Silas’s face twisted. “Shut your mouth.”
Rowan smiled. “Or what?”
Nora felt something break through the drugged fog. Not courage. Not yet.
Rage.
Evangeline turned to her. “Listen carefully, Miss Vance. I paid your mother’s hospital debt. I paid for the specialist. I paid for the medicine that keeps her alive. You signed the marriage papers because I made survival possible. That means you will behave like a grateful woman.”
“My mother is not your chain.”
“She is whatever I decide she is.”
The room went silent.
Nora’s heart pounded once, hard.
Evangeline stepped closer. “Your mother’s treatment is scheduled every week. One word from me, one delay in payment, one lost document, and the hospital will discover that charity has limits. Do you understand?”
Silas struggled to sit up. “Mother, don’t do this.”
Evangeline ignored him.
“Rowan has appetites,” she continued. “Silas has a name. I have a family reputation to preserve. You were poor, desperate, and convenient. Do not confuse convenience with importance.”
Nora looked at Silas.
His eyes were wet with shame.
Not guilt.
Shame.
And in that moment she understood the first true thing about her marriage.
She had not married a monster.
She had married another prisoner.
“You drugged me,” Nora said.
Evangeline’s mouth tightened. “You were nervous. I gave you something to calm you.”
Rowan smirked. “Clearly not enough.”
Nora lunged for a shard of broken lamp glass on the carpet. Rowan moved toward her, but Silas threw his body sideways and struck Rowan’s knees with his shoulder. Rowan stumbled. Nora grabbed the glass and held it out with both trembling hands.
“Touch me again,” she whispered, “and this house will hear you scream.”
For the first time that night, Rowan stopped smiling.
Evangeline’s eyes narrowed. “You filthy little seamstress.”
Nora’s fingers tightened around the glass. “Then you should have checked the seams before you bought the dress.”
Something changed in Silas’s face.
A spark.
Tiny.
Terrified.
Alive.
Evangeline lifted her chin. “You will regret speaking to me like that.”
Nora looked at Rowan. Then at Evangeline. Then at Silas, bruised and gag-marked on the floor.
“I already regret entering this house,” she said. “Do not make the mistake of thinking regret is the same as surrender.”
That night, Nora was locked in a small guest room at the back of the second floor.
Not the bridal room.
Not even a room with a proper latch on the inside.
The door locked from the hallway. The window was narrow and painted shut. A faded portrait of some dead Blackthorne ancestor stared down at her from the wall as though judging her for breathing.
Nora stayed awake until sunrise.
She thought of the hospital ward where her mother, Lucia, slept beneath thin blankets and humming machines. She thought of the bills folded in her purse like death sentences. She thought of Lady Evangeline arriving at the charity office in black gloves, saying, “There are honorable arrangements between families, Miss Vance.”
At the time, Nora had believed she was sacrificing herself to a lonely disabled man.
A marriage in name.
A strange bargain.
A life she could survive if it meant her mother could live.
Now she understood.
The Blackthornes had not needed a wife for Silas.
They had needed a curtain.
By morning, Nora had stopped shaking.
At eight, Mrs. Rowe unlocked the door and came in carrying tea, toast, and a small dish of jam. Her hands trembled so badly the spoon rattled against the tray.
“You should eat,” the housekeeper whispered.
Nora looked at the tea.
“No.”
“It is only tea.”
“Then drink it.”
Mrs. Rowe went still.
That was answer enough.
Nora pushed the tray away. “Where is Silas?”
“In his room.”
“Locked in?”
Mrs. Rowe lowered her eyes.
Nora stood. “Help me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t know what they are capable of.”
Nora laughed once, without humor. “I learned quickly.”
Mrs. Rowe looked toward the hallway, then closed the door behind her. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than breath.
“Rowan has always been cruel. Since he was a boy. Lady Evangeline covered everything. Broken windows. Broken animals. Broken servants. Girls came to work here and left before the month was out. Some were paid. Some were threatened. Some had nowhere else to go.”
Nora’s stomach turned.
“And Silas?”
Mrs. Rowe’s face crumpled.
“Silas tried to stop him.”
Nora stepped closer. “Stop him from what?”
“Everything.”
Mrs. Rowe’s eyes filled. “Before the accident, Silas was the only decent Blackthorne left. He wanted the glassworks inspected. He wanted workers paid properly. He found records proving Rowan had stolen wages, bribed safety officers, and hidden injuries from the authorities. Silas was going to report it.”
“And then he lost his hands.”
Mrs. Rowe nodded slowly.