“Your Highness, you’re really something… you actually strung Aria Whitmore along with that fake marriage paper for two whole years.”
Aria Whitmore had just lifted the bowl of soup she personally stewed, planning to take it into the study, when a soft, sugary voice drifted out from inside.
Her mind went blank with a sharp buzz.
She knew that voice far too well—Vivienne Sterling, the so‑called friend she’d fallen out with not long ago.
Right after, Cedric Ashford’s gentle tone followed, warm enough to make anyone believe it.
“You’ve had to endure a lot these two years. Once we squeeze the last bit of use out of Aria, she won’t matter anymore.”
Then came Vivienne Sterling’s low, coy laughter.
“She’s so clueless. Two years ago, you told her you were going to the yamen to register your marriage, but what you actually registered was ours. Then you forged another one to fool her, and she didn’t suspect a thing.”
The two of them burst into laughter inside the study.
Aria stumbled back a few steps, the world tilting around her as if someone had kicked the ground out from beneath her feet.
Through the narrow crack of the half‑open door, she saw the two silhouettes drawing closer, shadows leaning into each other, merging bit by bit.
The messy, heated breaths filling the study made Aria feel utterly ridiculous, like she’d been the only one performing in a play everyone else understood.
She barely kept herself upright as she forced her way back to her own courtyard.
“Hazel Bennett,” Aria said, voice steady but faint, “go tell the steward of the General’s Manor that I’ll accept their terms. I’ll marry whomever they choose.”
Hazel Bennett’s eyes reddened in an instant. She didn’t understand why her lady had suddenly changed her mind, but she still choked out, “My lady… are you sure? The General’s Manor may look grand, but the master and the old master died on the battlefield. There’s no one left to hold it together.”
Aria lowered her gaze.
A month ago, the steward from the General’s Manor had come to her, claiming she was the long‑lost daughter of the house. Now that the general had died at the front lines, she was the only bloodline left.
He’d told her that if she agreed to follow the manor’s arrangement and marry the person they chose for alliance, the vast household would be hers.
Back then, she’d still been wrapped up in Cedric Ashford, so she had rejected the offer on the spot.
Thinking about it now, Aria let out a short, almost amused laugh.
"So what? Hazel, remember this well. In this capital where wealth blinds people, a girl with no power and no backing is the one who gets trampled the hardest."
Just like her.
Hazel’s eyes reddened again, but she didn’t dare make a sound.
Aria Whitmore let out a long breath, the panic from moments ago already fading from her face.
"Go tell the steward that Cedric Ashford and I were never married, and we never had a child. He can check with the authorities if he wants. My only request is that the wedding must be grand, and the sooner it’s done, the better."
Hazel’s face changed instantly. She finally understood why Aria was suddenly willing to accept the proposal and inherit the General’s Manor as its only surviving bloodline.
Holding back her grief, she hurried off to the manor.
Aria looked around the tidy room. Everything her gaze touched was something she and Cedric Ashford had arranged together.
Back then, he’d said that the princes were fighting so viciously for the crown that once their marriage became public, she would inevitably become a target.
She had thought he really cared for her. So she’d clenched her teeth and agreed to live in the Prince of Qing’s residence like that.
Later, Cedric told her the political situation was too unstable, and having a child now would become a weakness. She believed him.
Even though in two years of marriage he had never touched her, and only said he cared for her too much, she still believed him.
Because she had the marriage contract—the one Cedric had personally brought back.
She remembered the man kneeling before her, eyes shimmering with tears as he swore to the heavens, "Aria, once the fight for the crown settles, I’ll hold the grandest wedding in all of Jiangjing, and everyone will know you are my princess consort."
Clinging to that promise, she had endured one year after another.
But now… now she finally knew that the contract she had treated like a lifeline was nothing but a forgery.
How ridiculous was that?
By the time Cedric Ashford arrived, Aria had already packed up her clothes and jewelry.
A small bundle—barely anything.
The man, handsome as carved jade, crossed the threshold with his tall, elegant figure. Refined, composed—the kind of man countless women dreamed of.
In a blur, Aria Whitmore felt as though she were staring at Cedric Ashford as he had been the very first time they met.
Back then, she had been a lone girl with no family to rely on. After slipping from a cliff by accident, it was Cedric Ashford who had found her and saved her life.
His eyes had been filled with nothing but worry. He had lifted her up with steady arms, running about to find a physician, fussing over every scrape and bruise.
Later, when she learned who he really was, she had only wanted to stay as far from him as possible. But he kept appearing in her world, again and again.
He chased off the lecher who tried to bother her, wiped the tears from her cheeks with a gentleness she had never known.
Step by step, she had fallen—fallen for his warmth, his voice, the vows he whispered as though they were everything he believed in. In the end, she accepted his proposal and walked into this marriage with her whole heart.
Cedric Ashford approached her now, reaching out as if to gather her into his arms.
"Light of mine, why are you suddenly packing things?"
The moment Aria recalled what he and Vivienne Sterling had just done behind her back, nausea surged so sharply she almost doubled over.
She slipped out of his reach at once. "The weather’s turning cold. I thought I should put away the summer clothes."
Something flickered across Cedric’s face, a faint prickle of unease, but he smoothed it over with a smile.
"My Light is always so diligent. Truly, marrying you is the greatest blessing this prince has ever had."
Had this been before, Aria would’ve felt her heart turn sweet and soft at his words. She would have leaned against his chest, murmuring something tender and foolish.
Now all she heard was mockery.
Aria suddenly turned to him, staring straight at him, unblinking. "Is that so?"
Her gaze made Cedric shift his weight, though his coaxing tone came easily. "Naturally. You’re the finest princess in all of Jingcheng."
As he spoke, he reached for her hand the way he always did, his voice warm and low.
"I’ve prepared a surprise for you. It’s in the front hall. Shall we go take a look?"
Aria pulled her hand back, and the churning in her stomach finally settled—just a little.
"A surprise? No matter what it is, can it really match the one you just gave me?"
She spoke with a bite in her tone.
And clearly, she was right to.
Because from a distance, Aria Whitmore caught sight of Vivienne Sterling.
The girl was wrapped in a light rose‑red gauze dress, soft ripples in every step. The tassels on her red‑jade hairpin swayed gently, making her look delicate and impossibly sweet.
The moment Vivienne saw Aria, her eyes reddened sharply. “Light Song… will you still see me?”
Cedric Ashford also came over, his voice carrying a warmth she had never once heard directed at her.
“Light Song, you and Vivienne used to be inseparable. I’m getting busier by the day and can’t keep you company as often. I thought if you two could mend things, you wouldn’t grow distant over a small misunderstanding.”
Aria curved her lips, though not a hint of a smile touched her eyes. “So this is the surprise you prepared for me?”
Yes, she and Vivienne had once been close—closer than sisters. But the moment Aria noticed how Vivienne always found ways to linger alone with Cedric, saying those ambiguous little things, her guard slowly rose.
Later, when Vivienne deliberately ruined one of her business deals and then acted pitiful while pinning the blame on her, Aria’s patience snapped. After that, she kept her distance.
Only keeping a polite facade.
She had even told Cedric countless times that she disliked Vivienne and hoped he would keep away from her as well.
Yet the man who had promised so readily had, behind her back, married Vivienne for real. And now he brought her here, brushing off everything that happened as nothing more than petty squabbles between two girls.
Thinking back, all those moments Vivienne had flirted with Cedric—how could they have been her acting alone?
Cedric had been enjoying it. Encouraging it.
Seeing Aria’s expression shift, Cedric hurried to soothe her, voice gentle.
“Light Song, you don’t know… ever since you stopped seeing Vivienne, she’s cried herself sick every day. The Marquis is away this month, so I took it upon myself to bring her here. You two were the closest of friends—how could there be any lasting resentment?”
Vivienne stepped toward her as well, sniffling, eyes shimmering with tears.
“If you still don’t want to see me, I’ll leave right now. I would never make things hard for you.”
Her voice was meek and pitiful—completely unlike the teasing, sultry tone Aria had overheard earlier in the study.
Cedric Ashford hid the flicker of guilt in his eyes, acting as if he hadn’t seen Aria Whitmore’s clear resistance.
“Then it’s settled,” he said lightly, as though everything were perfectly normal. “I’ll have the servants tidy up Tingzhuyuan. You two should spend some time together and mend things early.”
Tingzhuyuan sat right next to his study.
Aria instantly understood. Cedric wasn’t trying to help them “get along.” He just didn’t want to sneak around anymore. He was planning to keep Vivienne Sterling right under her nose, pretending nothing was amiss while the two of them carried on openly.
They had fooled her for two years, and now they even dared to push things this far—
Fine.
With a whole month left before the wedding preparations were complete, she might as well take the time to play along with them… and see who laughs last.
