On April 14th, 1912, at Aries House.

My husband and I were born on the same day, only two months apart, it is quite a coincidence. Of course, the birthday of the Morten family heir must be celebrated extravagantly, especially now that he has solidified his position since I became pregnant, it is a deserving moment to celebrate!

I quickly apologised to the crowded guests downstairs and retreated to my room, with an excuse that cannot be questioned: the baby in my belly said so. It was also pitiful for me, as I have tried to fulfil my duties as a wife. I have been downstairs greeting guests for hours, nodding in thanks as they placed their hands on my belly, with polite and sometimes silly greetings. I even had to wear a mask to judge alongside the London society ladies as we discussed the men and women in this room. I have struggled to hold on until now, but have reached my limit. I sought refuge in the peace of my room, which is another form of a locked cage.

I turn on the music player, listening to the melodies of my favourite love songs. Living with Thena, I also learned the habit of writing. Since I got married, I started writing a "prison diary" and completing the rest of the book that Thena dedicated to me and Enzo. If I could not have him in real life, we would live together until the end of the world in these pages.

I started this from the early days of setting foot in the huge Villa Aries. I prepared a new, thick and fragrant paper notebook. I jot down the favourite parts of Thena's original work, adding my own feelings, memories, and secrets that we both have. I even used our names for the main characters. I do not want to use any fake names. I want it to be a world where we can be happy together. I write about things I missed in this life. There, we still have the estate, my father is still sitting diligently at the desk, and I have never met any of the Morten brothers.

The gloom envelops the entire room, which is adorned with expensive furnishings: expensive floral curtains, exquisite fine China, the scent of polished wood emanating from the desk, and dresses that have yet to be unlabeled. Tears fall in drops on the paper, blurring the hastily written lines. Why do I feel so bitter as I write about the time I walked into the church with my father, with the man standing at the end of the church being him? Why do I not feel relieved even though that is what I desire? I only feel jealous of what I have imagined. I am shattered into countless pieces of broken glass, living with a soul that has died halfway. I collapse with a longing for something impossible.

I cry without making a sound. My gaze drifts to a faraway place. Suddenly, I hear the sound of waves crashing into the ship. Enzo has gone far away… So far away from me…

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I do not know when I fell asleep. The child in my belly drains all the little energy I have. I wake up with a pounding headache. I am so tired that I have no memory of what could have happened while I was sleeping. I can't even remember if I closed the book or not. I look up at the clock, it is now pointing to four. I decide that I will go down and greet the guests with my husband. I have been away for a long time and cannot stay here for the entire party, or people will suspect something. At least now the guests have thinned out, and it is now time for afternoon tea, so I think everything will be easier. Determined, I put the book in my own drawer and lock it tightly. I ask Anna to help me change into a new dress. I choose a light yellow dress and a simple set of jewellery. Today is my husband's party, he should be the centre of attention. I also have no intention of stealing the spotlight, even on my birthday, I did not even get a supporting role.

My husband and his friends are sitting around a round table in the study, where gentlemen usually chat with each other. The smell of brandy is still strong, and the smell of cigars is still lingering in the room, full of business and political discussions. I walk in like any other lady of a sprawling estate, with a smile always on my lips and a plate of fresh pastries for the gentlemen. I cannot remember anyone's name in the room, even though Augustin has introduced them to me many times. Because everyone looks the same: hair slicked back, tailcoat, white shirt, black bow tie, gold signet ring on the little finger, and always puffing on a cigar. They are so engrossed in the conversation that they do not even notice when I arrive. It is not until I clap my hands and join the conversation that they finally stop and look at me:

"May I join you, gentlemen?"

Everyone stands up when I approach, it is one of the gentlemen's gestures when a lady enters the room. Only my husband does not stand up, he just turns to me and smiles lightly. I walk over, bow and place a kiss on my husband's lips as if to show affection in front of everyone. But suddenly, I sense a change in Augustin's attitude. His kiss for me is very strange, very faint. And his smile is also only for show. In a moment, both of us realise our awkwardness. I do not understand what happened, I just think he had an unpleasant experience at the party.

I turn to smile at everyone and place the cake plate on the table. I plan to just do that and leave the room, I have nothing to discuss with these men. But Augustin grabs my hand tightly as I leave and says, "If you're here, sit with me."

"I'm just afraid of boring everyone," I say softly.

"No," Augustin replies straightforwardly. "Stay with us."

I turn to look at everyone's faces, and everyone wants me to stay, or it is just a pretence. I do not know why Augustin appears so strange. Anyway, I reluctantly participate in their conversation. I will keep my mouth shut and not say anything unless they talk to me.

I sit on the same chair with Augustin, his hand draped behind me. At least they know how to behave like real gentlemen. The cigars were put out when I entered the room. Augustin turns to look at me, his hand stroking the hair on the side of my ear. The man sitting across from me, Mr. Harry, picks up a brandy glass and takes a sip, then starts talking to me, "I hear that Lady Fiona is very knowledgeable about music."

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"Oh, not exactly," I smile and pick up my wine glass from the table. "I can only dare say that I've been exposed to music from a very early age. You know, every girl with our upbringing must learn those things."

"My wife can play any music piece," my husband embraces me tightly like a cage. "She is my treasure."

I laugh lightly, feeling his increasing discomfort. I am confused if I am the source of this unease. But if it is because of me, then I do not know what I did wrong.

"Do you prefer Mozart's music, may I ask?"

"Oh, Wolfgang?" I raise my eyebrows. "Simple yet complicated, elegant yet straightforward. But I'm not sure if his music is what I like. On the contrary, I lean towards Antonio more."

"Antonio Salieri?" Mr. Mordok confirms. "Mozart's rival?"

"There are rumours that he poisoned Mozart out of envy," Mr. Burbery speaks while sipping his wine.

"I believe they respected each other, sir," I politely deny his statement. "They were rivals, yes, but I believe they did not intend to destroy each other. Salieri had what he wanted long before Mozart became famous."

"I’ve read that their rivalry became evident when Mozart lost a competition in Schönbrunn in 1786," Mr. Andre takes out a cigarette but quickly puts it back inside.

I put down my wine glass and say, "I believe feeling bad after failing at something is understandable and common, regardless of whether the result is worthy or not. The past is full of mysteries. Salieri and Mozart used to collaborate in composing together, and in one of Mozart's last surviving letters, he mentioned going to see his own opera, 'The Magic Flute,' with Salieri, and Salieri was entranced throughout the performance."

I bend down to pick up a cookie from the table and savour it while the men nod in approval. Mr. Burbery sits back in his chair, brandy glass in hand, and laughs:

"Well, my lady, you make me feel threatened!"

"We should have more discussions like this," Mr. Harry nods.

"I just have too much free time to read books, gentlemen."

"And to write too...", Augustin looks at me with an enigmatic expression. "And to write, too."

Augustin repeats the same sentence twice, and his gaze is fixed on me like a hunter aiming at a helpless prey. I am sitting in his arms, with his hand tightly gripping my shoulder. Augustin knows something, and now I am sure that I am somehow involved in this change of attitude. Mr. Andre is surprised:

"Lady Fiona writes books?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Andre," I reluctantly reply. "I just scribbled down some impressions about this or that book. My sister, Thena, is the family's writer."

"My wife is very secretive about her talents. She's just being humble," Augustin chuckles softly. "I hope I don't play the villain in her story. Fiona never reveals anything to me."

"Are you drunk, my love?" I try to salvage the situation before we both embarrass ourselves. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"No, my dear wife, I'm not drunk," my husband brushes off what I said. "But sitting too much might have made me a bit dizzy..."

Then he turns to his friends, takes out a cigar and a lighter, and asks:

"Billiards, gents?"

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I rush up to my room, feverishly checking my things. Augustin must have found something of mine, and that is not good for me at all. The relationship between Enzo and me is not widely known, but I cannot hide it from my husband. In the letter I sent him that day, I told him about my relationship with Enzo and whether he still wanted to keep his proposal. Therefore, it would be illogical for my husband to get angry about something that is long over and that I never mention again. I would feel guilty if Augustin could hear my heart that I had been unfaithful to him, but that clearly never happened.

As I feel something is amiss, I open the book I am writing. I check each page, but I do not see anything unusual. I step out of the room and ask Anna for the reason. Being pregnant makes my mind confused and disorderly. I cannot think straight about anything. My marriage is more damaged than ever, and whether I want to or not, I have to keep this shackle.

"Did anyone come up to find me today?"

"I don't know, my lady," Anna carries a tray of tea and cake.

"Have both of you been entertaining guests all day?" I ask aggressively. My forehead is dripping with sweat.

"It seems so, my lady."

"What do you mean, you have to be sure?" I scream, instantly making the maid jump. I am not the type to get angry with others. But the vagueness makes me uncomfortable. I want to know what finally happened.

"I really don't know...," Anna hesitates a bit. "But before Your Ladyship went downstairs, I saw master Augustin standing at the end of the stairs with an angry look on his face."

Standing at the stairs, my husband must have left my room and maybe it was he who closed my book. I let Anna go outside and I sit idly on the warm bed. Suddenly, strangely, I do not feel completely worried. A small part of me is relieved that my husband has recognised my affection. That he had disregarded marrying a disloyal woman, a cheap whore who slept with every man she met. Surprisingly, I feel just relieved that he finally realised that. But why?