I barely had time to process what was happening before I was swept into the halls of the grand estate. Claire left me with another girl—who I assumed was my sister, was called Ambrielle Salviari—walked ahead of me, her posture perfect, her steps purposeful.
She moved like she belonged here.
Her fair skin glows like a moonlight, her dark black hair compliments her small face with a soft side bangs, her thick long hair flowing like a waves in the sea. A slim body frame and regal poise, she exudes the effortless grace of a goddess.
Meanwhile, I felt like a ghost in my own body.
The hallways stretched endlessly, lined with oil paintings of people who, for all I knew, could be my ancestors. The high ceilings were adorned with golden chandeliers, and the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers lingered in the air.
This place was beautiful.
It was also terrifying.
Because every second that passed, I realized this wasn't a dream. This wasn't some weird trick of my imagination.
I was truly here.
And worse—everyone believed I was her.
"Honestly, María," Ambrielle huffed as we climbed the grand staircase, "you cannot continue to wander off like this. Father's patience wears thin, and after the last time—"
Wow, she just talks like my sister. Except, Amber doesn't speak fancy or anything.
She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind. We must make haste. You have fittings before the gala, and Father wishes to speak with you beforehand."
I almost tripped on my gown. This dang thing.
"Speak with me?" I echoed. "Like me, only me?"
"Of course," she said, giving me a confused glance. "You did not forget, did you?"
"I..." I hesitated. "I forgot."
She sighed, as though she was used to my forgetfulness. "He wishes to discuss the arrangements, I presume. You know how he is."
No. I didn't know how he was. I am scared but I nodded anyway, swallowing the lump in my throat.
By the time we reached my supposed room, I was lightheaded.
Ambrielle pushed open the doors, revealing a chamber straight out of a historical drama—canopy bed, elegant vanity, bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. A window overlooked the gardens below, where a few finely dressed ladies strolled arm in arm.
Everything was perfect.
Everything was wrong.
Ambrielle turned to me with a sigh. "I shall send for the maids to prepare you. Do not keep Father waiting long."
With that, she swept out of the room, leaving me alone.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair—only to realize it was styled differently, pinned up in intricate curls. My fingers trembled as I looked around.
There had to be something—anything—that told me who I was supposed to be here.
I moved quickly, rifling through drawers and shelves. I found jewelry boxes, delicate handkerchiefs, an inkwell with half-written letters. My handwriting—no, her handwriting—flowed across the parchment in elegant script.
My dearest Noachus Reganus,
I fear I am at a loss. How cruel the world is to place love in our hearts, only to punish us for it. I know not what the future holds, but I know this—if there is ever a time where love is free from the binds of duty, I would choose you.
— María Georgiana
I sucked in a breath.
Noachus.
I didn't know him. But she did.
And I can see that she loved him.
A sudden knock on the door made me jump.
"Lady María, your father awaits you in his study," a voice called.
I wiped my hands on my gown, steadying my breath. "I'll go, just wait y'all."
Footsteps faded down the hall.
I looked back at the letter in my hand, my heart pounding.
Who was María Georgiana Salviari?
And what had I just stepped into?
The study was dimly lit, the scent of parchment and burning wood filling the air.
At the large mahogany desk sat a man I instinctively knew was my father—or her father. His presence alone was commanding, his sharp eyes scanning me as I entered.
"María, my daughter," he said, his tone clipped. "You took your time."
I dipped my head slightly, unsure how to respond. "I'm sorry, I guess."
The words felt foreign on my tongue.
He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I grow weary of your wandering. Have you no sense of duty?"
I straightened. "Duty?"
His eyes narrowed. "Do not feign ignorance, child. You are to be betrothed. Tonight's gala will be the first step in finalizing the arrangement."
My stomach dropped.
Betrothed? Like marry? Arranged marriage?
To who?
I forced myself to remain calm. "I... understand."
"Do you?" He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "You will conduct yourself properly tonight. There will be no foolishness, no disgrace. You are a Salviari, and you will act as such."
I clenched my hands into fists beneath my skirts.
I didn't belong here.
I didn't know the rules, the expectations, the weight of this name.
But I had no choice.
I nodded. "Okay, I guess."
He studied me for a moment longer, then dismissed me with a wave. "Ensure you are prepared."
I turned to leave, my mind spinning.
A betrothal. A duty. A life I didn't understand.
And yet—
As I stepped back into the hallway, my eyes landed on a familiar figure standing at the end of the corridor.
His dark and almond-shaped eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world stilled.
Is that him?
The Noachus in María's letter?