Lily had been specifically assigned by Madam Yates to see to the daily life of Sophia and Samuel. She often reported back to Madam Yates on their routines and relationships.

Sophia hadn't realized how diligently Lily had been observing until she noted even Sophia's menstrual dates with unnerving accuracy—proof of just how much must have been passed along to Madam Yates over time. Fortunately, the day she'd brought Samuel back to sign the divorce papers, she'd purposely sent Lily away. If she hadn't, it might have been impossible to keep her secrets hidden.

"Soph, you've been so busy with work lately," Madam Yates remarked, her tone lifting in suggestion. "Could it be that you're pregnant and haven't even noticed yourself? Shall I take you for a checkup?"

The moment the words left her lips, the housemaid turned her eyes to the dining room's entrance, where Samuel stood framed under the light.

"Young Master is home," the maid announced, her actions quick and practiced as she fetched an additional plate and pulled out a chair for him.

Samuel strode into the room and settled into the seat with an air of detachment, his sharp, inscrutable gaze landing on Sophia, lingering there with a probing intensity.

Pregnant?

His thoughts flickered involuntarily to the evening over a month ago. His dark eyes deepened with contemplation, his mood shadowed with growing gravity. The possibility was not entirely implausible.

Sophia's lips pressed together tightly as she felt the weight of his study. The intensity of his gaze pinned her in place, fueling a guilt she fought hard to suppress. She drew a quiet breath, reigning in her emotions, her composure strained but intact.

"Lately, the patient caseload at the hospital has been unusually heavy," she began, her voice calm and unaffected, balancing on the knife’s edge of normalcy. "It’s caused quite a lot of stress, which disrupted my menstrual cycle and delayed things... but I had a colleague run some tests yesterday. I'm not pregnant. I’m already taking medication to regulate it."

She sipped her soup as soon as the words left her lips, her deliberate calm belying the faint, nervous tremor running beneath. A calculated gesture, a small deflection to disguise her unease.

Samuel absorbed her denial without a word, though somewhere within him, an unformed, alien emotion wriggled to life. It did not linger long; his cold, controlled disposition swiftly suppressed it.

"Grandma," he addressed, shifting from introspection to practicality, his gaze slicing cleanly away from Sophia. "You called me back. Was there something you needed?"

Madam Yates’s face tightened slightly at hearing Sophia’s denial. Disappointment etched itself into her expression, but it didn’t delay her sharp retort to Samuel.

"If I hadn’t called you, you wouldn’t visit an old woman like me unless it was in my obituary!" she chided, her tone scathing.

Samuel's brows furrowed slightly at the rebuke, a trace of impatience visible in the subtle set of his mouth. "That’s not true."

Madam Yates scoffed disbelievingly, seizing her cane in a sharp gesture that sliced through the air. She paused only to issue her next instruction with assertive authority: "Come with me into the study."

Sophia blinked, sitting straighter. Concern colored her voice. "Grandma, you haven't eaten much yet."

"Doctor’s orders," Madam Yates replied curtly, softening for Sophia alone as she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I’m meant to eat lightly in the evenings. You, on the other hand, should eat well. Samuel and I won’t be long. Just a little chat."

With that, Madam Yates leaned into her cane and exited the dining room, Samuel rising shortly after, his expression carved in stone. He threw a fleeting, dispassionate glance at Sophia before following.

Once alone, Sophia found herself releasing the spoon she'd held like an anchor, an unbidden flicker of worry crossing her face. Her hands clenched faintly in her lap.

From outside the study's closed doors, she could hear the muffled but unmistakable sound of Madam Yates’s angry reproaches.

"As long as I’m alive, don’t even think about letting that woman set foot in the Yates family's home!"

Sophia chewed the inside of her lip, the name Elizabeth ringing clear in her mind. The realization that Samuel and his grandmother were embroiled in yet another discussion about that woman spurred her forward. She hesitated only when she reached for the door handle, her fingers brushing the cool metal—but before her touch could fully claim it, the door swung open.

Samuel emerged like a gale, his presence brimming with barely restrained frost. Startled, Sophia stepped back instinctively, her gaze lifting to meet his own dark, unrelenting eyes. They seemed studded with ice, piercing through her in an unspoken accusation.

"Tell me," Samuel said, his voice quiet but cutting, "what schemes you’re working when you're not playing the devoted granddaughter-in-law."

The accusation knocked the breath from her. Her almond-shaped eyes widened, bright with startled hurt.

"I haven’t done anything," she murmured.

But her protest brought him no consolation. The flicker of vulnerability in her expression, however, brought only irritation to his heart. Madam Yates’s formidable voice carried faintly from the study behind him, each word sharpening the individual edges of his discontent.

"You made your mistakes, Samuel," she was saying, clear and unflinching, "so don’t you dare take them out on Sophia."

Samuel’s jaw tightened, his glare chilling further as he brushed past Sophia without another word. The maid, drawn by the commotion, hurried into the study to check on Madam Yates, leaving Sophia standing in the hallway alone. Her hands clenched into faint fists by her sides, trembling faintly as she struggled to steady herself. The dim light seemed heavy around her as her eyes grew dark with unspoken sadness.

Had she forgotten? Had she really thought she could conceal everything when Madam Yates had eyes and ears everywhere? Surely, the sighting of Samuel and Elizabeth at the hospital must’ve been reported to her immediately. And yet, Samuel now stared at her as though every confession to his grandmother were a betrayal of his trust.

Was this the unyielding rule for those unloved? To bear the weight of every sin and injustice?

"Madam Yates has fainted!" The startled cry of the maid shattered Sophia’s spiraling thoughts.

Her focus snapped into sharp clarity. Without hesitation, she hurried into the study, concern for Madam Yates swallowing her like instinct.

*****

The hospital room was quiet now. Madam Yates, resting in a general ward after initial stabilization, lay cocooned against the sterile white of the bed. Outside, Sophia sat on a solitary bench, head bowed and thoughts spinning. Samuel’s icy, impenetrable gaze lingered in her memories like a knife in her chest. It ached still. Then, a shadow fell across her view.

She looked up to see Samuel stepping from the room, the weight of his presence pressing down on her anew. His face, as ever, betrayed nothing.

"Grandma wants to see you," he said flatly.

At once, Sophia rose. She approached the door, but as she passed him, his hand darted out, gripping her arm—not with tenderness, but with a kind of finality.

His tone was low, unyielding. "Sophia, you've achieved your goal. For Grandma’s health, I won’t divorce you for now—but don't think for a second that I’ll lift a finger for your York family."

Her almond eyes flickered, the faint sheen of unshed tears catching the sterile hallway light as she glanced up at him, offering no defense. There was none to give.

His gaze darkened, his hand releasing hers suddenly as if burned. He looked away, retreating into that cold, distant shell.

Sophia steadied herself, her breathing evening as she stepped away. He had already concluded that this was her doing. No explanation could uproot his certainty. What would be the point?

She entered the room with a carefully curated smile lining her lips.

"Grandma, are you feeling better now?" she asked softly, crossing immediately to Madam Yates’s bedside and taking her outstretched hand.

Madam Yates’s voice was frail, but the affection in her eyes was undiminished. "Soph, you’ve suffered greatly, haven’t you? You’ve always been a good child. It’s my fault. My selfish meddling has cost you so much."

Sophia’s expression softened, her composure faltering under the weight of decades of unspoken truth.

"When the Yates family was in trouble," the older woman continued, her words tinged with wistfulness, "your family was the only one willing to help. I knew where your heart lay with Samuel, so I orchestrated your marriage."

Madam Yates paused, brushing the edge of her shawl against her eyes. When her voice rose again, it was heavy with regret.

"Elizabeth," she said, the name sharp in its clarity, "has always been a farce of grace. When trouble struck, she fled overseas without hesitation. Samuel still clings to the illusion of her goodness, blind after all this time to the truth.“

She exhaled a long, weary breath. "He has misunderstood you for so many years."