Part 1: The Doll with No Strings
Days passed.
Or weeks.
Jenny no longer counted.
She did what was expected. Ate when summoned. Smiled when required. Walked through gardens, listened to servants talk about nothing, answered polite inquiries about her health.
She was not sick.
But she was not well.
Each morning, she looked in the mirror and saw someone further away from who she'd been. A ghost girl with hollow eyes and a soft voice.
Even her tears had dried.
Part 2: Her Name on Paper
One cloudy afternoon, Jenny wandered into the library.
It was vast, two floors of books and manuscripts, and old windows half-covered by heavy red curtains.
She had never been invited there.
But no one stopped her.
She traced her fingers along the spines of books. Titles about war, treaties, and family lineages. Books she didn't understand and wasn't expected to.
Then something caught her eye.
A leather folder was tucked halfway into a shelf. Older than the others. Less polished.
She pulled it free.
Inside were documents, formal, handwritten, stamped with the seal of the Earl's house.
She flipped through them with growing confusion.
One page stopped her cold.
Her name.
"Jenny Wren."
Listed in the margins of a marriage contract.
Signed by the Earl.
And her father.
Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled.
But something was wrong.
There was another name faintly scratched out.
She held the paper to the light.
"Lady Evelyne Maroux."
The mistress.
Her name had once been written where Jenny's was now.
A replacement?
Jenny stared at the ink.
The ink didn't lie.
Part 3: The Wound Behind the Wine
That evening, she saw him in the drawing room alone, for once, without his shadow.
He held a glass of brandy and stared into the fire, eyes distant.
She stood in the doorway for a moment too long.
He looked up.
"What is it?" he asked, voice tired.
She stepped in slowly.
"I… saw the marriage papers," she said.
He didn't move.
She hesitated. "Her name was there first."
A long pause.
Then he sighed.
"She was never going to be accepted," he said quietly. "Not by my father. Not by the Crown. Not by anyone with power."
Jenny's voice barely rose. "But you married her anyway."
"No," he said, looking her in the eye for the first time in days. "I married you."
Part 4: The Weight of Replacement
She returned to her room, numb again.
But this time, a different kind of silence sat beside her.
She had not been chosen out of love.
Nor even obligation.
She had been chosen out of necessity.
Because someone else had been refused.
She was the solution.
She was the sacrifice.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The shadows there seemed to stretch longer than usual, like something watching.
She whispered to herself,
"I am no one's choice.
Only what was left."
And the coldness that followed her into sleep that night was deeper than any before.
Part 5: Whispers in the Ash Wing
It was called the Ash Wing a narrow corridor at the far end of the estate, behind the servants' quarters. The walls were dull stone, the floors colder than the rest of the house. Few went there, and even fewer returned with smiles.
Jenny had wandered there once before and been gently turned away.
But that evening, after hearing the mistress's laughter echo down the hall again, something in Jenny burned. A quiet hunger to know. To understand why she'd been erased before she could become anything at all.
The air in the Ash Wing was damp. Musty.
She followed the corridor to a wooden door unlocked.
Inside, the room was filled with forgotten trunks and wardrobes. Covered portraits. Velvet furniture long surrendered to dust.
She lit a small oil lamp and wandered through.
Then she saw it: a trunk with initials etched into the brass.
E.M.
She hesitated.
Then opened it.
Inside were letters. Dozens.
All written in a sharp, elegant hand, Evelyne's.
Many were addressed to the Earl.
But one worn and stained was addressed to someone else:
To My Dearest Father,
I do not care what they say. I will have him. If he cannot marry me now, then I shall stay here until I am the only option. I will be in this house before the next full season, even if it means taking another girl's place and pushing her into silence. I was made for this life, not her.
Evelyne
Jenny stared at the words.
Her hands went cold.
Part 6: The Spider's Web
A sound.
Footsteps in the hall.
She stuffed the letter into her sleeve, slammed the trunk shut, and slipped behind the wardrobe.
The door opened.
Evelyne entered alone.
She looked around once, eyes narrowed, as though sensing something disturbed.
She walked to the trunk. Opened it.
Noticed the missing letter.
Her face darkened.
Then, quietly, she whispered into the stillness of the room:
"You can't hide from me forever, little bride."
And left.
Jenny stayed hidden until long after the footsteps faded.
Her heart thudded like thunder against her ribs.
Part 7: Something Rotten in the Gown
That night, Jenny didn't sleep.
She lay on her bed, clutching the crumpled letter to her chest.
Evelyne had written it before the wedding.
She had known about Jenny. Had planned her downfall. Had stayed in the manor not as a cast-aside lover but as a predator waiting for the weaker girl to break.
This wasn't just about love.
It was a game of control.
And Jenny had been a pawn.
No.
A sacrifice.
Part 8: A Flicker in the Dark
Jenny had started digging.
Quietly.
The next morning, she had asked the steward about Evelyne's familysoftly, curiously, like an innocent bride trying to understand her new home.
The answers were vague. The Maroux line was powerful in the north. Traders. Some scandal. Whispers of debts. A daughter was once sent abroad for discipline. Things people didn't speak of.
Jenny stored every word in her memory like treasure.
But that night…
She wasn't thinking of Evelyne.
She was brushing her hair before the mirror, strands loose over her shoulders, the firelight soft behind her. She wore a pale nightdress, thin cotton that clung to her form from the heat of her bath. Her nipples tingled slightly against the fabric from the cold breeze slipping through the cracked window.
The room was quiet. Safe.
Until she heard the door creak open.
She turned sharply, arms instinctively crossing over her chest.
Lord Ramon stood in the doorway.
His cravat was loose, his coat open. His eyes were glazed but focused on her.
He stepped inside without a word.
Jenny froze.
"Y-you're drunk," she said, voice barely audible.
He didn't answer.
He just stared.
Her hair cascaded down her back. At the glow of her skin in the firelight. The way her nightdress caught her curves was like a whisper.
"You're… beautiful," he murmured. "I didn't know…"
His voice caught.
Jenny stepped back slightly. "My lord "
"Ramon," he said, his voice rough, "you're my wife. Say my name."
She swallowed hard.
He walked closer. Slow. Careful.
His hand reached out, hesitated, then brushed her bare arm. Her skin erupted in goosebumps.
"You hide yourself every day," he whispered. "With tight buns and buttoned collars. But now... look at you."
She stood still as his fingers traced her arm, rising to the thin strap of her nightgown.
Her breath trembled.
In the mirror behind them, she saw the two of them: a man haunted by something he refused to say, and a girl who no longer knew how to feel.
He moved behind her.
His hands grazed the sides of her ribs, resting lightly above her hips. His breath was warm against her neck.
She didn't move.
Not even when his fingers brushed the fabric covering her chest.
The pale cotton shifted. Slowly.
One breast freed.
His fingers brushed the soft curve, then gently rolled the pink nub between thumb and forefinger.
Jenny gasped, sharp and quiet.
In the mirror, her expression changed.
She wasn't afraid.
Just surprised at the heat blooming inside her. The way his touch confused her sadness, tangled it with sensation.
He kissed her shoulder.
Light. Barely there.
"You smell like lavender," he said, voice husky.
He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.
Jenny closed her eyes.
Then he took her nipple in his mouth, sucking gently then pulling away to blow cool air across it.
She shivered.
His hands slid lower, stroking her belly, resting at the edge of her nightgown.
Ramon paused, eyes flickering with clarity beginning to return.
He was sobering up.
But he didn't stop.
He turned her around to face him fully. Lifted her with ease she gave a soft sound of surprise and carried her to the bed.
He laid her down as though she were something fragile. A porcelain girl he might've dropped in another life.
He leaned over her, his voice soft and deep:
"Let me see you."
And Jenny, for once, did not pull away.
She watched him as his mouth lowered again to her chest. He kissed her softly. Bit her lightly. Blew against her skin until she arched under him.
Then his hand slid lower.