family turned on me. Why?”

Adrian set down his pen. The lamplight softened his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable. “Because someone had to. Because beneath the chaos and the scandals… you were never as lost as you pretended to be.” He paused. “And perhaps because I saw something worth protecting.”

The words hung between them, heavy with possibility.

Elias felt the pull—the slow, dangerous shift from master and servant into something far more intimate. He didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he smiled. “Then we protect each other now.”

Adrian’s hazel eyes held his for a long moment. “Careful, my lord. That sounds almost like a partnership.”

“It is.”

Outside, the manor creaked in the night wind. Somewhere in the darkness, new threats stirred—Victor’s possible involvement, the mysterious “solstice,” deeper family secrets.

But in the library, for the first time in two lifetimes, Elias didn’t feel alone.

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