The Ugly Villainess is not Naive Anymore

Chapter 7

Inside Daisy's Room...

The room was a complete disaster—papers scattered across the floor, clothes tossed over the furniture, drawers left half-open in a frenzy. Panic surged through Daisy like a tidal wave.

She paced the length of her room, hands trembling at her sides, her breath shallow and uneven. "What am I going to do now?" she thought, biting hard on her lower lip until she tasted blood.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the situation settling in her bones. "I thought they wouldn't inform him this soon..." she whispered to herself, eyes darting toward the window as if expecting everything to become a dream. "Isn't his wife supposed to be in a fragile condition? Why would he come here?"

Her fingers ran through her already-tangled hair as she continued pacing, her mind racing through every possible excuse, every backup plan. But none seemed good enough.

"He wasn't supposed to be here yet," she muttered, voice cracking with dread. "He wasn't supposed to see this. even his family came with him."

A sudden knock on the front door jolted her from her thoughts. She froze, heart thudding against her ribcage like a drumbeat of doom. For a moment, she hoped it was someone else—anyone else.

But then came the unmistakable sound of his voice. Low. Controlled. Dangerous in its calm.

"Daisy."

Her breath caught in her throat. She turned slowly, her eyes wide and unblinking as if the walls themselves were closing in. Her room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage.

She hesitated. Maybe if she stayed silent, he'd go away. Maybe if she didn't move, he'd think she wasn't home. But she knew better.

Another knock—firmer this time.

Arthur said, "I know you're in there."

Her legs moved on their own, dragging her toward the door. The knob was cold beneath her fingers, a cruel contrast to the burning shame flooding her face.

As the door creaked open, she saw him—standing tall, composed, his eyes scanning her with unreadable intensity.

"Clean this up," he said quietly to the maids, his gaze flickering over her shoulder into the chaos and then at her. "Come to the study."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Daisy's knees buckled the moment he left. She clutched the doorframe to stay upright, blinking back the sting in her eyes. This was only the beginning.

Isabel's POV...

She stood just outside the drawing room, her back pressed lightly against the cool wall, the heavy door cracked open by only an inch. From here, she could see everything—and remain unseen.

Inside, Daisy stood frozen, her delicate figure trembling like a leaf in the wind. The mask she wore so well—the soft voice, the gentle eyes, the perfect daughter routine—was starting to crack. Isabel could see it in the way Daisy's hands clenched at her skirts, how her lips pressed into a thin line to stop them from quivering.

And across from her, stood him—the man with cold eyes and the same bone structure Daisy tried so hard to hide. Her real father.

Isabel's eyes flicked to the woman beside him—gentle, but regal in bearing—and to a girl, sharp-eyed and clinging to her mother's sleeve. His legal wife, Elanor Isolde Winchester and youngest daughter, Clara Vespera Winchester. And just behind them stood another young woman, poised and elegant, around sixteen or seventeen. That must be the beloved eldest daughter of Count and Countess Winchester—their heir, Aurelia Elowen Winchester.