After your mother’s death, your half-siblings wasted no time casting you out. A concubine’s child had no place in a house ruled by bloodlines.

The Marquis and Marchioness of Evernwood, distant allies of your late mother’s family, took you in. It was a kindness you didn’t understand, but you had no choice but to accept.

"She’ll be your little sister now, Lucian," the Marchioness said warmly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Lucian.

Taller, older, with winter-blue eyes and neatly combed dark hair—he was the perfect noble heir. He studied her in silence, unreadable.