After my younger brother was recognized as the rightful heir, I was brought into the estate alongside him.

The news spread quickly, and the noble ladies of London couldn't stop gossiping.

"She's nothing but a poor, low-born girl—how dare she associate with the heir!"

"Taking advantage of his position, how utterly shameless!"

"Does she really think someone like her can hold her own among the elite?"

Before I could respond, Simon stepped forward, unwavering. "She was, is, and always will be my sister!"

Instantly, the noblewomen's expressions changed.

The Duke of Rynham's banquet was in full swing. When Simon and I arrived together, we immediately attracted many glances.

Some were curious, while others were filled with disdain and contempt.

"She's nothing but a poor girl—how dare she associate with the heir!"

"Taking advantage of his position, how utterly shameless!"

"Does she really think someone like her can hold her own among the elite?"

The murmurs reached my ears loud enough to cause me to pause. I lifted my head and looked toward the source.

The speakers were noble ladies, their disdain barely concealed as their eyes fixed upon me.

I frowned slightly, but before I could say anything, a clear, steady voice rang out beside me, cutting through the air. "She was, is, and always will be my sister!"

It was Simon.

His declaration made the noblewomen's faces shift instantly.

I lowered my eyes, my thoughts drifting back to a month ago.

At that time, Simon and I were still the children of a minor official from a small town on the kingdom's outskirts. But shortly after our arrival in London, we encountered a servant whose attire was far too refined for his status.

At first, we paid him no mind. But after scrutinizing Simon carefully, the man suddenly knelt and cried out, "My lord! At last, I have found you!"

Simon and I were bewildered, and the servant began to recount the entire story.

It turned out that years ago, while the Duchess of Avon accompanied the Duke on their escape, she gave birth to a son and entrusted him to a peasant woman. However, upon their return to find the woman and child, both had vanished. The only clues were a distinct birthmark and a jade pendant.

By some remarkable twist of fate, Simon bore the same rabbit-shaped birthmark on his arm, and the jade pendant he carried matched the description of the lost heir's.

With these two signs, Simon's status as the Duke's heir was solidly established.

And I, Simon's sister, suddenly became a guest of honor in the Duke's household.

But the truth was, Simon wasn't the real heir.

I had watched him grow up beside me—I knew he couldn't be the lost son.

"Eliza?" Simon's soft voice pulled me back from my thoughts.

I looked up, meeting his worried eyes, and shook my head gently. "I'm fine."

Only then did he relax, letting out a quiet sigh.

We were attending this banquet today to make our presence known and to show everyone that Simon Sheppard was now the Duke of Avon's heir.

After the banquet concluded, Simon and I boarded the carriage back to the estate.

Inside, the facade Simon had maintained in public fell away, and his voice was filled with uncertainty. "Eliza, is what we're doing really the right thing?"

At just fifteen, Simon was still a boy—his wide, dark eyes stared at me, full of dependence and doubt.

His question made me pause, my fingers still on my lap. I turned slightly to face him. "Simon, don't you want to avenge our father?"

His gaze faltered, and after a long moment, he whispered, "But we're usurping someone else's position… What if the real heir returns?"

"There is no 'what if,'" I interrupted firmly. "We've spent this past month going to every court in the city, seeking justice for Father. And what's the result?"

A month ago, our father came to London to present his case, but he was never seen again. Simon had heard whispers in the streets—Father, known for his integrity, had offended someone powerful and was imprisoned on false charges. Not long after, he died in his cell.

Mother passed away when we were still young, and Father, a man of modest means, raised us with nothing but honesty and hard work. We grew up with barely enough, but now he's gone—condemned, framed, and dead for no reason.

Simon and I arrived in London, dressed far less richly than the city folk, with no money to our names. We endured endless sneers and contempt. When we sought an audience at the High Court, we were beaten with rods and thrown out, the guards telling us to drop the matter if we wanted to live.

That was when we learned that Father had truly offended someone powerful—a man beyond our reach.

Perhaps word of our presence had spread because after we left the courthouse, soldiers surrounded us, armed with sketches of our faces. They accused us of stealing from the royal treasury and tried to arrest us.

We stood there in the middle of the crowded street, dressed in nothing but thin, ragged clothes, with no place to hide anything, yet the crowd simply watched, indifferent, some even criticizing our appearance.

The soldiers seized us, determined to drag us away, not even giving us a chance to explain ourselves.

It was then that the old servant appeared.

He declared Simon to be the Duke's heir and ordered the soldiers to release us.

The irony of it—it took just one word from a servant, a man of lower station than us, and they let us go.

After that, we were taken to the Duke of Avon's estate and given rooms in the finest part of the house, surrounded by servants. We now lived lives of luxury, all because of Simon's assumed identity.

"...I understand." Perhaps recalling everything we had been through, Simon's resolve faltered. Even the most righteous boy could bend under such weight. His gaze fell, voice quiet, "Eliza, what do we do now?"

I studied the boy sitting across from me. His spirit dampened. My fingers tightened slightly. "First, we find out who framed our father."

From the moment we were beaten, insulted, and falsely accused, I swore to myself:

Honor, integrity, justice—what good were these things if I couldn't protect my family? If I couldn't even protect myself?

In a world where life was as fleeting as a gust of wind, justice belonged to those in power. If I couldn't grasp it from below, I would climb until I could take it for myself.

"Let's go to the High Court of Justice," I said softly, glancing at the young man beside me.

In recent days, news of the Duke of Avon reclaiming his rightful heir had spread throughout London, and no one dared to look down on Simon and me anymore.

"Right!" Simon replied eagerly, dressed in a blue robe that wrapped around him like a cloak. He was tall and slender, following closely behind me, just as he used to do back home.

When we arrived at the High Court of Justice, the Chief Justice, who previously wouldn't have spared us a glance, came rushing out to greet us with a beaming smile. "Your Grace, what a surprise! You should have given me a heads-up. I would have sent someone to welcome you!"

I looked at the man beaming with false friendliness and couldn't help but scoff inwardly.

When you have no power, they ignore you, but once you hold influence, they scramble to ingratiate themselves.

Simon, however, maintained a serious facade, and his refusal to back down was evident. With a sly grin that narrowed his charming eyes, he quipped, "Lord Warrick, you're too kind. I'm not sure I can come back again after being sent away the last time!"

I followed closely behind, stifling a laugh at his boldness.

In front of me, Simon transformed from the obedient boy I knew at home into a little tyrant, wielding his sharp tongue like a weapon.

The moment he spoke, Lord Warrick's face twisted as if he had bitten into something sour. Yet, he could do nothing but force a smile. "Your Grace, you jest! It was merely a misunderstanding, and those under my command have been dealt with accordingly."

Hearing that, Simon scoffed, striding past him without a backward glance.

I followed, amused by his confidence.

With the title of heir, it seemed Simon's word was law, and Lord Warrick bent over backward to accommodate him.

After all, the current king was the Duke of Avon's brother, and he held a great deal of respect for the Duke. When word of Simon's tragic fate reached the throne, he was met with nothing but favor.

We entered the High Court of Justice without a hitch, but I soon realized things weren't as easy as I had hoped.

My father's case had been buried long ago, and finding any details now would be nearly impossible. Even if we asked Lord Warrick, he might not provide any truth.

Our best course of action was to search the prison where my father had been held for clues.

I exchanged a glance with Simon, who stepped closer and raised his voice intentionally. "Oh dear, I almost forgot why we came! It's about Eliza's father! Lord Warrick, would it be possible for us to visit the cell where my father was kept? Lady Eliza lost her father here, and visiting the place would ease her troubled heart."

We had a silent agreement, able to read each other's thoughts with just a look.

Lord Warrick's expression changed, uncertainty creeping in as his gaze flicked between us. He quickly donned a polite smile. "Your Grace, you shouldn't concern yourself with such a place. It's cold and unwelcoming. You're far too precious to enter a place like that."

His words carried a clear refusal.

I nodded along, noticing Simon's brow furrowed in confusion, though he was wise enough not to voice it.

Lord Warrick appeared relieved, but before he could fully exhale, I spoke up. "Then, Your Grace, I'll go on my own. You wait here for me."

Turning to Lord Warrick, I added, "Can we go now, my lord?"

His square face twitched, and he stole a glance at Simon's icy stare, trembling slightly. He seemed to reconsider his position. "Of course, I'll have someone escort you immediately, my lady."

The servant leading us was a humble lackey from the High Court, now respectful and deferential, far removed from his previous arrogance.

Once we reached the prison, he dutifully opened an empty cell, explaining that it was where my father had been held.

I followed his gesture, my gaze settling on the cold, empty space. The straw on the ground still bore remnants of blood.

I couldn't tell if it was my father's or someone else's.

My expression dimmed. "I see. You can go now; I'll find my way out."

The servant hesitated, but perhaps fearing Simon's influence, he didn't dare disobey me and retreated quietly.

The cell was dim, with only the occasional crackle from the brazier breaking the silence.

I didn't push the door open but spoke quietly, "Aren't you coming out?"

As soon as I spoke, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows. I looked up and froze for a moment when I recognized his face.

Dressed in black and wearing a mask, he was indeed a strange character.

"You have keen eyes, my lady," he complimented me, yet there was not a hint of warmth in his gaze.

As he stepped closer, I felt an odd familiarity in those eyes, but I couldn't place them right away, so I dismissed the thought.

I pushed the cell door open, stepping inside without a backward glance. "Do as you wish, sir."

I assumed he was another investigator, but my instincts told me something was off.

"…"

From the darkness, I heard a soft chuckle. "You wouldn't want to see me, would you?"

His words puzzled me. I believed we had never met, and I bore him no ill will. Why was there this sense of hostility?

I ignored him and continued my search for clues. My father had always taught me that in desperate situations, there are usually signs left behind.

The key to rising from despair was to have the means to do so.

Lost in thought, I assumed he had left, but to my surprise, he simply leaned against the door frame, lazily casting his gaze over me. "This is where your father was held, I take it? You must be the daughter of Sir Leigh."

I didn't respond.

"From your age, I can see that you're indeed his daughter. But you're wasting your time here. The one who caused his downfall is a powerful official in the current court. You simply don't have the strength to stand against him. However, with a duke at your side, your chances might improve."

At the mention of a duke, I felt a jolt of anxiety. I spun around to meet his nonchalant gaze, my voice turning cold. "What do you mean by that?"

How could he possibly know I had the support of a duke?!

My nerves were frayed, yet he remained utterly unconcerned.

His charming eyes glided over me, and he added meaningfully, "Things that are taken will eventually be returned, don't you think?"

Taken?

My pupils dilated, and my heartbeat quickened. I fought to suppress the rising panic and managed a smile. "That's quite true, sir."

But had we really taken anything?

We had not intended for it to happen; it was merely a chance given to us by fate to defend ourselves.

Perhaps taken aback by my calmness, his expression soured, and without another word, he turned to leave.

Once his footsteps faded, I felt cold sweat pooling on my back.

To confuse royal bloodlines was a crime punishable by death.

I clenched my fists.

I couldn't let myself panic.

I meticulously searched the cell, and fortune smiled upon me. Near the wall, under some weeds, I found a wooden hairpin.

It was plain, crafted from mediocre wood, and the patterns etched into it looked like something a child might scribble.

But only I knew that this was a hairpin my father had carved for my mother years ago.

When I emerged, I saw Simon waiting at the door.

Noticing my unease, he immediately sensed that something was wrong and wasted no time with Lord Warrick's pleasantries, ushering me toward the carriage.

On the way back, his gaze swept over me, checking for any signs of injury, before he let out a relieved sigh.

It wasn't until we reached the manor and shut the door behind us that he spoke. "Eliza, what happened? You look pale. Should we call for a doctor?"

I grabbed his hand. "No need for that. It's just that we're in a rather precarious position."

I didn't know who that man in black was, but he clearly had insight. He had mentioned my father's enemies casually, suggesting that he held knowledge and status beyond mere speculation.

His words were perhaps a test, but they also cast doubt on whether Simon was genuinely a duke's heir.

What if others began to suspect the same?