The opulent chandeliers of Vanderlyn Manor, usually a source of perverse comfort, now seemed to mock Thomas. He stared at his reflection in the gilded mirror, the painted Clara Ainsworth staring back with wide, frightened eyes. He dabbed at the kohl smudged beneath his lower lashes, evidence of a fitful, tear-streaked night. Helping the workers, even in small ways, had felt right, had sparked a flicker of purpose in this gilded cage. But it had also painted a target on his back.

He’d received the letter that morning, delivered with unsettling precision by a young stablehand he’d never seen before. It was unsigned, the paper thick and expensive, the handwriting elegant and cruel.

“Miss Ainsworth, or should I say… Mr. Ashton? Your little charade is quite amusing. However, some secrets are best kept buried. For a sum of £5,000, I am willing to ensure yours remains so. Instructions for delivery will follow. Should you choose to ignore this… let’s just say your pretty little masquerade will be revealed in the most public and devastating way possible.”

Five thousand pounds. An astronomical sum. More money than he’d ever dreamed of possessing. It was a sum that would not only secure his sister’s freedom but would set her up for life. A sum he would gladly earn through honest labor, but this… this was extortion, a consequence of the web of lies he’d spun.

Panic gnawed at him. He had no money. Absolutely none. The silks and jewels he wore, the lavish room he occupied, all belonged to the Vanderlyns. He was a pauper masquerading as a princess, a stablehand playing the part of an heiress. How could he possibly acquire such a sum?

His initial instinct was to confess everything, to throw himself at Lord Vanderlyn’s mercy. But the thought was immediately repulsed. Vanderlyn, for all his unsettling charm and perceptive gaze, was not a merciful man. Discovery would not only ruin him and condemn his sister, but it could also unleash a fury he couldn’t even imagine. Besides, confessing now would not only ruin Clara Ainsworth's reputation, he will be used to further the Ainsworth and Vanderlyn group's fame.

Eleanor. Perhaps she could help. She was perceptive, kind, and seemed to possess an understanding far beyond her years. But involving her would put her at risk, and he couldn’t bear the thought of dragging her into this mess. What's more, he'd promised to not let her know until the very end of the mission.

He paced the room, the heavy skirts of his morning gown swirling around his ankles. He had to think. He had to find a way out of this. He stopped at the window, staring out at the manicured gardens. The sun, usually a welcome sight, seemed to mock his predicament.

An idea, desperate and risky, began to form. He could try to gamble. It was a long shot, a foolish gamble, but it was the only one he could think of with what he has. He's seen many of the rich folks gamble and lose but also, seen some win with luck. He knew absolutely nothing about gambling besides throwing some dice. It was a terrible idea but the only idea.

He knew he couldn't just sneak out and go to a random gambling house as Clara Ainsworth. It would cause chaos and be instantly known to the Vanderlyns. He needed a plan and to somehow also change the way he looks so he wouldn't be discovered.

With renewed determination, he straightened his shoulders. He would not be cowed by this blackmailer. He would find a way to protect his secret, to save his sister, and to survive this gilded cage. He was Thomas Ashton, and he was a survivor. Clara Ainsworth may be frightened but not him.

The rest of the day was a torment. He forced himself to attend luncheon with Lady Beatrice and her gaggle of gossiping friends, enduring their scrutinizing gazes and veiled barbs with forced smiles and polite nods. He attempted to engage in conversation with Lord Vanderlyn, searching for any sign that he suspected something, but found only that unnerving, perceptive gaze.

He spent the afternoon locked in his room, poring over the ledgers he'd managed to sneak from the Vanderlyn library. He was looking for any information that might give him leverage, any secrets he could use to his advantage. But the ledgers were meticulously maintained, concealing more than they revealed. Frustration mounted. He was running out of time.

As evening approached, he put his plan into motion. He knew that the manor's workers are always at the bar after a long hard shift. He made an excuse of a headache and retire early, using the excuse to sneak out of his room. Once out, he make his way to the manor's employee locker.

The employees are very surprised to see Clara Ainsworth at their place. They all paused and stares at Thomas.

"My apologies for arriving so late." Thomas announce, "I require the clothing of the worker for the night."

The workers are confused and doesn't know how to react. One of the more brave worker ask Thomas, "May I ask, Miss Ainsworth, why do you require such?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot say." Thomas respond, "However, if I succeeded in my plans, then you will see one of your own joining you."

The workers are confused but trusts Thomas due to the previous actions. One of the worker offer his clothes and Thomas changes to be more disguised. He made his way through the manor using back ways as he finally reached the outside world. He knew where is the gambling house since he overheard some of the worker talks about the gambling house.

The air hung thick with smoke and desperation as he entered the dimly lit gambling den. The cacophony of clattering dice, slurred curses, and triumphant shouts assaulted his ears. He felt a surge of anxiety, the weight of his deception pressing down on him.

He found a quiet corner, a small table away from the main action, and sat down. He watched the other players, trying to glean some understanding of the games. Roulette seemed the simplest, a game of pure chance. He would start there.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he approached the roulette table. He bought a small stack of chips, his hands trembling as he placed his first bet on a single number. The wheel spun, the ball danced, and he held his breath. He lost.

He placed another bet, this time on red. Again, he lost. The stack of chips dwindled with alarming speed. Desperation clawed at him. He was failing.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn't afford to lose his head. He had to think strategically, to play smart. He observed the wheel, watching for patterns, for any sign of bias. He noticed that the numbers in one section seemed to be coming up more frequently.

He placed a larger bet on that section, spreading his chips across several numbers. The wheel spun, the ball danced, and this time… he won.

A small surge of hope coursed through him. He continued to play, carefully observing the wheel, placing his bets with calculated precision. He won some, he lost some, but slowly, painstakingly, he began to build his winnings.

Hours passed. The atmosphere in the gambling den grew more frenzied, the air thicker with smoke and sweat. Thomas, fueled by desperation and adrenaline, played on. He was exhausted, his head swimming, but he couldn't stop. Not yet.

He's losing again. His emotions can't handle this. However, he remembers the purpose of his action. He calms himself and continues to play. It's been a very long night and Thomas is near his goal of 5000.

As the first rays of dawn filtered through the grimy windows, Thomas finally reached his goal. He had won five thousand pounds. He couldn't believe it. He had done it.

He cashed out his chips, his hands shaking as he clutched the wad of banknotes. He had to get out of here, before his luck ran out, before someone recognized him.

He slipped out of the gambling den, the cool morning air a welcome relief. He hurried back towards Vanderlyn Manor, his heart pounding with a mixture of elation and fear.

He managed to sneak back into his room without being detected. He changed back into his fine clothes, the rough worker's attire feeling foreign and uncomfortable against his skin.

He collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion washing over him. He had survived the night, but he knew that the danger was far from over. He still had to deliver the money, to deal with the blackmailer. And he had to find a way to keep his secret safe, to continue his masquerade, to protect his sister. He also knows that by winning this amount of money, he's definitely made some enemies and is also known in the gambling ring.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the Vanderlyn estate, Thomas Ashton knew that his gilded cage had just become a whole lot more dangerous.