Broken Promise, Restored Affinity

Back in the room, Jonathan followed closely behind me. "Lana, are you angry with me?" he asked, his voice soft yet probing.

I felt a wave of bitterness rise in my chest, so thick I couldn’t bring myself to respond. My silence only seemed to irritate him. His tone shifted, tinged with frustration, as he said, "Lana, I know I’ve wronged you, but please—think about me and the Bridgerton Family..."

His words hung in the air, but they felt empty. I remained quiet, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but instead of addressing his plea, I asked calmly, "Do you want me to give up the position of the main wife?" My voice was cold, distant.

Then, I added the question that had been haunting me, my tone sharp, "The child... he looks big. How old is he?"

Jonathan's face stiffened and instead of answering, he slammed the door and stormed out of the room.

It was the first time we had quarreled so bitterly, the first time I had felt such an ugly rift between us. I had always believed our love was built on trust, but now I wondered when he had started to betray me.

Not long after, Roma, my ever-reliable cousin, helped me uncover the truth.

It all began four years ago. Jonathan had been sent south to help control the floods. During his time there, he rescued a woman, Wendy Hilton, who was living among the common folk. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he fell in love. The details of their story, the way he heroically saved her, felt like a cruel parody of my own life, a bitter satire.

Wendy became pregnant and before long, she gave birth to their child. Jonathan arranged for them to live in a secluded courtyard outside the city, hiding them away like secrets he couldn’t bear to share. I stared at the letter in my hands, my eyes lingering on the name of the courtyard: William Jonas— "Pearls and Jade Garden." The name was painfully fitting. They were his pearls and jade, his most treasured possessions, hidden away from the world.

But fate had other plans. A short while ago, Wendy’s residence had been discovered by accident and it was then that Jonathan learned she wasn’t just a common woman—she was Princess Hilton, a royal living in disguise. Now that the truth was out, Jonathan couldn’t keep her hidden any longer. How could he, when his lover was a princess?

So, he brought her and their child into our home, no longer needing to pretend.

It wasn’t long after that Princess Hilton sought me out herself.

When she entered my home, her wide, innocent eyes shone with a dewy mist, like a lost fawn seeking refuge. There was a fragile beauty about her, one that seemed to inspire pity in those around her. She walked into the room with an air of gentle grace and the servants, quick to show deference to her royal status, led her to the main seat.

I, the mistress of the Marquis's Mansion, the wife of Jonathan, could only stand by her side in silence, watching this absurd spectacle unfold. How ironic that the princess, my husband’s mistress, would take my place in my own home.

Her eyes fluttered demurely as she raised her hand to brush her fingertips over her eyebrows—eyebrows that I recognized immediately. They were delicately drawn with Persian snail-shaped black ink, the same rare kind Jonathan had gone to great lengths to procure for me. He had struggled to find even two shades of the ink and I had foolishly believed he had given one to a colleague.

But now I saw the truth clearly. He had saved it, treasured it, not for me, but for her. For the woman he had hidden and cherished these last four years.

The weight of it all crashed down on me, the absurdity of my ignorance pressing on my chest. How had I not realized it before? How had I been so blind to the distance growing between us, to the fact that my husband had fallen for another?