The storm outside had raged for days, and with every gust of wind and lash of rain against the windows, the tension inside the estate seemed to grow thicker. Anastasia had spent most of the past few days keeping to herself, burying her unease in chores and keeping her head down. The Duke had been gone for what felt like an eternity, and though no one openly questioned his absence, whispers and speculation swirled around the servants.
Anastasia, however, had no interest in rumors. She was preoccupied with her own growing sense of dread. Ever since the cryptic conversation she'd overheard—her name spoken in hushed tones by the Duke and his confidants—she had been on edge. What did they know about her? Why did the Duke always seem to treat her with that strange mix of indifference and caution, like she was someone to be kept at a distance? The more she thought about it, the more the questions gnawed at her.
And then, just as suddenly as he had left, the Duke returned.
The news reached her in the early evening, carried by one of the younger maids who had overheard the guards at the gates. Anastasia's heart raced with a confusing mixture of relief and apprehension. She had been preparing herself for this moment, telling herself that the next time she saw him, she would confront him. She needed answers, and she was done waiting for them to come on their own.
But when she caught her first glimpse of him, it was as though the courage she had mustered melted away. He strode through the halls with his usual cold grace, his face a mask of unreadable detachment. He gave no indication that he had even noticed her, walking past without so much as a glance in her direction.
For the rest of the evening, Anastasia struggled with indecision. Should she approach him? Would he even speak to her, or would he brush her aside like he always did? But the questions that had been building inside her refused to be ignored any longer. She had to know what the Duke was hiding—about her, about the hooded man, about everything.
As night fell, the storm continued to batter the estate. Anastasia paced the small room she had been assigned, her mind racing. The estate was quiet now, most of the servants having retired for the night. The Duke was likely in his study, or perhaps in his chambers, and the thought of facing him alone filled her with both dread and determination.
Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, she made up her mind.
Anastasia found herself standing outside the Duke's chambers, her hand poised to knock on the heavy wooden door. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of her own pulse loud in her ears. What was she doing? Was she really about to confront the Duke like this, in the middle of the night, with nothing but her suspicions to guide her?
She took a deep breath and knocked.
For a moment, there was only silence, and she thought perhaps he had already retired. But then, the door creaked open, and the Duke stood before her, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Anastasia," he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his voice. "What is it?"
She hesitated, her resolve faltering under the weight of his gaze. But she couldn't turn back now. She had come too far.
"I need to speak with you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The Duke's eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse her outright. But then he stepped aside, opening the door wider.
"Very well," he said. "Come in."
Anastasia stepped inside, the air in the room feeling heavier than the storm outside. The Duke gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing, too nervous to relax in his presence. He moved to a chair by the fireplace, sitting down with a fluid grace that made it clear he was still very much in control of the situation.
"What is it you wish to discuss?" he asked, his tone formal, almost bored.
Anastasia clenched her hands at her sides, the weight of everything she wanted to say pressing down on her. "I… I need to know the truth," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Duke raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild amusement. "The truth? About what?"
"About me," she replied, her voice growing stronger now. "About who I am. About why you and the others talk about me in secret, why you're always so distant with me. I need to know what you're hiding."
The Duke's face hardened, the amusement gone in an instant. "Anastasia, you're a maid in my household. Nothing more. There are no secrets you need to concern yourself with."
She shook her head, refusing to accept his dismissal. "That's not true. I overheard you talking, about me, about my name. You know something about my past—something I don't. Why won't you tell me?"
The Duke's gaze darkened, and for a moment, Anastasia thought he might simply throw her out. But instead, he sighed, a low, dangerous sound. "Some things are best left unknown," he said, his voice colder than before. "You should be grateful for the life you have here, Anastasia. Asking too many questions can be dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she repeated, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "What could be so dangerous about knowing the truth?"
The Duke stood abruptly, his towering presence making her feel small and insignificant. "You don't understand," he said, his voice sharp. "This is not a game, Anastasia. There are forces at play that you cannot begin to comprehend. Trust me when I say that some truths are better left buried."
Anastasia felt her anger rising now, her fear and confusion giving way to defiance. "I have the right to know!" she snapped. "It's my life—my past! You can't just decide what I should or shouldn't know!"
The Duke's eyes blazed with anger, and for a moment, she thought he might shout at her. But then, his expression changed—his eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a sneer. "What makes you so certain you even want to know?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you really think you'll be happy with the answers you seek?"
Anastasia faltered, his words striking a chord of doubt within her. But she couldn't back down now. Not when she had come this far. "I deserve to know the truth," she said quietly. "Even if it's not what I want to hear."
The Duke's jaw tightened, his hands clenched at his sides. For a moment, the room was filled with the tense silence of two people standing on the edge of a precipice, each waiting for the other to fall.
And then Anastasia made the mistake that would change everything.
In her frustration, her desperation to make him understand, the words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.
"I've met him," she blurted out, her voice trembling with emotion. "The hooded man."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
The Duke's eyes went wide with fury, and before she could react, he was across the room, his hand gripping her arm with a force that made her gasp in pain.
"You what?" he hissed, his voice filled with barely contained rage.
Anastasia stared up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen him like this—so furious, so out of control.
"I—I didn't mean to—" she stammered, but the Duke's grip only tightened.
"You met him?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "When? Where?"
Anastasia struggled to find the words, her mind racing. "It was… it was a while ago," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Before I came here. He found me, and he… he told me things. Things that reaffirm my suspicion that something is awry"
The Duke's expression was one of pure rage, his eyes blazing with a fury she had never seen before. "You foolish girl," he spat. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea who that man is?"
Anastasia shook her head, her fear overwhelming her. "I don't know!" she cried. "He didn't tell me everything, but he said… he said there's more to my past than I know."
The Duke released her arm, stepping back as if the very sight of her disgusted him. "You've put yourself—and everyone here—in danger," he said coldly. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself involved in."
Anastasia felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, her confusion and fear threatening to overwhelm her. "I don't understand," she whispered. "Why won't you just tell me the truth?"
The Duke glared at her, his expression as cold as ice. "Because some truths will destroy you, Anastasia. And I will not be the one responsible for that."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, leaving her standing there, shaken and alone.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Anastasia collapsed into the nearest chair, her mind reeling from everything that had just happened.
She had wanted answers—but now, she wasn't sure if she was ready to face the truth.