Well, that got their attention.
As soon as the words left my mouth, all three of my brothers turned to stare at me. Not dramatically—just long enough to make the silence press harder than it should have.
Leonard, of course, was the first to break it. He tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in open amusement. "Elisha, have you forgotten already?" His tone was breezy, but there was something behind it—curiosity? Suspicion? I couldn't tell. "I know you don't visit Father often, but surely you haven't lost your sense of direction in your own home?"
I hesitated. I could've lied. Or acted offended. But instead, I leaned into it, lowering my gaze with a faint flush I didn't have to fake entirely. "Yes. I must've… forgotten."
Leonard let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like I was a hopeless case. "My dear sister, I almost pity you. But since you've asked so sweetly: the eastern hall. Third door on the right." He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just a bit. "Though if I were you, I'd think twice before knocking. He's not exactly in a cheerful mood these days."
"Thank you," I said, feigning actuall ingornnce.
Alexander didn't say a word. Just watched me with those sharp eyes of his—dissecting me in silence. I didn't meet his gaze. Julian looked up at me, his mouth parted as if he might say something, but he didn't. He just watched.
I left the dining room and stepped into the hallway, the soft click of my heels the only sound for a while. The eastern hall was colder than I expected. Narrow. Dim. The sconces along the stone walls gave off more shadow than light, and the silence made each footstep echo too loudly.
I moved slowly.
This wasn't just any room. It was his room.
The memories I had of the Duke of Belmont—what little Elisha had left behind—were vague at best. I remembered a voice. Heavy. Impatient. A presence that filled rooms even when he didn't speak. There was grief, too—shoved into corners like furniture no one wanted to move. He had loved his wife, maybe more than he could ever love anyone else. And when she died, something in him had gone with her.
Beyond that? He was a stranger. A man known more by the weight he carried than by any acts of tenderness.
I stopped at the third door on the right. Thick oak. No nameplate. Just silence behind it. I raised my hand and knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again. Firmer.
"Go away," came the response—gruff and immediate.
I didn't move. My knuckles hit the door again, louder this time.
"I said, go away. I'm busy."
I swallowed hard. Then spoke, steady as I could manage. "Father, I want to talk to you."
There was a pause. Not long, but thick. As if he hadn't expected to hear that voice on the other side of his door.
"We have nothing to discuss, Elisha," he said at last, his tone unchanged. "Go back to your room."
I closed my hand into an even tighter fist, knuckles white. Then kocked again. "I can help you with the trade negotiations."
That did it.
Another silence, longer this time. The kind of silence that makes you question if you went too far.
Then: footsteps. Heavy. Slow. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open just wide enough for him to see me—and for me to see him.
The Duke of Belmont. My father.
He was taller than I thought. His shoulders were broader, his posture still straight despite the wear on his face. Dark hair streaked with silver, a trimmed beard, and eyes that looked so much like Alexander's—except older. Sadder. Exhausted.
He stared at me, not like a daughter, not like a stranger. More like a problem he wasn't sure how to categorize.
Then, without a word, he stepped back and opened the door fully.
"Come in."
I obeyed.
The study smelled of old parchment and smoke. A large desk dominated the room, piled with papers and maps. Candles flickered beside ledgers inked in tight, spidery script. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with volumes that hadn't been touched in years, judging by the dust.
The Duke closed the door behind me and moved to his desk, never breaking eye contact.
"You claim you can help," he said. His voice was steady but low, the kind that carried weight even when it didn't rise. "Speak. And do so wisely."
I didn't sit. Not yet.
My heart was racing—faster than I wanted to admit. But I met his gaze head-on and told myself, You are not Marie anymore. You are Elisha now. And Elisha doesn't cower.
"I overheard Alexander. You're trying to renegotiate trade with the Lionhearts," I said. "If it fails, the estate could collapse further."
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"I know I wasn't trained in politics." At least I think... I wasn't.
"But I do know something about food. And scarcity. And how desperation makes people behave." I drew in a breath. "You need insight. I can offer it. If you give me a chance."
His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in thought. And for the first time, something like interest sparked behind them.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't send me away.
He was listening.
And for now, that was enough.
He looked... cornered.
That was the only word that came to mind as I watched him—the Duke of Belmont, lord of a crumbling estate and patriarch of a family quietly fracturing at the seams. He wore desperation like a well-tailored cloak, just subtle enough to pretend it wasn't there.
Good. That only worked in my favor.
I didn't know much about trade negotiations—at least not in any official sense—but I understood pressure. I understood timelines. And most of all, I understood how power shifted when people started to run out of options.
"You're negotiating with the Lionhearts, aren't you?" I repeated. Hoping I can finally get through to him.
His expression didn't shift as I hoped. But something in his shoulders tensed, like a string pulled just a bit too tight.
I nodded, trying to keep my voice calm. Measured. "Then tell me what went wrong."
His eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
"Because this is my home too," I said firmly, before I could overthink it. "I may not have been involved before. But I want to change that. I want to help."
He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Or maybe like I'd just started speaking in code.
"You were never interested in such matters before," he said slowly. "What has changed?"
Everything I wanted to say. But that would've raised more questions than answers.
"Can't a girl help her father?" I said, trying to gain any kind of empathy. "I see things differently now. And I know that if we keep failing, there won't be a future for any of us."
A long silence followed. Longer than I liked. He studied me—no, dissected me like he was trying to spot a crack in the surface. Like he expected me to falter.
I almost did.
Then he sighed in the nick of time. Not the tired kind. The defeated kind.
He lowered his head and rubbed his temple. "The Lionhearts want exclusive trade rights over the eastern ports, as we've failed to pay our monthly dues. But if we give them that, we lose leverage. We lose access to other traders. It's a risk we can't afford."
I nodded slowly, my mind racing. Okay. This is it. Make or break.
"Then why not renegotiate a shared agreement?" I said carefully. My hands were clammy, and I could feel a drop of sweat trailing along my neck.
His gaze flicked to me. "And?"
"Offer them priority status," I said. "It gives them an advantage without locking us into exclusivity. We retain options. They get first access."
The Duke didn't dismiss it outright—which for me was practically a compliment. He frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown.
"They won't accept that easily, and even if they do. It puts all our other clients at risk of experiencing unfair treatment."
"Then give the other clients something to sweeten the blow," I replied. "Lower tariffs on the goods they import through our territory. It'd still benefit all sides—and show we're willing to cooperate." Though when I said those words, I gave a please don't notice wink.
It might put our economy at risk... But better to lose money than to lose food. I thought bitterly...
He leaned back, arms folded, studying me again. "And what makes you think they'll agree?"
Now this is my moment. "Because they haven't taken the ports yet," I said, bursting my fist into the air. "If they really wanted control, they'd have used force, or outbid us through another house. But they're negotiating because they still need us. The Lionhearts don't waste time. They want our infrastructure, our stability, and our ability to manage their coin."
Something shifted in his expression. Slight, but unmistakable.
For the first time, he wasn't looking at me like a daughter. He was evaluating my words like they actually meant something. Like I wasn't a lost cause.
"You may not be wrong," he said quietly, scribbling something on his notes. "But negotiations require more than clever ideas. They require leverage. Timing. Influence."
I met his gaze head-on. "Then teach me."
The words came out before I could stop them. But I didn't regret them.
He studied me again, then looked down at the scattered paper. His fingers hovered over them like they weren't just documents, but weapons, pieces in a quiet war.
"If you're serious," he said slowly, "you'll need to learn more than trade. You'll need to understand politics. Diplomacy. The currents beneath the surface."
"I'm willing," I said. No hesitation. No retreat. This is my way to the top... No, it needs to be.
Another pause. He wasn't one for emotion, but I could almost hear the calculation in his head.
At last, he nodded once. "Very well. But this world is not kind, Elisha. There's no room for weakness."
"I understand," I said.
I already felt the biggest weakness of humanity—death. So I'm clear on that front at least.
He turned back to the desk. "Come here. I'll explain the current terms and why they're failing."
I stepped forward. Slowly, but with purpose. A strange weight settled over me—not fear, not quite. More like the gravity of something real beginning. A door opening.
This was more than survival now.
This was the start of something bigger.
And I wouldn't waste it—and if I somehow in hell did. I would just find another plug to pull...