Page 88 of Taken By the Beastly Duke

For the first time since reading the letter, a crack formed in the wall of his anger.

Could she truly have left him like this? Without a single word to his face? No farewell, no explanation beyond a few hurried lines on a page? He clenched his fists at his sides, his breath growing uneven as he replayed his mother’s accusations in his mind.

Victoria wasn’t a coward.

She was fiery, passionate, and resolute. If she had wanted to leave him, she would have done so boldly, standing before him, telling him herself.

He knew her.

In the months they had been together, they had weathered storms far worse than he thought possible.

Their marriage had not been easy…there were the arguments, misunderstandings, and moments when he thought they might break… but through it all, Victoria had remained by his side.

She had fought for him. Defended him when others had spoken ill of him.

Even when his own mother had tried to belittle her, tried to make her feel small, she had stood her ground, unwavering in her loyalty to him.

He remembered, so clearly, how she had faced down the ton, how she had held her head high despite the whispers and gossip that followed their marriage.

There were countless moments where she could have walked away, where she could have left him to face the shame and scandal alone.

But she hadn’t. She had stayed, by his side, through thick and thin.

Why, then, would she leave now?

And more importantly, why would she leave without even facing him?

Anthony’s eyes drifted back to the letter, still clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it once more, staring at the familiar handwriting.

It was so… like her, the way the letters curled and flowed across the page. But as his gaze lingered, the doubt began to stir again.

His heart pounded as he scanned the words, each one now appearing more foreign than before.

A memory flashed through his mind… he had seen her handwriting countless times before. He had watched her write letters to her sister, to friends, to acquaintances. And then it hit him… a specific letter she had written to her sister just weeks ago. He had caught a glimpse of it, and something about this letter was… wrong.

His brow furrowed as he carefully studied the writing before him.

At first glance, it seemed identical to hers, but the longer he looked, the more strange things he noticed.

There were small differences - small enough that most would overlook them - but to him, they were glaring.

A particular loop on the letter "y" was different. The spacing between words felt slightly off. Even the way the ink flowed…

This was not her writing.

At least, not entirely.

His pulse quickened as the realization hit him like a cold wave.

"It’s not her," he murmured, half to himself. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he looked up at his mother, eyes wide with disbelief. "It is forged."

Helen, who had been watching him closely, narrowed her eyes. "What did you say?"

Anthony held up the letter, his hands trembling with newfound urgency.

"This isn’t her handwriting. Not all of it, at least. I’ve seen her letters before and this… there are subtle differences. It’s almost a perfect imitation, but it’s not her. She wouldn’t have written this."

Helen’s gaze sharpened, and she stepped forward, her face a mixture of intrigue and concern. "Are you certain?"

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