The story had been prepared. Dylan ran it through me, Vaughn cutting in at times. As Irene dressed me on the morning of the reunion their words repeated.

"If any money or property is ceased to you, you are to say you will return it to the head, Dylan de Winter..."

Irene had also gotten me a mourning dress now in fine fabric, thick yet smooth. I asked her where it was from and she said some Italian name.

"...or in the case property is not ceased, you may leave a will as long as you feign leaving the country or going overseas."

Irene buttoned my back buttons before adjusting my neckline made of surprisingly soft lace—it didn't itch. There was a white under gown inside. It was not visible, but helped absorb what would be my sweat in the humid weather. I sensed it was going to rain.

She pulled out a dark ribbon. I wondered if she'd put a brooch with a silhouette on it like people always thought nobles wore. Maybe I'll get one.

"We will leave you with half the inheritance guaranteed to you in money, but the land and mansion will stay in our family..."

Irene looked at me sternly before she brought up my long black hair into a fancy twisted braid pinned up. She brushed short baby hair back and mentioned something about my sharp widow's peak. She said it was similar to Dylan's.

"...and while I thank you for your help in this affair, I do request it stay between us three. You will not pull any tricks, or you can safely assume I'll have Vaughn...

"End it?" I was back to that night, in their office. Dylan had walk behind me, and I was too weak to turn around as he came close.

"—end you."

End you? Not 'end it'?

I was cold, and when his breathing was on my neck, I pulled back only to have his hands on my shoulders, firm.

"Don't worry, I'm only making a birthmark on your neck."

I remembered how they reacted the first time I came; they checked my neck.

"With what?" I whispered.

"Just ink. It will wash off, but a fair amount should stay until tomorrow. I do hope it becomes a natural looking mark."

I turned and saw that Dylan had a stamp pad, and with a finger painted black, he gently turned my head and moved his finger up and down my nape, making me instinctually shiver.

"Is it done?" I asked.

"It'll have to soak into your skin," he spoke, but his mouth was close to my left ear as I had my head turned and he was too focused on making a mark.

I held back my voice and allowed his touch. It was sensual but to him it meant nothing. Both the fear of his threat and giddiness at being completed as "Blanche" made me feel strange, as though there were insects crawling in my stomach.

"Now, tomorrow you'll have your hair put down and straightened, and Irene will have makeup on you. I suggest eyeliner—it'll draw them to your deep eyes. Don't forget the red lips and maybe," he finished and sighing, pulled back my head with a hand on my head. I was like a marionette as my head turned to him, "a black choker and a revealing neckline. Heels, and red earrings."

"All will be relayed to Irene," Vaughn said, and left the room. I realized he was more than a lawyer: Vaughn was Dylan's servant.

Dylan closed the stamp pad emotionally and placed it back on his study's big oaken desk.

"Can I know something?" I asked when the door closed.

"Is it about my mother again?"

"No, it's about you."

Dylan's hand let go of my head and then he walked around, hands clasped at his back. "What is it?"

"Do you—do you desire men?"

He gave a slow, sarcastic laugh. "Men?"

"Because of Vaughn," I whispered sheepishly. I regretted asking it. But that day, going to his bedroom so blatantly without even knocking—it bothered me. Did Dylan hate women? Or does he simply like men?

"Listen, Rosemarie, it's the last time you'll be called this for a while." He turned and faced me for once. "Men or women, to me they are greedy, untrustworthy, and fake. Like you, you're simply doing this for a man, for money, and you are fake, because you aren't Blanche. For me, everyone is like that. Even Vaughn."

"Is that what you really think?" My voice was low. "You don't believe in love, do you?"

"No, unfortunately."

"You'll regret thinking that, Dylan de Winter."

His eyes grew a little at my raspy whisper. His name, too, was haughtier from how I usually addressed him.

"Why? Would you prove me wrong as Blanche?" He laughed. "The very illegitimate daughter born from that man's dirty affair? I never told you, but you ought to know, Lucinda, your 'mother', died at sixteen giving birth to 'you'. It ruined my mother, and that man, because he could not keep 'you'. Oh, poor him, Blanche never came for his funeral, anyway."

He stared with dull, soulless eyes. He only had hatred for that man, who he never called by father. 

Yes, this boy would never know of love—until he loses it, that it.

***

The choker came with not a brooch but a red gemstone to match the ones that dangled from my ears. They were heavy, and I had never wore such big rubies. They had two smaller red stones with one teardrop-shaped one the size of my fingernail.

"Would you like the see the mirror, Miss Blanche? The makeup is finished."

I saw my face, and it slightly changed, yes. My eye makeup was darker, my skin was powdered white, and my lips were bright red.

"There's something on you neck, but the choker covers part of it, would you like me to try and scrub it off?" Irene asked, and I touched the area Dylan rubbed ink into last night. It made me tingle.

"No, we don't have time."

I stood up, back straight. The dress was layered with whalebone and it made me feel like I was jutting out my bosom. The skirt was long and fell around my calves, meetings the black stockings and high heeled boots.

Irene had done her work while I memorized all of Dylan's relatives.

I arrived downstairs and there was a call.

"Let's wait for Blanche," a male was saying. I didn't recognize the voice.

"She's currently getting dressed," Dylan insisted in an annoyed voice. He was rarely that annoyed, besides the first time I met him. "Sit down and have your breakfast, Calvin."

"But she's here!" I walked in the door, and a boy similar to Dylan but with more paler skin and a figure that held muscle was standing. "Why, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Blanche!"

"It's Miss Blanche," Dylan growled. He gave me a quick look before gesturing for me to sit.

"Calvin was insisting on eating breakfast with you."

Calvin, this half-brother of Dylan's was very Caucasian in looks, his hair brown and eyes deep set. He smiled.

"I'm surprised, you are very pretty, Miss Blanche," Calvin laughed. "I'm Calvin de Winter. I suppose that makes the three of us rivals as of today, but let's be friends as half-siblings." Everything he said or did was fast and excited, and he reminded me of a big dog—or puppy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Calvin. Blanche is fine." I sat down in my seat. The plate before me was unappetizing: it was of beans, mushrooms, and eggs. I tried to finished the eggs, but it was cold. 

"It's raining, isn't it?" Calvin said to us both—and Vaughn, who ate with us. "The main family branch has arrived, Ruby is feeling sick again and won't be eating breakfast, but she looks forward to seeing you, Blanche."

"Ruby is sick?" I frowned.

Dylan had never told me anything about Calvin and Ruby. I looked at him and he pretended to eat his breakfast diligently.

"Ruby is—sick. She has troubles talking to strangers and most of all, father. Our mother doesn't like us, you see, and we knew father wouldn't care for Ruby." Calvin seemed to be both nonchalant yet careful with his wording. "So I care her in our villa in the countryside."

I see. So sick in this case made her unwanted by her father, although he doted on Blanche. Was it from guilt from killing Lucinda?

"I'd love to meet Ruby," I said after thinking. Calvin looked uncomfortable and looked at Dylan.

"After breakfast, then," Calvin said slowly.

I forced myself to finish the nasty overcooked beans and mushroom. Finally, we were all done.

"Ruby is only scared of strangers, please don't be alarmed if she cries or runs away," Calvin continued. I could tell he cared for Ruby. He knew of love, unlike Dylan, who was grimacing.

"I ought to stay outside, then. You two can go and see Ruby, and give her my greetings." He gave me a look, like a warning.

"As always, brother!" Calvin clapped his back. I had a feeling someone wasn't popular with Ruby.

"Let me talk to Miss Blanche quickly," Dylan said.

Calvin nodded in understanding and stood to the side as Dylan came forth.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"Ruby has—she has a fear of strangers, she's also bad at talking, but I believe she's a good girl. You should stick to her. Calvin too, he's annoying at time and may seem overprotective but he works earnestly. All he wanted was for father to leave some money for Ruby. I hope this eases your mind."

"Thank you, it does." I bit my lips. "But I'm still scared, of your uncle and aunt and the second wife."

"You'll be liked," Dylan gave a real smile, so rare I wanted to capture it in a photograph—but his eyes were of deep thought and maybe even something melancholic.

"Dylan?" I whispered his name.

He leaned down, breath in my ear, making my heart jump. "If not by them, I assure you by Calvin and Ruby. They'll protect you if Vaughn or I can't. Trust them."

I focused on his Adam's Apple before he pulled back. He wavered, then patted my shoulder in a clumsy fashion, like he was trying to comfort me. I bet he never had to, as a man with no younger siblings but Calvin and Ruby.

"But anyways, if something happens tell us. I'll listen and uh—help. I'll not lose you or anyone in this cursed house."

Before I could say thank you he left abruptly, shiny black shoes flickering with its bright luster as his quick steps went faster and further.

But after a few steps he stopped and turned to me. We had steady eye contact, and I saw that there was pity. He pitied me.

I smiled and waved.

"I'll be just fine, Dylan. I can't wait to meet Ruby—so don't worry."

He tilted his head down but a relieved smile replaced his expressionless face before he turned to leave.

"Are you two done?" Calvin was still at the side but had kindly ignored the whispering we were doing. I nodded and smiled.

"This is a scary mansion," I joked as he opened the door. "So many strange rooms and the staircase overlooking us gives me an uneasy feeling."

"Yes, and when Uncle Austen and Aunt Scarlett come it's worse," Calvin replied in his laugh. "They'd eavesdrop and curry favor up to the heir or heiress. Honestly, I just hope that man left some money for Ruby..."

He knocked before a small voice said we could come in. Calvin opened the door and I stepped into the small tea room after him, and then saw her.

Sitting on the couch eating her own breakfast of scones and tea was a small girl. If you told me she was less than seventeen I would have believed it, she had an innocent and fragile look, like a lily with their thin stems, I thought.

Her hair was lighter than Calvin's, a hazel brown, gaze soft with unplaceable beauty in her dark and double lidded eyes. She looked up from her biscuits, holding a napkin to her mouth, and her eyes met mine.

I was—I was in awe.

Her hair were in soft waves, loosely tied behind her head in a white ribbon. She suited white with her virginal beauty, unlike me, a dirtied woman. I watched as she put down the napkin and hands folded at her modest black dress with a white collar.

Her cheeks were not red, however, nor her pale lips. She had not what she was named; the color ruby. Was it why her father had despised her, this beautiful young girl?

"Say hello to Blanche," Calvin said cheerfully.