WARNING: This chapter contains information about abuse and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.

***

Viscountess Voretti had no intention of helping Dylan. In fact, she practically dragged her down the hallway by her neck to a private drawing room.

It was hard for Dylan—the verbal and sometimes physical abuse. There were times when Dylan felt ripped away from her own self and sanity. The memories she found most enjoyable began to fade with time, but the things she tried the hardest to forget often remained alive.

She knew that were some things in the world you couldn't control, including the actions and thoughts of others. You could manipulate and sway them, but you couldn't control them. She couldn't take away the hate others felt for her.

The Viscountess spit at Dylan's face and snarled, "A nasty bitch who doesn't even know where she came from!"

"Let go of me!" Dylan yelled, yanking her neck and hair free from the lady's grip. "You really are out of your mind, aren't you?"

The Viscountess blocked the door. "Tell me," she demanded, "who your filthy mother is and why the Duke cheated on Patrizia! Go on! What kind of tricks did your beggar mother use to catch the Duke's eye?"

"Why should I bother explaining myself," Dylan said with a cocky grin, "to a nasty old hag who can't even keep her hands to herself?"

A flush of anger crept up the Viscountess' neck and into her face. "Ha, how dare you?" she challenged, raising her hand to hit Dylan.

Thud. Dylan drove her foot hard into the Viscountess' shin.

"Ack!" she yelled, doubling over in pain.

"Oh my," Dylan chuckled, playing coy. "Well you are an old hag, so falling over is expected, right?"

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" she said through gritted teeth, glancing up at Dylan with angry eyes. "You're disgusting," she barked, "you filthy wench, you—"

"Yes." Dylan looked down at her with cold eyes. "I'm disgusting," she said, "and I came from lowly origins. But right now—which one of us is standing on top?"

The Viscountess stiffened as Dylan stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on each of her shoulders. Dylan's eyes were smiling expectantly, her lip rose and remained lifted in a sinister smirk.

"If you hit me," she said with a lethal cold, "I'll hit you twice as hard."

The Viscountess suddenly grew pale as Dylan removed her hands and walked to the door.

"You don't know me enough to have a problem with me, Viscountess." Dylan paused with her hand on the doorknob, looking over a shoulder. "You don't know me at all. My blood, my story, my background—are all things you have no right to ask for."

Rage. Anger. Resentment. Dylan had no idea what to do with these emotions. Her face contorted with rage, and her eyes darkened. They were all the same—cruel and judgmental people. Tears burned her eyes and her lower lip trembled. She hated them. She wanted them all dead.

"Lady Dylan?" someone called from the end of the hall.

Dylan glanced up. "Baroness Morsher," she said, wiping her tears of frustration away with her sleeves. "My apologies, I—"

"Poor thing," she said, frowning. "Was she mean to you? The Viscountess?"

'Ha, you owe me, Laikin.'

"Yes," Dylan replied, lowering her head to hide her smirk. "She was terrible."

It was shortly after this that rumours began to spread about the Viscountess burning and kicking a seventeen-year-old girl at her first tea party.

***

Edwin lowered his sword and straightened from a sparring match with Dylan, whose brown eyes begun to scare him. They were always calculating, watching, and even predicting. No matter what he tried, it seemed as if she always one step ahead. Her sword arm shook and her legs were rubbery, but her mind was strong.

"How?" asked Edwin. "How did you know I would attack you there?"

"You were looking at my head too obviously," she explained, taking a deep breath. "When you came towards me with such an obvious move, I knew you would suddenly drop and attack my foremost leg."

For a second he looked confused and then grinned. "Did you intentionally leave your leg out like that?" he asked. "Don't tell me you tricked me."

Dylan laughed, looking at him to see how he'd take it. Surprise, then disbelief, crossed his features.

"That's amazing," he said, chuckling. "Your brain truly works in miraculous ways."

'Hm. Footsteps?'

Dylan glanced over her shoulder as a figure approached, her genuine smile fading into her usual stoic expression. "Lord Laikin," she said, "for what do I owe the honour?"

His blue eyes flickered over her. "You do swordsmanship?"

"No, I was only fooling around," she said, sarcastically. "The thought of beating someone with a wooden stick seemed appealing."

He smirked, "It seems like milady has some interesting kinks."

"What do you want?" she asked, sighing.

"I believe you and I have some business to discuss, milady."

Edwin gave Dylan fatherly smile and approached her, holding his hand out. "I'll put your training sword away," he said. "You should take a stroll with him."

'Are you trying to set me up with your grandson? Unbelievable.'

Laikin held out his hand. "Shall we take a stroll, Lady Dylan?"

***

"My mother was quite angry with the Viscountess," Laikin explained as they strolled hand-in-hand. "Madam Vorreti tried to deny your claims, but nobody believed her."

She looked up at him with innocent eyes as Laikin stopped and turned to face her.

He lifted her chin with his hand and studied her face. That wide-eyed innocent look and those soft lips reminded him of a fairytale princess. He knew it was the mask Dylan hid behind.

"I'm assuming the harassment wasn't one-sided."

Nothing. No reaction, no shift in her stoic face. It was calm and composed—almost entirely expressionless. She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. He opened the envelope and read the note, his lips raising slightly.

"That's the information you needed, so give me the papers with my fake identity."

For a moment he simply gazed into her eyes, and then he drew a deep breath. "It cost me a lot, you know," he said. "I don't think this payment is enough."

Dylan's jaw tightened. "Then what else do you want?"

"A kiss."



AUTHOR'S NOTE:

What do we think about this chapter? Do you think Dylan will kiss him?