People arrived.
And, for a moment, no one spoke.
Not because there was silence.
There were voices. Footsteps. Cutlery. The scrape of chairs.
And yet, something had become audible.
It had no sound.
But it could be heard.
A man stopped in the middle of a sentence.
A woman looked up.
Someone else turned around.
No one asked why.
Perhaps because the question had already been asked.
Just not in words.
A smile disappeared.
A conversation died halfway through.
A glass remained suspended between someone's hands.
People exchanged glances as though they shared information none of them had received.
There was no message.
And yet, everyone understood.
Some merely felt it.
Others noticed.
The sharpest among them already understood.
And every silence became communication.
Clarice returned to the Phillips estate accompanied by Elizabeth Kadman and Henry Campbell, one of Callum's cousins.
It was at Sarah's request, as she was unable to leave.
She had wanted to accompany Clarice personally, but the organization of the event had prevented her from leaving her responsibilities at that moment. Even so, Sarah had made it clear that the following day, she would personally visit the Phillips family.
Elizabeth Kadman was responsible for bringing Clarice back discreetly, preventing the situation from drawing more attention than necessary.
It was a discreet arrival.
Without any apparent urgency.
Only care.
Jared was the first to see her.
Clarice walked beside Henry, leaning against him almost imperceptibly.
But Jared noticed.
She was limping.
His expression changed immediately.
He hurried toward his daughter.
"Clarice. What happened?"
She barely had time to answer.
Jared grabbed her arm.
Clarice flinched.
Pain crossed her face before she could hide it.
Jared released her arm at once.
"Are you hurt?"
The question no longer sounded like a father trying to understand.
It was concern.
His gaze traveled over his daughter from head to toe, searching for some sign that might explain what had happened.
"It's nothing serious," Clarice answered quickly.
"Then why are you limping?"
She hesitated.
It was a small moment.
But enough.
Jared noticed.
"Clarice."
This time, his voice was lower.
More serious.
"What happened?" he insisted, his tone tense, as though a door filled with police officers might suddenly appear behind him.
Clarice looked away.
"I... fell."
There was a brief awkwardness.
Not exactly because of the fall.
But because of how difficult it was to explain how it had happened.
"Where?" Jared asked.
Clarice took a deep breath.
"On the stairs."
Henry remained silent beside her.
Elizabeth, noticing the attention beginning to gather around the three of them, approached discreetly.
"Perhaps it would be better to take her inside," she said, with the calmness of someone who had no intention of allowing a family concern to become a spectacle.
Jared nodded.
But it was already too late.
The movement had drawn attention.
Some of the guests noticed the change in the atmosphere.
The conversations grew quieter.
A laugh stopped.
Someone turned around.
And, for a few seconds, no one said anything.
Then someone asked:
"What happened?"
Another voice answered with a question:
"An incident?"
"On the Campbell family's side of the estate?"
The first voice did not answer.
It didn't need to.
Everyone was looking.
Then, from somewhere near the entrance, Beatrice's voice emerged.
Loud.
Alarmed.
Concerned.
This time, there was no perceptible calculation in it.
Only the reaction of a mother seeing her own daughter hurt.
"Clarice!"
Clarice looked up.
Beatrice stood at the entrance, as though she had appeared there that very moment.
Perfectly composed, but with a concern on her face that she had been unable to hide.
She crossed the space quickly.
"What happened?"
Jared stepped aside.
"She fell."
Beatrice looked at her daughter.
Then at her leg.
"Where did you fall?"
Clarice hesitated again.
Her mother noticed.
"Clarice?"
"I don't know exactly."
The answer came quietly.
Beatrice frowned.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
Clarice took a deep breath.
Now there were too many people watching.
"I was on the stairs."
Her voice began to falter.
"I bumped into Aster."
The name seemed to cut through the room.
Beatrice looked at Jared.
Clarice continued:
"It was an accident. I lost my balance and fell."
Beatrice remained still for a moment.
"Was Aster with you?"
"Not exactly."
Clarice looked at her mother.
"We ran into each other on the stairs. I bumped into him. Then I lost my balance."
The silence that followed was different.
It was no longer mere curiosity.
Now there was information.
A small piece that could be carried from one conversation to another.
Beatrice realized it before anyone else.
Her expression remained composed.
"This isn't going to end here," she said sharply.
Her voice had changed.
Clarice noticed it too.
And around them, the conversations began to return.
Quieter.
More careful.
More interested.
A man whispered something.
A woman leaned closer to listen.
The information was beginning to spread like ether through the air.
Without anyone knowing exactly what had happened, everything had already begun.
Clarice took a deep breath.
For the first time, she understood the power of a good version of events: a well-told lie guaranteed a good beginning, and a calculated fall could become the best of opportunities.
How foolish she had been never to listen to her own instincts before...
She had always wanted to impress everyone, but she had discovered, in a terribly sordid way, that playing the fragile one was much easier.
How much time she had wasted trying to be clever and truthful.
Elizabeth returned to the Campbell castle some time later.
As soon as she entered the hall, she searched for Sarah with her eyes.
It did not take long to find her.
Sarah saw her as well.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Nothing more was necessary.
Elizabeth merely inclined her head slightly.
Sarah returned the gesture, keeping her expression calm.
They knew they were being watched.
More than twenty years of friendship had taught them to communicate without opening their mouths when necessary. It was almost a language of their own, built little by little, party after party, crisis after crisis.
Elizabeth resumed her path through the hall, greeting a few people with brief words and small smiles. Sarah did the same when she approached her.
To anyone watching from the outside, there was nothing unusual.
Two well-bred ladies greeting guests, as they would on any other day.
When they were finally close enough, Sarah asked casually:
"How did things go?"
Elizabeth held her gaze for a moment.
"Are you still planning to make that visit later?"
"Yes."
Sarah's answer came naturally.
Elizabeth nodded.
For a few seconds, she seemed to search for the right words.
"Then I think I need to tell you something first."
Sarah noticed the almost imperceptible change in her friend's expression.
Twenty years of closeness had taught her to read that face as few people could. A slight furrow between the brows. Lips pressed a little tighter than usual. Too small for any stranger to notice. Too obvious for Sarah to ignore.
"What happened?"
Elizabeth breathed slowly.
She did not look nervous.
She looked as though she were organizing her thoughts.
"A lot of people became interested in what happened."
Sarah frowned slightly.
"Interested?"
Elizabeth merely looked at her.
That was enough.
Sarah made a small gesture with her hand.
"Come."
The two women moved away from the center of the hall without showing any haste. They walked side by side, exchanging brief greetings along the way, until they reached an area where the movement of the guests made it difficult for anyone to hear their conversation.
Only then did Elizabeth stop.
Urgency entered her voice, although her tone remained low.
"What happened? How did Clarice end up like that?"
Sarah looked at her.
For a moment, before answering, she reached out and lightly touched Elizabeth's arm. A small, automatic gesture. The kind of thing one did only with someone one had known long enough that the touch required no explanation.
"Do you want to know what I saw?"
Elizabeth held her questioning gaze.
"How did it happen?"
Sarah breathed slowly.
For a moment, she seemed to return mentally to the scene.
"I had just returned from the preparation area with Aster. We were taking care of a few things for the organization."
She placed one hand against her chest, still affected by the memory.
"I was heading toward the rooms when it happened."
Elizabeth remained completely attentive.
"What did you see?"
Sarah shook her head slightly.
"Clarice was on the floor."
Her hand remained against her chest.
"She had fallen on the stairs."
Elizabeth frowned.
"My God..."
Sarah nodded.
"It all happened so quickly. I didn't even have time to understand what had happened."
She slowly lowered her hand.
"When I realized what was happening, Henry and Ava were already approaching. Then other people began to arrive."
Elizabeth remained silent.
"And Aster?"
Sarah hesitated for a moment.
"He was there, standing a few steps above."
Elizabeth immediately understood the importance of the answer.
"With Clarice?"
"No."
Sarah shook her head.
"Clarice was already on the floor when I got close. Aster and I had been together before that. But when I saw her there, everything happened so quickly that we didn't have time to talk about it."
Elizabeth studied her friend's face.
There was something there that was not merely concern for Clarice. Elizabeth also recognized the fear, that particular fear of a mother, the fear of someone who had already seen her own child judged before being heard.
"Did you ask what happened?"
"Not at that moment."
Sarah let out a small sigh.
"I didn't think it was the right time."
Elizabeth nodded slowly.
"Then you don't know whether it was really an accident."
She shook her head, almost to herself.
"No, no... Aster wouldn't do that."
Sarah looked at her.
There was gratitude in her eyes. Elizabeth did not need to defend Aster. She wasn't obligated to. But she defended him anyway, with the same instinctive conviction she would have had if he were her own son.
"I didn't see the moment she fell," Sarah said quietly.
Elizabeth remained silent.
Sarah discreetly ran her fingers along the sleeve of her dress.
"I only saw what happened afterward."
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Sarah was the one who broke the silence this time, her voice lower than before, almost a whisper reserved only for Elizabeth.
"I trust him. But trust isn't proof of anything, and everyone in this hall knows that better than I do."
Elizabeth gently squeezed her friend's hand.
She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Then she took a deep breath.
"Things were complicated at the Phillips estate."
Sarah looked up.
"How?"
"Clarice arrived."
Elizabeth paused briefly.
"She was limping."
Sarah's expression changed.
"And Jared appeared," Elizabeth continued. "He was the first to see her."
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly.
"He was immediately concerned. He asked what had happened, tried to hold her by the arm..."
Sarah pressed her lips together.
"And her?"
"She said it wasn't serious."
Elizabeth paused.
"But he noticed she was in pain."
Sarah remained still.
"And Beatrice?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"She appeared shortly afterward."
Elizabeth looked away for a moment, as though she could still see the scene and was searching for the right words.
"When she realized something had happened to Clarice, and that she was injured, she went straight to her."
Sarah nodded.
"And then?"
Elizabeth looked at her again.
"Clarice said she had been on the stairs."
A brief pause.
"She said she had bumped into Aster."
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment.
Elizabeth continued:
"She said it was an accident. That she had lost her balance after bumping into him."
Sarah opened her eyes again.
"And Beatrice? How did she react?"
Elizabeth made an expression that was difficult to interpret.
"Badly."
Then she added:
"But it got worse after she heard Aster's name."
Sarah slowly exhaled.
"Of course it did."
Elizabeth watched her friend for a moment longer than necessary.
"Sarah."
"What?"
"You know that if this grows, I won't be able to contain it on my own."
Sarah looked at her.
There was no accusation in Elizabeth's voice. Only the frankness of someone who had helped put out other fires, in other years, and knew exactly how large that kind of fire could become when no one stopped it in time.
"I know," Sarah said softly.
"But I'm grateful you came to tell me before anyone else."
Elizabeth held her hand for a brief moment.
"I will always come to you first."
She said it without solemnity. As though it were something too obvious to require emphasis.
Sarah squeezed her friend's hand in return.
"And people heard," Elizabeth said, returning to the subject, her voice resuming its restrained tone.
Sarah looked at her.
"How many?"
Elizabeth gave a small, humorless smile.
"Enough."
The two women remained silent for a few seconds.
Sarah then turned her eyes toward the hall.
Aster remained in front of the mirror.
For a moment, he wondered what he had been thinking when he believed he could wrap himself in a fairy tale like a blanket, simply because he was now in a castle.
Perhaps that had been it.
The castle.
The luxury.
The absurd feeling that, somewhere within those walls, life could finally obey different rules.
Then he remembered that he liked the cold.
The strong chills.
That sensation that traveled through his body when life demanded his attention, when every choice had a price and every danger made his blood run faster.
He knew that cold.
He had lived inside it.
Perhaps that was the problem.
For a moment, he had forgotten the chills.
And believed that the sweet warmth of a new love could offer him another story.
A story that fit perfectly.
As though two people could simply find their places within each other and, from that point on, everything that had been broken would cease to matter.
But real life was not like that.
Truly happy people passed through his life like a soft spring breeze.
Light.
Almost untouchable.
And yet, he could see the abyss between them and himself.
Perhaps that was why he was so afraid of losing the life he had begun to believe could be his.
And yet, he had discovered something much worse.
The dream of a happy life was not outside him.
It was buried as deeply as poison.
Waiting.
So, if in this new world a happy life could truly belong to him...
If he could be loved.
If he could be chosen.
If he could finally be saved...
Perhaps that was what he had wanted from the beginning.
To be saved.
Not from an enemy.
Nor from death.
But from the injustice of everything that had happened.
For years, the answers had always been the same.
A silence.
A shrug.
One event replacing another.
Hundreds of passing moments, each one taking something with it.
And whenever he finally believed he would disappear into all of it, something appeared again.
A face.
A hand.
A voice.
Callum.
Hope.
Love.
And now Aster wondered:
What if Callum couldn't love him?
What if he wasn't the right person?
What if what he felt wasn't enough to build a life that wouldn't end in ruins?
He did not want to abandon his principles.
He did not want to become someone who accepted anything simply because he desperately needed to believe in a happy ending.
But he was tired.
And, at that moment, he was not well.
He wanted to believe that love could fix everything.
Perhaps because it was easier to believe that than to admit that some things remained broken even when someone loved you.
Aster continued staring at his reflection.
For a few seconds, he did not fully recognize the man before him.
There was something in that gaze.
Something cold.
Still.
Almost predatory.
As though behind that face there were an animal he had spent his entire life keeping chained.
A cold-blooded monster.
And, for the first time, Aster was no longer certain which of the two was looking at the other.