#bridgerton insert

Your childhood was like a colorful, rich tapestry—filled with private tutors, elegant parties under sparkling chandeliers, and summers spent in grand villas overlooking the endless blue sea.

Your earliest memories were of people fixing your clothes to perfection, polite nods at gatherings, and the smell of roses always in the air from the beautiful gardens outside.

Yet even with all this luxury, you found yourself wanting more. Behind the fancy smiles and fake conversations of high society, you longed for something real—something that wasn't covered in velvet and gold.

You wanted to see the world beyond the polished staircases and perfect lawns, to find out what was behind the curtain of perfection that had always been pulled over your life.

Your father understood your curiosity. He noticed your distant looks during social events, the way you seemed to want something else when you thought no one was watching.

Seeing your dislike for the superficial life around you, he decided to give you something special. He had a room made just for you—a sanctuary, a quiet place where you could get away from the endless politics and shallow conversations that filled the rest of the house.

Now, you sat in that very room, remembering how it came to be. It always gave you a deep sense of comfort.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings that made it feel open and free, yet cozy enough to be a perfect retreat. The warm, welcoming feel of the room wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books you had collected throughout your life.

It was a collection that had grown with you—from the fun stories you loved as a child to the deep, philosophical works you studied. Each book had its own story.

Many of these books were gifts from faraway places, collected during family travels or brought by guests who stayed at the estate.

You remember the feeling of unwrapping a beautifully bound book, the crispness of its new pages, the promise of a new adventure. Some books were finds from your own explorations—rare books discovered in little shops hidden in the city—each one handpicked and cherished, with worn edges from your constant reading.

In the far corner of the room, large bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing a beautiful view of the estate’s gardens. Through them, you could see the carefully trimmed hedges, the colorful flowers in full bloom, and the old oak trees standing tall. The windows were made to capture the natural light of the day, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

On bright mornings, the sunlight warmed the floor, inviting you to stay a while. Sheer curtains hung gently, softly moving with the breeze that came in, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh earth.

Your rocking chair sat in the middle of this peaceful space—a big, comfy chair, almost like a throne, covered with the softest blankets and pillows.

You couldn't count the hours you spent there, curled up, letting the chair rock gently while you read. It was your favorite place—a place where you could leave behind all the expectations, the responsibilities of your family name, and get lost in the pages of your books.

Here, you fought dragons, sailed across oceans, and discovered new lands.

Here, you loved, lost, and lived a thousand different lives, all while the real world moved on outside those windows.

The room was your haven—a place where you could finally breathe freely and be yourself. No grand halls, no watchful eyes, no heavy legacy—just you, the soft sound of turning pages, and the warm glow of sunlight, reminding you that there was beauty in simplicity too.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, was a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gave her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes were expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even spoke.

Her skin was a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that added to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moved with a grace that belied her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, filled the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knitted you a pair of winter gloves, Kira spoke up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always managed to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life. "Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?"

Kira looked up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, was a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encountered were a source of much-needed levity in your life.

But in truth, Kira was more than just a maid; she was a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who heard your true thoughts about the high society you navigated.

The tranquility of the room shattered when the doors slammed open, the sudden noise breaking the delicate calm that hung in the air.

You looked up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother, standing there.

Simon's visits were always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you were eligible to wed.

At nearly nineteen years old, you were yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay had kept you bound to the family estate, and though you often found the confines of this life stifling, Simon's infrequent but cherished visits were what made it bearable.

Ten years your senior, Simon was your half-brother, sharing the same father but born of a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a bond of understanding, of shared grief between you two that had only grown deeper over the years.

As Simon stepped into the room, his presence filled the space like it always did, but today, something was different.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—he was your lifeline to the world outside these walls, and you were eager to hear the latest news and gossip from town.

The last you had heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society, and you were curious to hear every detail.

"Simon!" you exclaimed, rising quickly from your chair, a wide smile lighting up your features. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

But something about Simon's expression gave you pause. He always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances—his skin, a deep, rich brown, perfectly complemented by his neatly styled black hair.

His eyes, usually bright and full of life, a striking contrast against his complexion, were different today. They were dim, devoid of their usual spark, and you noticed a wetness behind them that most others might miss. This ability to read him so well came from a lifetime of shared secrets and experiences.

Your smile faltered; the initial joy at seeing him now replaced with concern. His face was stony, but those eyes—they betrayed the turmoil within.

Quickly, you gestured for Kira, your trusted maid, to leave, understanding immediately that whatever Simon was about to share required privacy. As she slipped out, you felt a knot of worry forming in your stomach, tightening with each passing second.

Simon shuffled over, his steps lacking their usual confident stride, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller, almost like a child seeking comfort. His vulnerability struck you hard, and in almost a whisper, laden with concern, you called out, "Brother… are you alright?"

Suddenly, Simon's composure broke. His sobs echoed through the room, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The sound was raw, and it cut right through you.

Without a second thought, you rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you cradled him, your own eyes filling with tears.

You had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so broken. It stirred something primal within you—a fierce protectiveness, an ache in your heart that made you want to destroy whatever it was that hurt him.

The two of you stood there for a while, locked in that embrace, the room filled with nothing but the sound of his sobs and your gentle shushing.

Eventually, Simon's sobs subsided, and you pulled away just enough to look at his face. Gently, you lifted his chin with your hand and used a soft handkerchief to wipe away his tears. "Brother, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you were anything but calm.

Simon looked at you, his eyes full of anguish, the storm of emotions swirling there almost too much for you to bear. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash." His words sent a chill down your spine.

Perplexed but too concerned to argue, you nodded slowly. "I promise."

Simon took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It's… Daphne," he finally admitted, his voice breaking on the name, a fragile whisper that left you cold.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. "Daphne?" you repeated, your voice trembling. "What about her?"

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his expression one of shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

The words hit you like a physical blow. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you couldn’t breathe. "Daphne… she… she what?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper.

Simon gripped your hands, his own trembling as he tried to ground you. "____, please. You promised. Just listen to me."

"Promised!?" you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief, your emotions starting to boil over. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

"____, please."

But you couldn't hold it in any longer. "…raped my brother!?" The word came out like venom, filled with fury and disbelief, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it.

Simon visibly flinched at the word, his eyes closing briefly as if to ward off the pain it brought. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea, but you were too incensed to care. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and yet, she still…"

"____, I know," Simon said, his voice cracking. "I know, but please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quieted down, the weight of the situation sinking in, the rage simmering under your skin. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon looked at you, begging again. "Please, don't do anything rash."

You gave a non-committal nod, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. How could she do this to him? Your heart ached at Simon's vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burned fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shook his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just…"

Realizing he needed comfort more than anything, you softened. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You called for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understood. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nodded and slipped away.

Night's Whisper was a special blend you had created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira; its calming effect was exactly what Simon needed now.

As she left to prepare the tea, you turned back to your brother, who sat beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Brother," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offered a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sat together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. When Kira returned with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night’s Whisper filled the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sipped the tea, you gently probed, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He took a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed; the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transported you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. His normally animated face was now a mask of sorrow.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea worked its subtle magic, and you watched as Simon's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll. For him, it was enough to gently lull him into a much-needed sleep in the comfort of your chair.

You stayed with him, a silent guardian, as he drifted off, his breathing evening out until he was finally at peace.

Once you were sure Simon was asleep, you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice was firm, your eyes blazing with determination. "Get my horse ready."

As you rode through the countryside on your favorite horse, the wind whipped through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home.

You cared little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that mattered now was confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypassed the maid at the door, your steps swift and resolute. The common room was filled with light laughter, the sound of high society oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath.

Daphne sat elegantly, her strawberry-blonde hair styled impeccably, her light skin glowing in the candlelight. Beside her were Penelope Featherington and another highborn lady; their conversation filled with hopeful whispers of pregnancies and futures.

You had only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their "arrangement." An arrangement that now revealed its ugly truth.

Your steps were purposeful as you approached her, the room falling silent as you called her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoed, cutting through the air and drawing gasps from the women around.

Daphne recoiled, her hand flying to her face, her expression one of shock and indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here," you said, your voice cold, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepened, and she shook her head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retorted, your eyes boring into hers, unyielding. "What you did to my brother…"

Daphne’s expression shifted, realization dawning slowly, her face paling as she finally comprehended why you were here. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she said, her voice tinged with a sneer, though there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. “He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Daphne's defiance was palpable as she straightened up, her chin lifting. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please!" you hissed, your voice dripping with distaste. "Don't lump me with the likes of you!" Your anger boiled over, and you took a step closer. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watched, stunned into silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argued, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping even closer, your presence now towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tried to meet your gaze, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, her bravado beginning to crumble. "R-Rape?" she stammered, the word barely leaving her lips. "You're overreacting. It's not like… not like I—"

"Not like what?" you snapped, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like you betrayed him? A violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widened as she gazed into yours, and for a moment, she saw Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance was uncanny, and it shook her to her core, the reality of her actions hitting her in a way that words alone never could.

"Stay away from my brother," you commanded, your voice low and dangerous. "If you ever try to come near him again, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the Gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing her chin, you straightened up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with light-hearted chatter, was now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets.

Daphne sat there, her face a mix of shock and realization, the reality of what she had done finally starting to sink in.

You took a moment to smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance.

Turning to the other women in the room, you locked eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sat Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offered them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile, executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace. "Ladies," you said, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Penelope seemed at a loss for words; her usual observant nature momentarily stilled.

Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you held their stunned gazes for a moment longer, letting the impact of your actions resonate.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode out of the room. Each step was measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who had fiercely defended a loved one.

As you left, the room remained in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that had just unfolded.

Your heart was heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it was buoyed by the knowledge that you had done what was necessary to protect Simon.

The walls of the grand house seemed to close in on you as you made your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you, your mind now set on whatever came next—and the promise you'd made to protect your brother at all costs.