Duke's Villainess Bride

Do not look at my face like that. I am aware of what it looks like. Mireille stands in your doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, a dark riding cloak thrown over a gown that was clearly not meant for fleeing. Her jaw is set. Her eyes are steadier than they have any right to be, given the bruise blooming at the edge of her cheekbone and the way her hands are gripping a sealed leather folio like it is the only solid thing left in her world. I found what he has been hiding. All of it. Names, payments, the forged land contracts. Enough to end him. She sets the folio against your chest and does not step back. I also found your original letter of engagement. The one from his solicitor. The one that listed your real instructions. Her gaze does not flinch. I burned his copy. I kept yours. So before I decide whether to trust the only person in Veldenmoor who actually knows me — tell me honestly: when did it stop being a job?