Three days had passed since Arwa began her duties at the estate as the fiancée of the Strathmore heir and the future lady of the family. The days were long, starting at sunrise and ending after the elaborate royal dinner.
The work wasn't physically exhausting as much as it was mentally; everything was precise, calculated, as if the estate were a complex clock and every thread in it was connected to another. Arwa was expected to memorize everything and maintain perfect composure. Even Clara, despite her help, was strict as if performing an evaluation rather than offering service.
On the morning of the fourth day, Sara invited her to the sunroom, one of the countess's favorite corners, known for its tall windows and climbing plants.
"Arwa, have you grown accustomed to the estate's pace?" Sara asked as she flipped through a magazine.
"I've grown used to it… as much as a girl can get used to being watched by everyone."
Sara smiled faintly. "We're all being watched here, dear. Especially in noble households."
They were interrupted by soft knocking, and a servant entered carrying a small velvet box.
He placed it in front of Arwa silently, then withdrew.
Sara said, "This is for you."
Arwa opened the box slowly, finding inside a small glass bottle containing a luxurious perfume, intricately designed with crystal glass and golden engravings.
"It's one of the family's perfumes. It's only given to the ladies of Strathmore," Sara said as she sipped from her cup.
Despite its beauty, Arwa couldn't help but feel that this perfume… was more like a mark of ownership.
She smelled it. It was mysterious, composed of black rose, oud, and pink pepper. It resembled nothing she had smelled before. Luxurious, alluring, but tinged with something suffocating.
Sara asked, "Do you like it?"
She replied with a faint smile, "It's… different."
"Just like the one who wears it," Sara said as she stood. "Remember, from now on, you won't be called 'Arwa, daughter of the duke'… but 'Arwa Strathmore.'"
That evening, Clara arrived carrying a thick leather-bound ledger.
She said, "This is the estate's record. It includes all names, tasks, purchases, and correspondence. It's your responsibility now to review everything written in it daily."
Arwa flipped through the pages. Everything was precise, organized—even some names were written with attached codes.
She noticed something strange.
On one of the pages, she found a list of materials ordered from a somewhat old date, but the side notes on it were constantly updated.
"This list… why is it being updated continuously even though it's from last year?"
Clara froze for a second, then said, "Maybe a mistake… or maybe contract renewals. I'll check it myself later."
But Arwa wasn't convinced.
That night, she left her room past midnight, carrying a small lantern and a follow-up ledger. She went down to the lower floor where old records were stored.
She passed sleeping servants and dim corridors until she found the dark room stacked with files.
She opened one of the drawers and pulled out an old record with the same name as the suspicious list.
But before she could open it, she felt a hand grab her wrist.
She froze.
"What are you doing here?" It was Kyle's voice, soft but sharp.
She looked at him, flustered. "I just… wanted to understand something. Something that doesn't make sense."
He took the record from her, opened it, read it quickly, then shut it.
"This doesn't concern you, Arwa."
She replied stubbornly, "If I'm going to manage this estate, then everything concerns me."
He stared at her, then stepped closer.
"Do you know what happens when you learn more than you should?"
Her voice trembled despite her steadiness: "What?"
He said in a flat tone, "You begin to turn into someone else."
Then he left, leaving the record in her hand, and his words hanging in the air.
The next day, Arwa was on her balcony reading the day's notes, but she wasn't focused.
She was thinking about his words, about the perfume she received, the mysterious list, and that calm smile.