The study door was as thick as a wall.
Vivian stood before it, her hand hovering in mid-air for a full three seconds before she knocked lightly.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Three times, neither too loud nor too soft, like a ritual.
"Come in."
Old William's voice came from behind the door, tinged with the hoarseness of recent sleep.
She pushed the door open.
The study was as it always was—dark oak bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, crammed with hardcover books with gilded spines, most looking brand new, as if never opened. No fire burned in the fireplace; despite it being early autumn, this room always held a lingering chill. Old William sat behind the massive mahogany desk, holding a financial newspaper, his reading glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as he looked at her over the rims.
"Emilia?" He sounded surprised. "What is it?"
Vivian closed the door and walked to the desk. The carpet was so thick it could swallow her ankles, making no sound underfoot.
"Father," she began, her voice steady, "I heard… Mother is arranging lessons for me."
Old William set down the newspaper and removed his glasses.
"Yes. Your mother has given it careful thought." He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You've been back in New York for some time now; it's time you learned the ways of society. Horseback riding, dance, golf… these will be useful in the future."
He spoke calmly, as if stating an established fact.
Vivian didn't move, didn't speak.
She looked at her father—this nominal father, this man she should call "Daddy" but could never bring herself to. His hair was completely white, the wrinkles on his face deep as if carved with a knife, but those dark brown eyes remained sharp, as if they could see through a person's heart.
"Father," she spoke again, this time with something else in her voice, "I don't want to learn those things."
Old William raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"Because…" she took a deep breath, "I want to learn something useful."
"Useful?" Old William repeated the word, as if tasting it. "You think those aren't useful?"
"It's not that they aren't useful," Vivian shook her head. "They're just not useful for me."
She took a step forward, her hand lightly resting on the edge of the desk. The mahogany was cold, the texture hard.
"Father, during my years in Switzerland, I came to understand many things," she said slowly, meeting his gaze directly. "My mother left early. Since childhood… I haven't received much attention. Being sent to Switzerland, called recuperation, was practically no different from exile."
Old William's expression darkened, but he didn't interrupt.
"During those years, I read many books," she continued, her voice softer now, but each word clear. "Law, economics, history… I read everything. I discovered that in this world, what truly protects a person isn't the skills of horseback riding or dance, nor the hollow pleasantries of social occasions, but…"
She paused.
"But knowledge. Things you can truly hold in your hands."
The study was so quiet you could hear the ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
*Tick. Tick. Tick.*
Like a heartbeat.
"So," Old William finally spoke, "what do you want to learn?"
"Law," Vivian said, her voice not loud, but resolute. "I want to study law."
Old William stared at her for a long time.
So long Vivian almost thought he would get angry, reprimand her for wild fancies, tell her to get out.
But in the end, he merely slowly straightened in his chair and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
"Law," he repeated. "Why law?"
Why?
Because the law could save people. Overturn cases. Clear her father's name. Send those who framed the Ellwoods to prison.
But Vivian couldn't say that.
She lowered her eyes, and when she raised them again, they were perfectly misted with a blend of unease and longing.
"Because in Switzerland, I knew a girl," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Her father was framed, went bankrupt, went to prison. Her family lost everything overnight. She begged everyone, looked for lawyers everywhere, but no one helped. In the end… she jumped off a building."
This was true.
Not Emilia's story, but Vivian's—that girl was her middle school classmate, her father was one of the Ellwood family's suppliers. The case involved too many people; no one dared take it. The girl jumped from the twentieth floor, like a falling leaf.
Vivian still remembered the mother's heart-wrenching sobs at the funeral.
"At the time, I thought," she continued, tears perfectly welling in her eyes, "if I knew law, if I understood these things, could I have helped her? Could I have… prevented something like that?"
She didn't go on, just looked at Old William, letting a tear slip down.
The study grew even quieter.
Old William's expression shifted—anger, confusion, surprise, finally morphing into a complex, indescribable emotion.
He thought of Elizabeth.
Remembered her holding his hand before she died, her breath faint, saying, "William… take care of Emilia… don't let anyone bully her…"
He had agreed then.
But he hadn't kept his promise.
He sent his daughter to Switzerland, for five years. Without inquiry, without concern, like discarding an unwanted old object.
And now, this forgotten daughter stood before him, saying she wanted to study law, wanted to protect others.
Like Elizabeth.
Elizabeth had said something similar back then. She said, "William, we must teach Emilia to be independent, to be strong, so that when we are gone, she can still live well."
He had laughed at her for worrying too much.
Now, thinking back, she had seen farther than him.
"Law…" Old William finally spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse. "It's not easy to study."
"I know," Vivian immediately replied. "But I'm willing to work hard. Father, I don't aspire to become some great lawyer. I just want… to understand a little. At least know how to protect myself, protect… family."
She said the last two words very softly, but Old William heard them.
He fell silent for an even longer time.
Bird songs came from outside the window, crisp, cheerful, a stark contrast to the heaviness in the study.
"Alright," he finally said, as if having made some decision. "If you want to study it, then study it."
Vivian's heart jumped, but her face remained calm.
"But," Old William's tone shifted, "since you're going to study, study properly. I'll find you the best tutors. Once you've learned, take the bar exam. The Winters family only produces elites, understand?"
The bar exam.
Vivian hadn't expected him to say this.
She only wanted a reason to go out, a chance to contact people in the legal field, to pave the way for her father's case. But Old William… actually wanted her to get a law license.
"I…" she opened her mouth.
"What? Scared?" Old William looked at her, something in his eyes she couldn't decipher—like expectation, or a test.
"Not scared," Vivian straightened her back. "I'll work hard."
"Good," Old William nodded, picking up the newspaper again and putting on his glasses. "I'll have your mother arrange it. No, wait—"
He set the newspaper down, as if suddenly remembering something.
"This matter, give it to Matthew. He knows more people; he can find you a good tutor."
"Go on," Old William waved a hand, returning to his newspaper. "I'll announce it at dinner."
Vivian curtsied and turned to leave.
As she closed the door, she heard Old William say something softly, as if to himself, or perhaps to her:
"Elizabeth… would be proud of you."
Her hand stilled for a moment, then she gently closed the door.
In the corridor, Theodore was leaning against the wall, twirling a rose he'd apparently picked from somewhere, petals scattered on the floor.
"How'd it go?" he raised an eyebrow.
"It's done," Vivian said quietly. "He agreed. Even wants me to take the bar exam."
Theodore whistled—very unrefined, but fitting for his character.
"Impressive, Emilia," he tossed the rose aside, clapping his hands. "Margaret's going to be furious. Her meticulously planned 'Debutante Training Program,' scrapped by your one sentence."
Vivian didn't speak, just walked slowly toward her room.
Theodore walked beside her, his steps light.
Dinnertime.
The long dining table was set with exquisite silverware and crystal glasses, candlelight flickering, casting shifting light and shadow on everyone's faces.
Old William sat at the head, Margaret to his right, followed by Matthew and Catherine. Vivian sat at the far opposite end, Theodore beside her—a position he had "fought for," saying "the view is better from farther away."
After the appetizers, as the main course was served, Old William cleared his throat.
"I have an announcement."
Everyone stopped.
Margaret wore a proper smile, her gaze gentle as she looked at her husband.
"Emilia wants to study law," Old William said calmly. "I've agreed."
*Clatter—*
Catherine's fork fell onto her plate with a sharp sound.
The smile on Margaret's face froze—for just a second, but noticeably.
"Law?" she repeated, her voice slightly unsteady. "William, you mean…"
"I said, Emilia is going to study law," Old William glanced at her, his expression calm but unyielding. "She's an adult; she knows what she wants. If she wants to study it, let her."
Margaret opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, she merely lowered her head and said softly, "Yes, as you wish."
But Vivian saw the hand under the table clutching the napkin tightly, knuckles white.
"Matthew," Old William turned to his eldest son, "I'm entrusting this to you. Find Emilia a good tutor, the best. The fees will come from my personal account."
Matthew set down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth, his movements as composed as ever.
"Understood, Father," he nodded, his gaze sweeping over Vivian at the other end of the table, showing no emotion. "I happen to know a few excellent law professors. However…"
He paused.
"However what?" Old William asked.
"However, the most suitable candidate may require Ryan Donovan's help with an introduction," Matthew said. "His late father was a visiting professor at Columbia Law School, with extensive connections. If we could engage the retired Professor Howard… it would be of great help to Emilia."
Ryan Donovan.
The name was like a stone thrown into the already turbulent waters.
Catherine's eyes immediately lit up.
"Ryan?" she blurted out, her voice full of excitement. "He's going to find a teacher for sister?"
Margaret gently nudged her daughter's hand, but Catherine didn't notice at all. She stared fixedly at Matthew, her face unable to conceal her anticipation.
"Just asking him for an introduction," Matthew corrected, his tone flat. "Professor Howard has been retired for many years and generally doesn't take private students. But if the Donovan family makes the request…"
He didn't finish, but everyone understood.
"Then that's what we'll do," Old William made the decision. "Matthew, you contact Ryan. Arrange it as soon as possible."
"Yes."
Catherine bit her lip and suddenly said, "Father, I want to study too!"
The table fell silent for a moment.
"You?" Old William frowned. "What do you want to study law for?"
"I…" Catherine's mind raced, "I also want to… learn more things! And sister studying alone would be so lonely; I can keep her company!"
She spoke righteously, but everyone could hear it was because of Ryan.
To use this "study law" opportunity to get closer to the man she couldn't forget.
Margaret wanted to stop it, but it was too late.
Old William looked at his younger daughter, then at Vivian, and finally nodded.
"Fine. You sisters can study together, look out for each other. Matthew, include Catherine in the arrangements."
Matthew nodded impassively. "Understood."
Catherine was so happy she almost jumped up, but a look from her mother held her back.
She could only try to maintain a proper sitting posture, but the glee and excitement in her eyes were impossible to hide.
Vivian sat at the far end of the table, watching all this quietly.
Candlelight danced on her face, casting shifting shadows.
She picked up her water glass and took a small sip.
The water was cold.
As cold as she felt inside.
The plan had succeeded.
She could openly study law, contact people in the legal field, begin paving the way for her father's case.
But the cost was… studying with Catherine.
Having to sit in the same classroom every day with that spoiled, willful "sister" who saw her as a thorn in her side.
And owing Ryan Donovan a favor.
That man… was too inscrutable.
But she had no choice.
She could only move forward.
Step by step, even if ahead lay mountains of knives, seas of fire, cliffs and precipices.
Because looking back meant her father's increasingly haggard face in prison, the shattered threshold of the Ellwood family, the smug smiles of those who framed them.
She set down the water glass and looked up, meeting Margaret's gaze from across the table.
That look was complex—anger, confusion, wariness, and a hint of… vague fear.
As if looking at a suddenly awakened, uncontrollable monster.
Vivian gave her a slight smile.
Meek, obedient, as usual.
But Margaret's hand clenched the napkin again.
Dinner continued in an eerie atmosphere.
The soft clinking of cutlery, the sounds of chewing food, the occasional irrelevant remark.
But in everyone's heart, different calculations were at work.
Outside the window, night deepened.
The lights of Winters Manor lit up one by one, like pieces being placed on a chessboard.
And a new round of the game had only just begun.
Vivian cut a small piece of steak and put it in her mouth.
The meat was tender, juicy.
But she couldn't taste it.
She just chewed slowly, swallowed, then picked up her wine glass.
The red wine glowed a deep crimson under the candlelight, like blood.
She gently swirled the glass, watching the wine slide down the sides, leaving faint traces.
Then she drank it all in one go.