By the next day, Mason finally returned to the Blackwell estate—with Rebecca in his arms.
When they passed the memorial hall, he stopped.
His gaze landed on my face, now covered in angry red welts from the allergic reaction. His brow furrowed.
"Chloe. Rebecca wants congee. Made by your hands."
"And if you pull any tricks this time—if you hurt her or the baby—" His voice dropped, glacial. "I won't show mercy."
I looked at Rebecca's swollen belly, rounded and ripe.
I pressed my forehead to the cold stone floor.
"I understand. Caring for Miss Fox is my duty. I wouldn't dare do anything untoward."
Rebecca gazed down at me—broken, kneeling, pathetic—and her face bloomed with satisfaction.
"Oh, sister." She drew out the word like a blade. "I heard that when you lost your baby, it was seven months along too." She rested a hand on her belly. "You wouldn't want me to end up like you, would you?"
Mason let out a cold laugh.
"Someone like her was never fit to carry my child."
"That baby was a blood debt her family owed mine. Nothing more."
I lowered my head until my forehead touched the ground.
I had never denied it. My family owed the Blackwells a debt that could never be repaid.