Lady Levvenia Ashcroft had spent four months creating the most beautiful wedding Westmarch County had seen in years.

Two weeks later, Julian departed for London.

He was not bitter. After a long, quiet conversation with Levvenia in the library, he recognized that the bond between her and his brother was something forged in fire, intellect, and deep mutual devotion—a love far stronger than the gentle affection they had shared in their youth. He gave them his blessing, promising to return for the wedding.

With her personal life settled in joy, Levvenia turned her formidable attention to one final, remaining duty: absolute, poetic justice for her father.

Using her vast new wealth, her position as the prospective Marchioness of Blackwood, and her partnership with the premier legal minds of England, Levvenia bought up every single mortgage, debt, and lien held against Ashcroft Manor.

On a clear afternoon in March, she returned to Westmarch County in a grand carriage bearing the Blackwood crest, accompanied by Marcus, two federal bailiffs, and her father's original legal counsel.

They pulled up to the crumbling steps of Ashcroft Manor.

Lady Drusilla and Amos were sitting in the cold, unheated drawing room, wrapped in threadbare shawls, surviving on thin soup served by a single remaining, unpaid servant.

When Levvenia walked into the room, dressed in a magnificent velvet cloak and accompanied by the tall, intimidating Marquess, Drusilla gasped, rising from her chair.

"Levvenia!" Drusilla sneered, trying to mask her panic with arrogance. "Have you come to gloat over our misfortune?"

Levvenia did not answer. She gestured to her lawyer, who stepped forward and laid a thick stack of legal documents onto the dusty mahogany table.

"Lady Drusilla, Mr. Amos Ashcroft," the lawyer announced formally. "As of nine o'clock this morning, Lady Levvenia Ashcroft and Lord Marcus Vance hold absolute ownership of all debts, mortgages, and land deeds associated with Ashcroft Manor."

Amos turned white. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Levvenia spoke, her voice cold and clear as ice, "that this house no longer belongs to you."

She stepped forward, looking down at her stepmother.

"I am evicting you, Drusilla. You and Amos have two hours to pack your personal clothing into two trunks. You will leave this estate today."

Drusilla shrieked in horror. "You cannot do this! This is my home! Where are we supposed to go?"

"I have secured a small, two-room apartment for you above a seamstress shop in the industrial district of Leeds," Levvenia replied without a shred of pity. "Amos has been provided employment as a clerk in a coal yard. If he works hard, he will earn enough to feed you both. If he gambles, you will starve. The choice is entirely his."

"You monster!" Drusilla screamed, tears of rage ruining her powder. "After everything I did for you! After I raised you!"

"You did not raise me, Drusilla," Levvenia said calmly. "You used me. And today, the bill has come due."

An hour later, as Drusilla and Amos were ushered into a plain, hired hackney coach with their small trunks, Lord Gideon Ashcroft was brought back to the main house from the gardener's cottage, lifted gently in his chair by two strong grooms.

Levvenia knelt before her father in the grand hall—the same hall where she had been humiliated four months ago.

"Father," Levvenia said, handing him the master deed to Ashcroft Manor. "The house is clean. The debts are paid. The estate is legally placed in an irrevocable trust for you and your tenants. No one will ever threaten your home again."