Chapter 1

Early that morning, Clara Hawkins had been waiting outside the pawn shop for quite a while. She held a twin-butterfly hairpin tightly in her hand—so tight, in fact, that her slim fingers had turned pale, whether from the cold or the force, it was hard to tell.

The dead of winter chilled straight to the bone. On the empty, frost-bitten street, Clara stood out like a delicate flower in a harsh land. A sharp gust of wind swept through, pressing her thin robe against her waist, outlining her graceful figure. Her beauty made passersby stop in their tracks and stare.

“Squea—k...”

The heavy wooden doors finally creaked open. Without hesitation, Clara stepped over the threshold, still gripping the last keepsake her mother had left her. As much as she hated to part with it, her father needed medicine—there was no other option.

Gossip sparked up the moment she disappeared inside.

"Wasn’t that her? The daughter of the old Duke? Tsk, tsk. Who would've thought the mighty Nigel Hawkins would fall this far."

"Yeah. Once the Empire's only foreign-blooded duke, and now? Stripped of title, assets seized, and locked up. If that royal pardon hadn’t come through for the Empress Dowager’s birthday, he’d be six feet under for sure."

Another man chuckled. "He’s still on borrowed time. You ask me, there's not much difference between now and dead."

They all snickered, conveniently forgetting how they’d once cheered and kowtowed when General Hawkins returned victorious from battle.

“One thing’s for sure,” one of them sighed. “Such a waste of the famed 'Twin Lilies of Anjing.'”

The Hawkins sisters, both had the character "li" in their names, and their looks had once stunned the capital. To the men of Yong’an City, they were untouchable—legends.

“I heard the older one, Martha Hawkins, hasn’t had a child in three years since her marriage. And with her father's troubles, she might be tossed aside any day now. And the younger one, Clara? Wasn’t she betrothed to the Sinclair boy from the Earl’s house? This marriage was set up back when they still had status. Bet that’s off the table now.”

“You sure? Wasn’t that an imperial marriage grant?”

…

Clara, luckily, didn't hear any of this—or if she did, she didn’t care. After hearing such talk for months, she'd become numb to it. With the money from pawning the hairpin, she bought the medicine and tried her best to ignore the prying eyes around her as she hurried home.

Home now was a rundown little farmhouse, lent to them by a loyal old servant. It was tiny—smaller than her old bedroom, really. There were only two rooms in total. Her father, her stepmother Mrs. Bennett, and Evan all squeezed into one. Clara stayed in the other—which used to be the kitchen. There was hardly enough room in the courtyard to walk without bumping into something.

As soon as Clara turned onto their lane, loud voices caught her attention. Her stepmother’s harsh voice carried loud and clear. Clara tightened her grip on the medicine bag and picked up her skirt to rush forward.

“You greedy cowards from the Sinclair family! Can’t believe you lot dare show your faces again after begging for my girl’s hand back then! Now you come rubbing salt in our wounds, when my husband can’t even get out of bed? May the heavens punish you!”

Clara froze for a second at the doorstep, her heart thudding—were they here to call off the engagement?

Her eyes narrowed slightly, then dimmed. Lips pressed tight, she bit down until the soft pink turned white.

Curious onlookers crowded at the gate. With the door shut, they couldn’t see what was going on, so they just leaned in and listened. When they noticed Clara coming down the path, they quickly made way.

The moment Clara pushed the gate open, a ripple of heads stretched forward trying to peek inside.

Mrs. Bennett, who was sitting on the ground, jumped up like a spring and grabbed a basin of dirty water, flinging it toward the crowd.

“What the hell are you all staring at? Get lost before I gouge your eyes out!”She snapped a few more curses, grabbing the broom by the door and chasing him all the way to the alley entrance.

The man from the Sinclair Manor was Luke Abbott. Two young servants followed behind, carrying a pair of boxes wrapped with red silk ribbons.

Clara Hawkins glanced at the bright red silk, her brows slightly furrowed in confusion.

Luke Abbott gave Clara a half-hearted, skin-deep smile as he bowed. “Greetings, Second Miss Hawkins.”

Clara still remembered the flattery on his face the last time they’d met.

“Second Miss,” Luke continued in that oily tone, “I’ve come today to deliver the betrothal gifts. Three days from now is an auspicious day. The bridal sedan will come for you then. I’ll go ahead and wish you and Lord Oliver a lifetime of happiness and many children.”

Clara’s head snapped up, her autumn-brown eyes wide in disbelief.

She was already breathtaking with her eyes downturned—when she looked straight at you, it stunned you right to the core.

Luke froze for a moment. He’d heard of the famed beauty of the Hawkins sisters, but Clara was only fifteen—still not fully grown. He’d always assumed Clara fell short of her elder sister. Now he knew he’d been completely wrong. Give her two more years, and that latent elegance in her bones would bloom into something devastatingly beautiful.

After all that had happened to her family, Clara had prepared herself for a broken engagement. She’d assumed the Sinclair Manor had come to cancel the betrothal, but never in her wildest thoughts did she expect them to be delivering a marriage proposal to Oliver Sinclair.

Oliver Sinclair...

Clara’s fingers trembled slightly at her sides.

She’d never seen Lord Oliver, but who in the empire hadn’t heard of him? He was a man with blood on his hands—a walking nightmare.

Clara staggered back a step, voice unsteady. “What is meant by this?”

Luke’s voice dropped a notch, sounding more cautious now. “Second Miss, I’ll be frank with you. With the state your family is in, if His Majesty decides to pursue this case again, there might not be anyone left untouched. Our Lord Julian wouldn’t dare marry you now.”

The color drained from Clara’s face, but she swallowed back the sting in her chest and asked, “Why not just cancel the engagement altogether?”

“That’s a royal decree.”

She didn’t get it. If they couldn’t cancel it, how could they change the groom? Wasn’t that disobeying the Emperor too?

Luke chuckled. “Lord Oliver’s name is Julian. Same as our Lord Julian. Seems one ink drop smudged the left side of the paper. What's written is still technically correct.”

“Tampering with a royal edict gets you killed, too...” Clara murmured, her voice shaking.

Then she looked into Luke’s smile and it all clicked.

—This was all part of a bigger plan, perhaps even coming from within the palace itself.

That’s when Mrs. Bennett came rushing back into the yard, stormed up, and pulled Clara behind her, one hand on her hip, the other pointing accusatorily at Luke. “Everyone knows Lord Oliver won’t make it past this winter! You’ve even got the coffin ready! So now you're sending our girl to crawl in there with him? Once she dies with him, it won’t drag your house’s name down. How clever! Well, if your Sinclair Manor doesn’t have the guts to defy the decree, my Hawkins family sure does! Go back and tell those scheming cowards that today we’re breaking off with that bastard Gavin Sinclair!”

Mrs. Bennett was yelling so fiercely her emotions spun out of control—she laughed even as tears streamed down.

“Bunch of cowards! The whole lot of you!”

Clara, having recovered from the initial shock, bent down and lifted the lid on one of the boxes.

Two bolts of cloth. A sack of rice. A sack of flour. Fifty silver taels.

Had the Hawkins family still been in its prime, no matter who the groom was—Julian or Oliver—there’s no way the betrothal gifts would’ve been so cheap. This was meant to humiliate. No question.

Still, Clara felt oddly calm inside. She thumbed the edge of a silver tael.

If they’d come two days earlier, she wouldn’t have had to pawn her mother’s keepsake.

A marriage that was basically a death sentence—Clara gave a firm nod.

“Please let Lord Julian know—I accept the proposal.”"No way! Are you out of your mind?" Mrs. Bennett snapped, yanking Clara Hawkins to her feet. She stormed forward, placing herself in front of the girl, sleeves already rolled up, ready to unleash her anger.

"Mother," Clara said softly.

Mrs. Bennett froze. It took her a moment to realize what she'd just heard. She’d been part of the family for seven years now, and neither of her stepdaughters had ever addressed her like that. In the past three months, she'd lost every shred of dignity, holding on by sheer will. Now, that single word stirred up emotions she hadn’t let herself feel—bitter and aching.

Luke Abbott, standing aside, looked visibly surprised by how quick Clara agreed. He hesitated for a moment, then remembered the old madam’s instructions. Plastering on a smile, he said, "That’s more like it. Times are rough. Today’s opportunity might be gone tomorrow. Gotta hold onto whatever you can."

Clara’s face stayed still, distant as ever, offering no reply.

Luke awkwardly cleared his throat, then hurried off with the two servants while Mrs. Bennett was still in shock.

The small yard went quiet. Mrs. Bennett blinked away tears and muttered, "Why would you do this? They're just humiliating us, trying to push us to reject the match so we’ll be charged with disobeying a royal order. We're already labeled as traitors—what’s one more crime? I know you're desperate for silver to save your father, but there are other ways. You could do some embroidery, and I could sell your work..."

Clara lowered her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper, but with stubborn resolve. "They say the evidence is all there, but I don’t believe Father’s guilty. This isn’t about the Abbott residence—it’s the palace pulling the strings. If we defy the decree, that’s exactly what they want. We won’t survive to see Father vindicated. Whether I live fifty years or fifteen, doesn’t matter. Better I go down alone than drag the whole family with me."

Her voice cracked, but she refused to cry.

"Besides... cheap medicine won’t help him. We can’t even afford that now. We won’t make enough selling handkerchiefs to wait for him to heal. Those fifty taels—at least that’s something for now."

Mrs. Bennett opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. She hated how foolish she felt for not seeing the bigger picture.

A sudden clatter at the wall startled them—a brick fell. They looked up to see Blake Carter peeking over the edge.

"So... I heard someone here needs money to save a life?" Blake grinned, his eyes gleaming as they slid over Clara. "Spend a night with me—I'll give you 300 copper coins. Deal?"

"You filthy rat!"

Mrs. Bennett grabbed a stone and hurled it straight at him.

It hit Blake square on the head. He yelped and tumbled off, scrambling to his feet and running away while yelling, "If you change your mind, I’m around!"

Clara’s pale lips parted slightly, and a quiet sigh slipped out. A faint, unreadable smile touched her mouth.

"Even if I stayed, it’d only end badly," she murmured.

Mrs. Bennett’s heart sank. She stopped chasing Blake and turned back toward Clara. Even in tattered homespun clothes, the girl’s beauty was undeniable. Her birth mother had been the same—a stunning woman whose looks had drawn trouble. Now, Clara and her sister had inherited that charm, even surpassing it.

A face like that? It could ruin lives.

A chill crept up her spine, spreading fast. No matter how tough she acted, Mrs. Bennett realized she might never be strong enough to protect this girl.