The Hidden Heiress’ Redemption
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 7: Hale Family Tensions
Part 1: A Thorny Breakfast
The kitchen buzzed with quiet activity, but the air was sharp with unspoken tension. The scent of sizzling bacon wafted through the room, its savory aroma mingling with the acidic tang of freshly brewed coffee. The soft hum of the percolator and the faint crackle of grease on the stove filled the silence like an unwanted metronome, marking time that stretched uncomfortably.
Helena sat at the small wooden table, her fingers wrapped tightly around a warm mug of coffee. The ceramic pressed into her palms, its heat sinking into her chilled skin, offering her the only comfort she could find in the room. Across from her, Edith—Sebastian’s mother—moved with sharp, deliberate precision, setting plates on the table with a little too much force.
Edith’s lips were pressed into a thin, unforgiving line, her movements brisk as she avoided so much as a glance in Helena’s direction. The air between them felt heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken judgments. Helena focused on the steam rising from her mug, her eyes tracing its soft curls as though it could shield her from Edith’s icy presence.
“Sebastian,” Edith said finally, her tone clipped and businesslike. She didn’t look at her son as she adjusted the silverware, her movements quick and exact. “Lila called again. She’s eager to discuss the partnership.”
Sebastian, seated beside Helena, let out a heavy sigh. He leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking slightly beneath his weight. “Mother, I’ve told you,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I’m not interested in merging my life with someone for business.”
Edith turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as they snapped toward him. The tension in her jaw was visible, a faint flicker of irritation crossing her face. “And what, pray tell, is your alternative?” she asked coldly, her gaze flicking to Helena like a sharp blade. “This… guest?”
The words hit Helena like a slap, stinging against the fragile shield she’d been trying to build around herself. Her stomach twisted, a tight, sickening knot forming as the judgment in Edith’s tone seeped into her skin. She lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger.
Sebastian straightened in his chair, his expression hardening. “Mother,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through the crackle of bacon on the stove. “Helena is not your business. She’s my guest, and I’ll thank you to treat her with respect.”
Edith’s eyes widened slightly at his tone, but she quickly recovered, her lips pressing tighter. “Respect is earned, Sebastian,” she said icily, turning back to the stove. “And bringing strangers into this house doesn’t inspire confidence.”
Helena’s chest tightened, the weight of Edith’s words pressing down on her. She kept her eyes on the table, her fingers curling tighter around the mug as though it could anchor her against the rising tide of humiliation. The faint clatter of utensils and the hiss of the stove filled the room, but the silence between them was louder, a crackling static that made her skin crawl.
Sebastian leaned forward, his voice softer but no less firm. “Helena has been nothing but respectful since she got here,” he said. “And honestly, it’s more than I can say for you right now.”
The room fell into a tense stillness, broken only by the faint sound of the bacon popping on the stove. Edith stiffened, her back to them as she reached for a pan. “You’ve always had a soft spot for strays, Sebastian,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness.
Helena’s breath hitched, the words cutting deeper than she expected. She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself, but the weight of her emotions held her back.
“Enough,” Sebastian said firmly, his voice like steel. He pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood against the floor loud in the tense silence. “If you can’t be kind, then don’t say anything at all.”
Edith turned to face him, her expression stormy, but Sebastian met her glare with unflinching resolve. “I mean it, Mother,” he said, his tone low and warning.
The room grew heavy with silence once more, the weight of the confrontation settling over them like a thick fog. Edith said nothing, her lips pursed as she turned back to the stove.
Sebastian reached over, his hand brushing gently against Helena’s arm. The small gesture was enough to steady her, grounding her in the moment. “Don’t let her get to you,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring.
Helena nodded, her throat tight as she forced herself to take a sip of coffee. The bitterness spread across her tongue, grounding her further. She glanced at Sebastian, the quiet strength in his gaze filling her with a flicker of gratitude.
Part 2: The Unwelcome Proposal
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the porch where Helena sat. A cool breeze whispered through the air, tugging at her hair and carrying with it the crisp scent of pine and damp earth. Her pencil moved steadily across the sketchpad balanced on her knees, the lines flowing easily as she lost herself in the rhythm of creation.
For a brief moment, the world felt quiet, still. The steady scratching of graphite against paper mixed with the gentle rustle of leaves overhead, a soothing symphony that calmed her frayed nerves.
The sound of footsteps broke through the serenity, their deliberate cadence slicing through the quiet like a warning bell. Helena paused, her pencil hovering mid-stroke. She looked up to see Marian approaching, her figure framed by the glow of late afternoon light.
Marian’s smile was polite, almost too bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Helena, isn’t it?” she said, her tone syrupy sweet, like honey masking something bitter.
“Yes,” Helena replied cautiously, setting her sketchpad aside. She placed her pencil on top of the paper, her fingers curling slightly as though bracing for impact.
Marian didn’t wait for an invitation. She sank onto the bench beside Helena, her movements smooth but calculated. She was close—too close—her presence pressing against Helena like a physical weight.
“You must understand,” Marian began, brushing at her sleeve as if removing invisible lint. Her voice was light, casual, but her words carried an undertone sharp enough to cut. “Sebastian has responsibilities. Responsibilities that require certain… alliances.”
Helena’s body tensed, her shoulders tightening as the meaning behind Marian’s words began to take shape. She met Marian’s gaze, her own expression guarded. “I’m not standing in his way,” she said evenly, though her throat felt tight.
Marian’s smile widened, but it lost any trace of warmth. “Good,” she said, her tone soft but pointed. She leaned slightly closer, her perfume—a blend of something floral and sharp—filling the space between them. “Because someone like you… well, you can’t offer him anything but trouble.”
The words hit like a slap, their sting lingering in the air long after they’d been spoken. Helena’s chest tightened, her breath catching as she fought to keep her composure. She stared down at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of the bench.
The faint scent of lavender from her sweater drifted up, a cruel irony—a fragrance meant to calm her only serving as a reminder of the storm brewing within.
“I don’t know what you think I’m doing here,” Helena said finally, her voice low but steady. “But I’m not trying to complicate Sebastian’s life.”
Marian tilted her head, her expression feigning innocence. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t mean to,” she said smoothly. “But intentions aren’t everything, are they? The world doesn’t run on good intentions. It runs on strategy, alliances, and the right connections.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.
Helena forced herself to meet Marian’s gaze, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Sebastian can decide what’s right for himself,” she said firmly, the tremor in her voice barely audible.
Marian’s eyes narrowed, the smile fading slightly as her façade of sweetness began to crack. “Sebastian is a good man,” she said, her voice hardening. “But he’s also a dreamer. He needs someone who can anchor him, not drag him into chaos.”
Helena flinched inwardly at the implication, but she held her ground, her hands tightening into fists on her lap.
“Maybe you should let him decide what he needs,” she said quietly, her tone laced with a quiet defiance that surprised even her.
Marian studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress with deliberate precision.
As Marian walked away, her heels clicking softly against the wooden planks, Helena exhaled a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her gaze dropped to the sketchpad beside her, the half-finished lines suddenly feeling inadequate, incomplete.
The breeze picked up, brushing against her face and tugging at the edges of her sweater. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air wash over her as she tried to steady the storm inside.
Marian’s words lingered, their barbs digging deep. But beneath the sting, a flicker of determination began to stir—a quiet resolve to prove that she wasn’t as fragile, as disposable, as Marian seemed to believe.
As the sun dipped lower, casting the porch in soft shadows, Helena picked up her pencil again. Her hands were steady this time, her strokes deliberate, each line a silent act of defiance.
Part 3: The Weight of Expectations
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its golden flames casting flickering shadows across the living room walls. The warm glow should have been comforting, but instead, it felt oppressive, trapped beneath the weight of the tension filling the space. Edith sat in her usual chair, her posture regal and unyielding as she poured herself a glass of sherry. The rich, fruity aroma mingled with the faint, acrid scent of smoke from the fire, creating an atmosphere that felt suffocating.
Sebastian stood by the mantel, his broad shoulders rigid and his jaw clenched so tightly that a faint muscle pulsed at his temple. His hands rested on the edge of the mantelpiece, his fingers curling into fists as if to steady himself against the storm brewing in the room.
“This is not a discussion, Sebastian,” Edith said, her voice cold and commanding. The delicate glass of sherry in her hand seemed at odds with the sharpness of her words. “Lila’s family can save us. They can save you. Or would you rather see this family’s legacy crumble into nothing?”
Sebastian straightened, his hands dropping to his sides. The movement was slow, deliberate, and spoke of barely contained anger. His hazel eyes, usually so warm, burned with defiance as they locked onto his mother.
“I’m not marrying someone I don’t love, Mother,” he said, his voice low but firm, each word weighted with conviction. “I’ve built my own legacy, and I’ll fix this my way.”
Edith’s lips tightened, her expression hardening as her sharp gaze flicked across the room. “Your way?” she spat, the words dripping with disdain. Her eyes landed on Helena, who sat silently in the corner, her figure half-hidden in the shadows. “You mean wasting time on charity cases while everything we’ve worked for slips away?”
The words struck like a physical blow, their cruelty cutting through the air and settling deep in Helena’s chest. She flinched, her breath catching as she fought to steady herself. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the flicker of pain that she couldn’t entirely mask.
Sebastian moved before she could speak, stepping forward with a swiftness that drew all eyes to him. His voice, when he spoke, was sharp and unyielding. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Edith froze, her hand hovering mid-air with the sherry glass still poised between her fingers. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Sebastian’s defiance hanging heavy in the air.
Helena’s gaze flicked toward Sebastian, her heart pounding as she took in the quiet strength radiating from him. His words were a shield, his stance unshakable, and for the first time, she felt like she wasn’t entirely alone in the room.
Edith recovered quickly, though the tightness in her expression betrayed her irritation. “You think defending her is going to change anything?” she said, her tone icy. “We’re drowning, Sebastian, and you’re clinging to driftwood instead of reaching for a lifeboat.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened further, the flickering firelight catching the edge of his profile as he stepped closer to his mother. “I’m not clinging to anything,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m building something. Something real. And I won’t sacrifice my principles—or the people I care about—for a quick fix.”
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hiss of the fire as a log shifted in the hearth. Edith’s gaze darted between her son and Helena, her sharp features softening just slightly, as though realizing she had overplayed her hand.
Helena shifted in her seat, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she met Edith’s gaze with quiet resolve, refusing to let the woman see just how deeply her words had stung.
Sebastian turned to Helena then, his expression softening. “You don’t have to stay for this,” he said gently, his voice losing its edge. “Go if you want.”
Helena hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the door, then back to him. “No,” she said quietly, surprising even herself. “I’ll stay.”
The room remained heavy with tension, but something shifted in that moment—a subtle rebalancing of power that Edith seemed to sense but couldn’t quite control. She set her glass down with a sharp clink, her movements precise as she rose from her chair.
“Do as you like,” she said coolly, her voice betraying no emotion. “But don’t expect me to clean up the mess when it all falls apart.”
With that, she swept out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappeared entirely.
Sebastian let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he turned back to the fire. The light played across his features, softening the tension that had etched itself into his face.
“Thank you,” Helena said softly, breaking the silence.
Sebastian glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “I meant every word.”
Helena nodded, the weight on her chest easing just slightly. As the fire crackled softly between them, she allowed herself to believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.
Part 4: A Private Confession
Helena slipped into the workshop, the door creaking softly as she closed it behind her. The scent of sawdust hit her immediately, earthy and grounding, mingling with the faint metallic tang of oil and the sharp aroma of fresh pine shavings. She pressed her palms flat against the sturdy wooden worktable, the rough texture scraping against her skin as she leaned forward, her breath uneven.
Edith’s words echoed in her mind, each one slicing deeper than the last. Marian’s cold smirk lingered in her memory like a ghost, her condescending tone still reverberating in the quiet corners of her mind. Helena clenched her hands into fists, the sting of her nails biting into her palms barely registering.
For a moment, the workshop felt like a sanctuary, the faint hum of the crickets outside the only sound breaking the stillness. But the weight on her chest remained, pressing harder, suffocating.
The creak of the door behind her broke through her thoughts, and she stiffened. She turned just as Sebastian stepped into the room, his tall frame outlined by the soft glow of the single hanging bulb. His expression was tight, frustration etched into the lines of his face. But when his hazel eyes met hers, his features softened, the anger giving way to concern.
“I’m sorry about them,” he said softly, his voice a balm against the raw ache of her emotions. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “They had no right to say any of that.”
Helena shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not your fault,” she murmured, though her voice wavered. She looked back up at him, the vulnerability in her expression painfully clear. “I don’t belong here.”
Sebastian’s brows furrowed, and he closed the space between them in a few measured steps. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, his tone carrying a quiet strength that made her chest tighten. His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering and full of conviction. “You belong wherever you want to be. Don’t let them make you feel otherwise.”
Helena’s breath hitched, the intensity of his words stirring something fragile yet unyielding inside her. She wanted to believe him, but the weight of her past—the whispers of failure and inadequacy—clung to her like shadows.
“They’re right, though,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the strain. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table behind her. “I can’t offer you anything. I’m just… broken.”
Sebastian’s expression softened, and he reached for her hand. His calloused fingers, warm and steady, wrapped gently around her trembling ones. The contact sent a jolt through her, not of fear or uncertainty, but of something grounding, stabilizing.
“You’re not broken, Helena,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. That’s not broken. That’s resilience.”
Her chest tightened further, but this time it wasn’t from despair. His words, so steady and deliberate, chipped away at the walls she had built around herself. She blinked, her eyes stinging as unshed tears threatened to spill.
“But I—” she started, her voice catching.
Sebastian shook his head, cutting her off gently. “And whatever they say,” he continued, his tone unwavering, “it doesn’t change what I see in you.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, but there was no pressure in his gaze, only a quiet truth that settled deep within her.
The workshop felt quieter now, the hum of the crickets outside blending with the soft creak of the wood as they stood there, neither moving nor speaking. The faint glow of the bulb above them cast warm shadows across the room, highlighting the sawdust scattered on the floor and the unfinished projects lining the shelves.
Helena nodded slowly, the motion slight but deliberate. The flicker of hope he had ignited glimmered faintly in the depths of her doubt, fragile but present.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Sebastian offered her a small, reassuring smile, his hand still wrapped around hers. “Always,” he said simply.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.
Part 5: Humiliation and Resolve
Dinner was suffocating. The clink of silverware against porcelain and the faint crackle of the fire in the corner of the dining room were the only sounds filling the heavy silence. Helena sat at the far end of the table, her hands trembling slightly as she cut into the roasted lamb on her plate. The rich aroma of rosemary and garlic, which earlier had seemed inviting, now turned her stomach.
Lila Carrington sat near the head of the table, her posture perfect, every movement deliberate and calculated. She wore a sleek dress that shimmered subtly in the dim light, a picture of effortless confidence. Her red lips curved into a practiced smile as she swirled her wineglass, her eyes flicking to Sebastian, who sat rigid beside Helena.
“So, Sebastian,” Lila began, her voice smooth and velvety, yet edged with an undeniable sharpness. “Have you given any thought to my father’s proposal?” She leaned slightly forward, her expression that of feigned casualness. “It could secure your future—and your family’s.”
Sebastian’s hand paused mid-air, his fork hovering above his plate. The tension in his jaw was visible, the muscles tightening as he drew in a slow, measured breath. “I haven’t changed my mind,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with an unmistakable frustration.
Lila’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes gleamed with something colder. “I see,” she said, drawing out the words as she leaned back in her chair. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sliding toward Helena, who was trying her best to make herself invisible.
“And I suppose you’ve been preoccupied with… other matters,” Lila said, her tone deceptively light but cutting in its implication.
Helena’s stomach twisted, the subtle insult landing harder than any overt scorn Edith or Marian had thrown her way. Her cheeks burned under Lila’s piercing gaze, and she stared down at her plate, her appetite long gone. The faint clatter of utensils against plates seemed deafening, each sound magnifying the humiliation curling in her chest.
Sebastian’s chair creaked as he shifted, his tension palpable even without looking at him. “Lila,” he said sharply, his voice low and warning.
But Lila pressed on, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “I just mean,” she continued, her voice like honey laced with venom, “that sometimes distractions can cloud one’s judgment. Don’t you agree, Helena?”
Helena looked up briefly, meeting Lila’s gaze, and the smugness in the woman’s expression made her chest tighten further. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, drowned by the weight of the room’s tension.
Sebastian stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the floor breaking the silence like a thunderclap. The suddenness of the movement made Helena flinch, and even Lila’s composed mask slipped for a fraction of a second.
“Enough,” Sebastian said, his voice firm, cutting through the room like a blade. His hazel eyes burned as they locked onto Lila, his frustration no longer concealed. “This conversation is over.”
Lila blinked, clearly taken aback by his directness. She set her wineglass down slowly, her fingers lingering on the stem as if to regain her composure. “Of course,” she said finally, her voice cool but clipped.
Sebastian didn’t wait for her response. He turned to Helena, his expression softening just slightly. “You don’t have to sit here for this,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost apologetic.
Helena hesitated, glancing at Edith and Marian, who sat in tense silence, their disapproval evident. Then she nodded, rising from her chair with as much composure as she could muster.
She retreated to her room, the sound of the dining room door closing behind her muffling the voices that resumed in her absence. Her footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway, the cool wood of the floor grounding her as she walked.
Once inside her small sanctuary, she leaned against the closed door, her breath shaky. The room was quiet, the faint rustle of the wind outside the only sound accompanying her thoughts.
The humiliation clung to her, sharp and suffocating. Lila’s pointed words, Edith’s disdainful glances, and Marian’s aloof smirks all swirled in her mind, a cacophony of judgment that threatened to overwhelm her.
But amidst the shame, another feeling began to rise—stronger, fiercer. Sebastian’s unwavering defense echoed in her mind, his refusal to let Lila’s words linger unanswered. It was a lifeline, a reminder that someone believed in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself.
Helena stepped to the small desk by the window, her fingers brushing against the worn wood. The moonlight streamed in through the glass, casting soft shadows across the room. She opened her sketchpad, her pencil trembling slightly as she pressed it to the page.
This time, the lines came quicker, bolder. Each stroke felt like a quiet defiance, a reclamation of the confidence that Lila had tried to strip away. The scent of pine drifted through the open window, mingling with the faint metallic tang of graphite as she worked.
She paused, staring down at the unfinished design before her. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was hers.
Helena set the pencil down, her fingers lingering on the page. Her heart was battered, bruised by the night’s events, but somewhere deep within her, a fire had been lit. It burned low but steady, a quiet resolve that whispered of a future where she was no longer defined by the judgments of others.
She closed the sketchpad, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. They might see her as broken, insignificant, or unworthy, but they didn’t know her.
Not yet.
