She thought that she would not feel a thing, but when she actually heard that familiar voice, her heart skipped two beats anyway. 

She slowly looked up at the man in the carriage. He was her former fiance Henry Stark, a young but highly decorated general. 

“Greetings, General Stark.” 

Lilian was on her knees again, almost by instinct. 

Henry frowned ever so subtly. 

Then, glancing at her ankle, he asked coolly, “Are you heading to the marquis’ residence, Ms. Lestrade?” 

Lilian kept her eyes on her knees even as she nodded. “Yes, general.” 

A long silence ensued, as Henry seemed to be expecting her to continue. 

After all, she used to never stop talking when he was around. 

Still, he despised the noise—while he would not get too upset with her, considering their families’ close relationship, he still would not hide his annoyance. 

In fact, there were times when he would just shove food into her mouth just to stop her, but she would instead giggle happily like a child, and it at best stopped her for an hour. 

Just three years later, however, her response was short and simple. 

Henry alighted, but rather than helping her to her feet, he merely spoke coldly, “I just happened to be summoned to the palace, so we’re heading in the same direction. You can take my carriage.” 

Lilian was ready to say no, but he spoke before she could, “Don’t push yourself if you’re hurt. Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should take Madam Lestrade into consideration.” 

There was an edge in his cool voice, clearly not permitting refusal. Lilian was reminded of Madam Lestrade. 

Considering that the woman loved her dearly, even begging the empress to free her from servitude at the washhouse, she would be devastated if she knew that Lilian had to return with a limp. 

As such, Lilian said quietly, “Thank you, general.” 

Still, as she finally got into the carriage, she could not help stiffening as she passed him. 

Henry was taller and more muscular than he had been three years ago, and Lilian heard that he had returned after recently winning a war. He still seemed to have that grim, murderous presence from fighting, that Lilian could feel her heart skipping a beat just from walking past him. 

And she used to love him with a passion, even if he had never once responded to her affection and was cold to everyone else at the time. 

Even so, Lilian was convinced that she could melt Henry’s cold heart with her warmth, but that was until she saw the tender look on his face when he looked at Evelyn. 

It was then that she realized that effort did not always bear fruit—that certain individuals could reach what another person would never reach in their lifetime, and effortlessly. 

That was why on that day, when Henry leveled a vicious glare at Lilian, she did not defend herself at all. 

Lilian’s parents, her brother, and the man she loved the most all sided with Evelyn, hoping that Lilian would take the blame. 

If anything, Rupert was right about one thing: she had stolen fifteen years of happiness from Evelyn, and she should just pretend that the last three years were her atonement. 

But was she aggrieved? 

She definitely was—how could she not feel grief? 

She had never done anything wrong, but those same people who had once cherished her had all turned against her overnight. 

Nonetheless, the carriage was much warmer, and there was the aroma of scented candles that Henry always used. 

There was a foot warmer and some confectionery laid out on a tray, and Lilian remembered that those were Evelyn’s favorites. 

She still remembered how the marquis had come to her soon after Evelyn returned, asking her to annul her engagement to Henry so Evelyn would be his fiancee instead. 

After all, it was Evelyn’s right, as she was the real marquis’ daughter anyway. 

Still, Lilian was reluctant, so the marquis had persuaded her gently but also firmly, telling her that it was going to happen either way. 

But they still had not gotten married after three years? 

Bitterness unfurled over Lilian’s chest as she felt something she could not describe. 

Could it be jealousy, or perhaps indignation? 

Whatever it was, she ultimately got over with a single thought: ‘It doesn’t matter.’ 

Soon, the carriage stopped outside the marquis’ residence. 

As the footman helped Lilian off the carriage, she did not even have time to steady herself when a soft voice cried out urgently, “Lily!” 

Lilian turned to find that it was the marquise—the woman who used to be her mother. 

She watched as Rupert and Evelyn helped her, spreading her arms and clearly intending to hug her. 

Lilian’s gaze darkened, and she got down on her knees before the marquise could reach her. “How do you do, Marquise Lestrade?” 

The marquise froze—Rupert and Henry might still call her Ms. Lestrade or just Lilian, but they had no idea that just three days after Lilian was sent to the washhouse, the marquis had already disowned her before the emperor, saying that Lilian’s last name was Kerr. 

That had been a while back, and the marquise clearly knew, her tears trickling down from either guilt or heartache. 

She pulled Lilian to her feet and caressed her cheek intimately, the pain showing in her eyes. “You’ve lost a lot of weight, and your skin is so coarse…” 

To think that the daughter she treasured would be reduced to this state in just three years. 

“It’s alright, Mom. It’s fine now that she’s back,” Evelyn said in her honeyed voice. 

She was fairer and fleshed out a little compared to three years ago, and she was regarding Lilian with tearful eyes and guilt, just like she did three years ago. 

Lilian lowered her eyes, pretending not to see, while the marquise beamed happily. “Yes, as long as she’s back.” 

She then glanced at the carriage nearby and quickly recognized that it was the Starks’. 

Remembering how furious Rupert had been when he returned, the marquise shot him a glare, taking Lilian’s hand and assuring her, “I’ve already lectured your brother. Don’t worry—I won’t let you suffer anymore!” 

Though the marquise’s tears were from genuine heartache, Lilian suddenly pulled her hands out of her grasp. 

Rupert, still annoyed at her from earlier, could not stop himself from snapping, “Watch it, Lilian!” 

Lilian turned to stare at him but said nothing, but the marquise was snapping at him in turn, “Your sister has just returned to us! Why are you throwing a fit already?” 

“Just look at her attitude!” 

Rupert kept glowering at Lilian anyway. “I told you—if you don’t like it here, you can go back to the washhouse! Our family kept you around for fifteen years, and we don’t owe you a thing! Hell, you can be nasty with me, but Mom’s been crying for you every day, and you’re still giving us that pampered princess attitude!” 

Pampered princess attitude? 

Lilian was almost impressed—she was no longer anyone’s daughter, so how was she pampered? 

Seeing that Lilian was still silent, the marquise frowned a little but kept snapping at Rupert, “She’s just not used to it. Stop blaming her for everything!” 

Then, beckoning for some maids, she turned back to Lilian. “Your grandmother’s been waiting for you, so head over to Floret Garden and get cleaned up before you meet her. You’re still a daughter of this house—don’t worry, nothing will ever change.” 

Lilian nodded and bowed her head to the marquise in parting. 

Inwardly, all she felt was irony. 

Despite what the marquise said, she knew that she was never going back to her old pavilion.