Knock. Knock.
"Mel? Mel, we have a busy day ahead..."
I sat upright before the second knock landed, already dressed, the morning sun casting soft shadows across the ivory walls of my room. My heart, however, wasn't as collected. Not after last night's dinner, when Aunt Grace had ripped open the past like it was silk too tight to breathe in. Her words still echoed in my ears, sharp, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
"Aunt Grace?" I called softly.
"Oh! Quite the contrary," she responded from the other side of the door. "I was going to wake you up, but... you're obviously awake."
I crossed the room and opened the door. There she stood, elegant as always, in a perfectly tailored emerald green pantsuit. Her lipstick was deep wine, sharp enough to wound, and her hair was tied back in a sleek knot that made her look like she ruled the kind of empires built on broken rules.
"Good morning, Aunt Grace," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "Sorry, I took some time."
She gave me a slow once-over and lifted an amused brow. "You're in the dress Mary gave you for your last birthday, aren't you?"
I nodded, feeling a strange guilt climb into my cheeks.
"You certainly dressed for the occasion," she said with a thin smile. Then, after a pause, she added, "Well... never mind. I'll ask Mr. Darcy to fetch us something just in case."
That stung. My smile faltered.
Grace noticed. She stepped closer and placed her cool fingers over mine. "Mel, the dress is lovely. Just not you. And we're not doing anything ordinary today, are we?"
Her voice was warm velvet, and that wink, playful, reassuring told me everything I needed to know: this wasn't about dresses. It was about beginnings. Or endings. Or maybe both.
Within minutes, the car was ready, a sleek, black vintage Daimler that glinted like ink under the morning sun. The estate's grand courtyard gleamed, the birds chirped with deceptive cheer, and the fountain danced its usual rhythm. But the air... the air felt tight. Like something was about to snap.
Grace stood by the car, discussing some private route with Mr. Darcy. I was about to slide into the back seat when a sudden figure emerged.
Mary.
She appeared from the side path, her presence as deliberate as a chess move. Her coat was tightly belted, hair pinned perfectly in place. The moment she stepped in front of the car, Mr. Darcy turned off the engine.
"I wasn't told there was a trip scheduled this morning," she said, her voice controlled, eyes on Grace.
Grace sighed. "It's hardly a secret, Mary. I'm taking Melody to Dynasty Hall. Final fittings, lighting tests—you said two days."
"She can't go," Mary said flatly.
I blinked. "Why not?"
"She's had enough exposure to this... spectacle. It's not just a fashion show, Grace. It's tied to everything we buried."
Grace's tone sharpened. "Buried? Isn't that the issue? Nothing ever stays buried in this house. Especially not in Maistown."
"She's not ready," Mary insisted, now locking eyes with Grace. "Her memories are coming back faster than she can process. You think you're helping, but you're destabilizing her."
That stopped me cold.
"Is that why you've been scheduling every hour of my day?" I asked, stepping forward. "Is that why I've never been allowed to leave the estate? To stop the memories?"
Mary looked at me then. Her eyes flickered—maternal, almost wounded. "Melody, I'm only trying to protect you."
"From what?"
Silence.
Grace touched my shoulder. "She deserves to know, Mary. If you won't tell her, someone else will. Maybe someone already has."
Mary's mask cracked. Fear bled into her gaze. Not anger this time. Fear. Real and raw.
"You're crossing a line," she warned. "Don't drag her into your rebellion."
Grace leaned in, her words a breath against the morning. "You already did."
Mary took a step back.
"You have two days," she said stiffly. "After that, I expect both of you here. In this house. No surprises. No drama."
"Deal," Grace said coolly, opening the car door. "Come, Mel. We have dresses to ruin and secrets to wear."
As the car pulled away from the estate, I looked back. Mary stood still in the courtyard, like a statue planted to guard the truth she was too afraid to speak.
"She loves you, you know," Grace murmured, not looking at me. "But love is a strange thing in this family. Sometimes it comes dressed as silence."
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded, barely holding the tears that stung the edges of my eyes.
"Mr. Darcy," Grace called, her voice suddenly lighter, "could we stop at that place we discussed?"
"Yes ma'am," he replied, eyes forward.
She didn't loop me into the plan, and strangely, I didn't mind. My thoughts had begun to drift, pulling up images from the night before—the flash in Mary's eyes, the way Grace's voice wobbled just slightly when she mentioned the past. And underneath it all, Charles. The ache of his name. The whisper of a feeling I couldn't yet place.
A siren blared from the road beside us, jolting me out of thought. I gripped the edge of the seat as the noise faded into the distance. Grace looked over, amused.
"Still nervous?"
"I've never really been... out," I admitted.
"You mean outside the estate?"
I nodded. "Not really. Nanny Chopper took me to the market once, but even that felt like a mission. I don't know what's real out here and what's just... curated."
Grace's smile softened. "That's because Mary kept you in a shell. Wrapped in silk and rules. That kind of life isn't protection, Mel it's captivity."
The car slowed and came to a graceful stop. Mr. Darcy stepped out and opened the door for me.
"Where are we?" I asked, peering out, half confused.
Grace stepped out first, the sun catching the gold in her earrings. "Welcome to the Ladies Lounge."
I followed her out, blinking against the bright light.
"Ladies Lounge?" I repeated. "I've never heard of that before."
She grinned. "Of course you haven't. It's not in the brochures."
The building before us looked like an old manor transformed into something entirely new. The entrance was framed with dark marble and ivy, and from inside came the gentle hum of jazz music and the clinking of glasses.
"Think of this as our little escape," Grace said. "A girls' trip. But more importantly... a journey. One that will change everything."
"Change?" I frowned. "Aunt Grace, we're going to be in so much trouble. The plan was to stay under the radar. If Mother finds out... she'll have both our heads."
Grace linked her arm through mine and whispered, "And who's going to tell her?"
A nervous laugh escaped me. For once, I felt like someone was on my side, not shielding me from the truth, but walking me toward it.
"Inside," she said, tugging me gently. "There's a woman I want you to meet. She knows things. About the past. About you."
"About me?"
She nodded. "Your father. Charles. What really happened... and why Mary kept you hidden."
My breath caught in my throat.
"But Mel," she said, pausing at the door, "whatever we find, remember this, sometimes the truth hurts, but it always frees."
We stepped into the lounge, and everything shifted. The air was scented with jasmine and sandalwood, and the warmth of the space hugged me in a way home never had.