Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The room was small, gray, and smelled of old paper and something else that couldn't be described. Evelin Pembroke sat on a hard, unforgiving wooden chair, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles were white. Across the heavy, eye catching desk sat a man with a serous grim face and eyes that seemed to see right through her. This was Inspector Thaddeus Wimbly, the head of the criminal and justice division for the entire kingdom, a man whose name was whispered with a mixture of respect and terror in the city's back alleys and grand drawing rooms alike.

"What do you think I did?" Evelin asked, her voice a little too high, a little too shaky. "Do you have any proof to back up your claims? You cannot just summon a lady of a noble house without any evidence."

Inspector Wimbly did not raise his voice. He did not need to. He simply pushed a thick sheet of official-looking paper across the desk towards her. "I called you in, Lady Evelin," he replied, his voice a calm, even rumble, "precisely because I do have proof." He tapped a finger on the paper. "Do you see the written complaint here, signed and sealed by the legal representatives of the Duke of Elinburgh? This process will go much faster, and much more smoothly for you, if you choose to cooperate. If you are found to be innocent, of course, this will all be over soon. Do you understand?"

"If I answer your questions," Evelin asked, her heart beginning to pound a frantic rhythm against her ribs, "is it going to be bad for me?"

"It will not be," Thaddeus replied, his expression unreadable, "so long as you answer them correctly."

Just as he was about to begin his interrogation, the heavy door to the room opened without a knock.

"You might be making it much, much worse for yourself if you say another word," a cool, female voice said from the doorway.

Amber Carson stood there, a vision of power and justifiable anger. She was not alone. Flanked on either side of her were two serious-looking legal practitioners in dark, expensive coats, their hands full of Gladstone bag carrying their documents.

Inspector Wimbly, a man who bowed to no one, immediately stood up, a look of genuine respect on his face. "Lady Amber," he said, bowing his head.

"Mr. Wimbly," she returned the greeting, her own nod sharp and precise.

Evelin looked up at her idol, the lady whose fashion she so desperately tried to copy, the lady who she tried so hard to emulate, and her blood ran cold. "Lady Amber?" she whispered, her voice a small, terrified sound.

Amber did not even look at her. Instead, she asked the man in the coat to her left, "Legal team leader, how much are we asking for in damages to our family's reputation and our establishment's business cooperation?"

The man, the head of the Carson family's legal team, replied, his voice as sharp and as cold as Ice. "We are filing for twenty-five million gold coins in punitive damages, my lady."

Amber let out a small, almost bored-sounding chuckle. "Oh my," she said, finally deigning to look at the terrified girl in the chair. "It is even higher than I thought."

"Establishment cooperation?" Evelin stammered, her mind struggling to keep up. "But… they were just printed papers. Silly little stories that people read and then added their own opinions to. How is any of that my fault?"

Amber let out another small, humorless laugh. "Do you know," she began, her voice now a low, dangerous purr as she took a step closer, "that you should be on your knees right now, on this cold, hard floor, begging for our forgiveness? It seems you still do not understand the true implication of what you have done. You do not understand who you have messed with."

She leaned down slightly, her face now just a few feet from Evelin's. "You think this little game of yours was about my sister-in-law, Delia, alone? I am sorry, my dear, but that is where you are wrong. You have miscalculated, very badly. You are not just facing the anger of a single, new Duchess. You are about to face the full, undivided, and utterly merciless wrath of the entire Carson family."

Evelin's mind, in its state of raw shocking terror, flashed back to a conversation she had had with Anne, just a few days ago, in the safety and comfort of her luxurious carriage.

~ FLASHBACK ~

"But Anne," Evelin had said, a small, worried frown on her face as they discussed the new, more vicious pamphlet she was about to commission. "What if the Carson family decides to retaliate? My family and I… we will be in terrible trouble. They are too powerful."

Anne had just smiled, a confident, reassuring expression on her beautiful face. "Be rest assured, Evelin," she had said, patting her hand. "Their voices will not even be heard to defend Delia. Because, you see, she has wronged them, too. In fact, as I speak to you right now, her divorce from the Duke is already on the way. She has no one left on her side."

Anne had looked at her, her eyes shining with a malicious glee. "So there is absolutely nothing for you to be afraid of."

~ FLASHBACK ENDS ~

Evelin sat there, in the cold, gray interrogation room, the full weight of her situation finally crashing down upon her. "Did Anne lie to me?" she thought to herself.

Just as the full, sickening truth of her situation began to dawn on Evelin, another sound, a new voice, could be heard from down the sterile, quiet hallway. It was the sound of someone begging, their voice high-pitched with a desperate, pathetic panic.

"Please, I beg you, forgive me!" the voice cried. It was a woman's voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar. "I was just angry! I was angry that the Duke, His Grace, he picked her over me! It was just foolish jealousy, that's all! I didn't mean any real harm!"

Amber turned her cool, unbothered gaze from Evelin towards the sound. "That," she said, her voice a low, informative murmur, "is Lady Margaret. It seems Inspector Wimbly's men have been quite busy this morning." She looked back at Evelin, a look of cold pity in her eyes. "She was the one who was enhancing your pathetic little pamphlets with her own, even more creative stories. She was making up all sorts of bad, dishonorable things about my sister-in-law, things that even you were not clever enough to invent."

Evelin looked at Amber, her own lip beginning to tremble.

"Do you see how she is begging now?" Amber asked, her voice sharp and instructive, like a teacher scolding a particularly slow student. "She is more in touch with reality than you are, Lady Evelin. She has already realized the gravity of what she has done, the true and terrible consequences of her actions."

Evelin bit her lip hard, not knowing what to say. The last of her own foolish, defiant anger was draining away, replaced by a cold, slithering fear.

"Let's not waste any more time here," Amber said, her patience clearly at an end.

The head of her legal team, who had been standing silently by the door, opened his heavy leather bag. He brought out a thick, official-looking document, bound with a dark blue ribbon, and handed it to Amber.

Amber turned to Inspector Wimbly, who had been watching the entire scene with a calm, professional detachment. "Should I leave the evidence and the formal complaint here with you, Mr. Wimbly?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady," Thaddeus replied with a nod. "We will add it to the official file."

She then turned her final, chilling gaze back to Evelin. "I believe your brother, Lord George, will be in the best position to deliver the final, signed document for the money your family will be paying in damages." She let that sink in for a moment, the idea of her own brother being forced to deliver the final nail in their family's coffin.

"Have a nice day, Lady Evelin," she said, her lips curving into a haunting, merciless smile. "If you dare."

And with that, she turned and left the small, gray room, her two lawyers following her. The heavy door clicked shut behind them, leaving Evelin sitting alone in the suffocating silence, her heart a cold, dead weight in her chest. The fear, no longer a simple worry, was now a vast, dark abyss, and she was plunging headfirst into it, with no hope of ever finding the bottom.