Despite what Stiles had said to Lady Cora Hale, he found himself a liar. He did want to see Derek. He couldn't explain why, because he was still very passionately upset about being ignored for a couple of weeks, but he deeply desired to see Derek.

Something about Cora's story kept nagging at him. The image of Derek, locked away in a study and hiding behind ludicrously tall stacks of paperwork, kept coming to him in the last moments of each day. When he was laid out in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind would drift there and wonder if it was true. Was Derek really sitting there, staring at the papers but not really seeing them? Was he messing up that perfect hair? Were there bags under his eyes from his newfound inability to sleep? Had he been sitting there, imagining Stiles being beaten to death, for weeks with no news to the contrary?

Was Derek mourning him?

But he did not try to write another letter, and no letters arrived for him. Even if Derek had been in mourning, it did not explain his current silence. Stiles lived with the McCalls, a week passed, and no messages came. Lady Cora had had enough time to write home, and Derek had had enough time to then write to Stiles. But there was nothing. Stiles had said not to visit, but surely the lord could at least write.

A week after the play, Stiles went to breakfast like any other day, but the day finally had other plans. There was a knock on the door just as the breakfast plates were swept away. Lady McCall went to receive their guest while Scott asked Stiles if he'd be interested in walking the town that day. The two young men were hashing out the details as they passed by the entryway, but there they were frozen in their tracks.

"Stiles!"

It was Miss Allison Argent, standing in the entry hall in her least poofy dress. She didn't wait for Stiles to recognize her. She was upon him in an instant, her arms wrapped tightly around him until he almost couldn't breathe.

"I'm so happy to see you," she said, her voice on the edge of tears. "I thought- My father wouldn't tell me anything! I thought you must have died! But you're okay!"

"Allison-," Stiles gasped. So Cora hadn't been lying there. People really thought he was dead. But then how did Allison know the truth? How had she known where to find him?

Stiles looked back toward the front door and saw two people still standing there. Lady McCall was smiling warmly, which was normal, but to see a similar look on the face of Lord Christopher Argent was not something Stiles was accustomed to. The older man tipped his head to Stiles, who returned the gesture.

After another moment of her bone-crushing hug, Allison pulled back an arm's length to look Stiles over. "You're alive! And you look- You look rather good. You've been getting outside, based on your complexion. That's good. And my goodness, was my family feeding you so little? I swear you've gained ten pounds, at least! That's not a bad thing. And these clothes! Stiles, you look great!"

He blushed hard. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Allison, have you met Baron Posey? No? Great! Allow me to introduce Lord Scott McCall, Baron of Posey. Scott, meet Lady Allison Argent."

"My lord." Allison curtsied beautifully.

"My lady." Scott offered his hand to her, which she took. After they shook, he kissed her hand. What a flirt. Actually, he wasn't a flirt, because he sort of went silent after that. In fact, he just held Allison's hand like a broken machine, unmoving and awkward.

Allison cleared her throat but didn't try to pull away. "Um. Thank you, Baron Posey, for taking care of Stiles. It means just so much to me. He's my best friend, you see."

Scott blushed and cleared his throat too. "It was nothing. Stiles is my best friend too. I'm glad I, ah, we could help. I'm glad we could help. My mother, uh, she helped."

They were still holding hands.

"Well!" Stiles declared loudly to break the moment. "Now that we all know each other and have determined I apparently have two best friends, maybe we could move this into the sitting room and discuss what brings the pair of you to town?"

"Right." Scott dropped Allison's hand like she were suddenly made of fire. He bowed his head in apology.

The whole group migrated to the sitting room. Lady McCall sat first and beckoned Allison to join her on the small couch. Lord Argent took the chair on her other side. Stiles and Scott took the second couch, which sat perpendicularly to the first.

Stiles thought he'd have to start the conversation again, but Lord Argent surprised him by going first. "I apologize, Stiles. The rumor of your death is entirely my fault. All I told Allison was that you weren't coming back. The servants were certain you had died, and I did nothing to correct them. At the time, I thought it was probably for the best. My father and sister would stop harassing you if they suspected you were no longer an issue. However, it has come to my attention that the gravity of the rumor has spread far beyond our estate."

Beside him on the couch, Scott gasped a little. "So Lord Hale honestly believed Stiles had died?" Of course Stiles had filled him in on his discussion with the duchess' huntress. "But then why didn't he say something when Stiles started writing to him?"

"That I don't know," Lord Argent said, frowning. "No one in our house has been in contact with him since he left to check on his father."

So Lady Cora hadn't been lying. Derek had believed Stiles to have died that day, mere hours after his own exit from the house. How long had it taken the message of Stiles' untimely demise to reach him? Lady Cora had said a 'ruthless' servant had given Derek the news, but Stiles couldn't think of any servant who would have done such a thing. He could, however, see Lady Katherine writing in the guise of a servant in order to crush Derek's spirit. She'd lost her chance with the lord, so he was now an open target for her poison.

"Did you come to apologize for the rumor?" Stiles asked. It seemed like a large distance to cover just to clear up a misunderstanding, especially when Stiles had only discovered the issue last week. "If so, don't worry. It didn't change much about my life."

Lady McCall looked as though that was the saddest thing he'd ever said in her presence. Beside her, Lord Argent frowned deeply and looked guiltier than Stiles had ever seen before. Sure, the man always looked a little pinched and guilty around Stiles, but accidentally telling people Stiles had died was no cause for worsening the expression.

"No," Allison said, and she looked like she'd rather be sitting next to Stiles than across the room. "No, we came because my father has been keeping a secret for two years, even from me." Well Stiles had never heard her say anything about her father in such an angry, disappointed tone before. His attention was instantly captured. "And this secret would definitely have changed everything for you."

They all looked to the eldest man, but he did not squirm under the attention. His face was set into a deep frown, and he still looked guilty, but he met Stiles' gaze with determination. "Two years ago, I became suspicious of something I overheard my father tell my sister. I cannot remember the exact wording, but it made me wonder about the reason for your stay in our household. I began looking through my father's records whenever he left me to my own devices in the study. I scoured my sister's notes. By the mid-year, I was certain… though I'm almost positive that no Argent was near your home at the time of your father's end, my sister funded the arsonist who started the fire."

The room went cold. Stiles' brow knit and he couldn't hold anyone's gaze, so he aimed his confusion at the floor.

"What?"

The fire had started after a week of drought. The judge determined that a stray spark in the kitchen had set it off. Stiles had burns, literal scars, on his back from when his shirt had caught alight. He could still see the glow of the flames in the night sky. Katherine Argent had paid someone to start the fire?

"But- But why? Why would she- she do that? I mean she-" Stiles ran his hands over his hair and then over his face, pulling his mouth shut before it dropped open again in shock. "She said my dad owed her a lot of money but surely she could have gotten it back faster from him than from me working it off. Why would she-"

Lord Argent looked away from him, and that's when Stiles understood that his world was only half-finished being shaken. There was more to the story.

"What?" Stiles asked, voice cracking. "What else is there? What more could she possibly have done?"

Lord Argent took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. Head shaking, he opened his mouth to continue, but it seemed he hadn't quite worked out how to say it. His daughter stood and moved to sit between Stiles and Scott. She took Stiles' hand into her own and made sure his eyes were on her alone.

"Father didn't know it until recently, Stiles. He only found out for certain when Lord Hale's uncle wrote to him. That was his breaking point, and you can't hold it against him," she said.

"What is it, Allison? What?" Stiles clenched his fingers around her hand. What was so terrible that they had to soften the blow this much? What had Mr. Peter Hale revealed besides Derek and Stiles' affair?

"Stiles-" Allison released his hand in lieu of holding his face between both of her hands, keeping him focused, keeping him in place. "You're still the Baron of Goodwater."

Someone was banging on the door. Someone was shouting his name.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. There was no way Stiles was still a Baron. He would have known. Someone would have told him. The Argents were crazy but they couldn't have kept this a secret. How could they have possibly kept this a secret? It couldn't be true because- because Kate had that form, signed by the courts and everyone. Kate was the Baroness of Goodwater. It was Kate. It was-

The door clicked open. Someone had gotten the key from the kitchens.

Stiles didn't raise his head from his knees. He held the back of his head, his forehead pressed against his legs, and sat as far back on his bed as possible, trying to be invisible. Someone sat beside him, but he didn't check who. He needed time to process. He needed to be alone. He needed-

"Stiles?" Allison. Of course it was Allison. "Stiles, talk to me."

"I can't be," Stiles murmured and shook his head back and forth against his legs. "Allison, I'm not."

"But you are." She put a hand on his back. "Mr. Hale says there is no record on file of the title ever being reassigned. My aunt is not, nor has she ever been, in possession of your title."

"But the debt-"

Allison shook her head. He could hear her hair shifting on her back. "There is no debt. I know. It's a lot to take in. She bribed a solicitor to draw up the documents she showed us proclaiming herself Baron. She lied about your father being in debt. She may have been instrumental in his death. I can't imagine how you must be feeling."

Stiles jerked his head up to look at her. "Five- What-" He swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat, in his chest, in his soul. "If I'm a Baron, then why? Five years, Allison. I was under her thumb. I- Your grandfather put me in that den for- for five years, and-How am I supposed to just- I don't know – How am I supposed to process that? How does anyone move on from that kind of hole? Allison-"

He was looking at her, but he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing the den at the Argent Estate. He was seeing that broken dresser in his room where Earl Argent had busted Stiles' lip in his first month. His eyes were roaming all over the empty kitchen, where Kate had made him eat alone for a fortnight because he'd acted like he was still titled. He was seeing every sign of his inadequacies, splayed out in fluorescent paint by Lady Kate and her father, hung on every wall for Stiles to see. He was realizing that his entire existence for almost five years had been a continuous redesigning of his life and who he was until he almost didn't recognize himself. And how was he supposed to just tear all of that down? Where was he supposed to start pulling nails? Because they were telling him that his old life was still there, the walls still standing, but he hadn't seen those walls in so long. He didn't know where- He didn't even know what part of his life hadn't been touched by their lying hands.

Allison wrapped him in her arms, and he accepted her comfort without question. She had always been on his side, and he knew she'd never have kept this secret from him if she'd known it. He couldn't blame her for her family's actions.

"I am so sorry, Stiles. I don't know where to begin making this up to you."

He slowly uncurled his legs so she had an easier access to him and then returned the embrace. Chin on her shoulder, Stiles had a view of the door and he spotted Scott lingering just in view and looking torn. Stiles closed his eyes so he wouldn't see. He couldn't worry about Scott right now. He had too much to think about.

"I don't know either," Stiles said. "About anything. Do I return to Goodwater? Is there anything to return to? Would anyone there even want me back?"

"You had lots of visitors marked down when I first met you. I'm sure there are plenty of people anxiously waiting to hear you're coming home." She was trying to be positive, but the word 'home' made Stiles uneasy.

Was Goodwater still home? He had no family left in it. Home certainly wasn't the Argent Estate. And as lovely as the McCall's were, this was their home and not Stiles'. But the Stilinski House had burned to the ground. Where would Stiles call home now? Even if he rebuilt the framework, could he stand to live on the ashes of his father's house?

"I think I… I need some time alone," Stiles murmured. He extricated himself from Allison's arms and cleared his throat. "Your father has wrecked my entire world in the span of five minutes. I need some time to think, to put things back together."

"Of course you do. I'm sorry. But if you need anything, I'll be just down the hall, alright? Come and get me… alright?" She slowly slid off the bed and walked half-backwards toward the door.

"Okay, Allison. Okay." Stiles managed a little laugh at her over protectiveness, and that earned him a small smile from her.

When the door clicked back shut behind her, Stiles frowned at his sheets. He'd always known that Katherine Argent was psychotic, but he'd never expected anything like this. For nearly five years she had lied to him, used him for free labor, and abused him for her own amusement. He still didn't know why, but did it even matter why? He was a Baron.

He was a Baron. Capital B. Holy shit.

Did he have money? How would he find out? Who had been collecting the taxes these past five years? The bank? Certainly not Kate. She'd always complained about being penniless without her father and blamed it on Stiles' family and their debts. She could have been lying, but somehow Stiles doubted it.

He was a Baron. Capital B. He probably had money. Capital M. Kind of. Not really. Money wasn't a proper noun. Whatever.

Stiles didn't know the state of his father's affairs or his own. He didn't know where he would live from now on or if he had anywhere in Goodwater that could, or would, take him back. He was unsure of Kate's motives, and he certainly was unsure how steady he could be after surviving five years in the shadow of the Argent Estate. But he knew one thing. It had been growing in his chest, in his fingers, ever since he'd begun to accept that what Allison had said was true.

Moving to the desk in his room, Stiles rifled around until he found what he needed – a piece of paper, an inkwell, and a pen. His chest ached as he stared at the paper. He wouldn't have to send the letter, he told himself. He just had to write it and get it out of his system.

He dipped the pen, gently dabbed off the extra ink on the edge of the inkwell, and poised the pen over the top of the page. With a steadying breath, he pressed the tip of the pen down.

Dear Derek,

Honestly, I'm not sure the salutation is in good taste. You are dear to me, Derek. Or at least you were. I thought I would have been happy living in your shadow for the rest of my life – at least happier than I'd been at the Argent Estate. Then I thought I'd have been happy so long as I could keep you in my life, even if I had to give up your kisses, but your last night at the estate made me realize I'd never be happy with distance between us.

I wondered why you didn't come when I woke up, when I moved into the McCall Manor, when I wrote you all of those letters. I know now that you thought I died, but I cannot understand why you would still believe such a rumor with letters arriving for you written in my hand.

I know you thought I died. Is it sick that I hope you mourned me? I hope you cried and wanted to lock yourself away for a year and considered never looking at another person the way you looked at me. I hope so, because it might mean you once cared for me a modicum of how much I cared about you. I hope so because I wanted to keep that smile of yours locked up in my selfish, greedy pocket. I know this makes me cruel. I won't apologize for it.

I'd sworn never to write to you again, but I needed to tell someone something, and the only person I could think of was you. How messed up is that? You won't even read this letter or honor it with a response, and yet my hands ached with the need to write it.

I have been told secrets today. I was told about the rumor of my death. I was burdened with the knowledge that Lady Katherine Argent most likely played a key role in the death of my father, of my whole life, and yet there is no substantial evidence to prove this, so she will likely never be charged for it. I am so angry about this that I could scream for days. And it has been revealed to me that I have lived a harsh, unfair, miserable half-life for the past four-and-a-half years for no reason than one family's gift for cruelty.

My father was Baron Goodwater, and upon his death this title passed to me. He died under no great debts, and his good-for-nothing son has squandered his title. I am Baron Goodwater. I still cannot fathom the power of those words, but I shiver whenever I think them. I am Baron Goodwater. When I had begun to accept this pronouncement, I felt at once that I had to tell you – you of all people. I am Baron Goodwater. I don't know why, but I needed to write it down. I had to tell the person I thought would care the most, the person I wanted to know the most, the person I desired counsel and comfort from the most. I just wanted to know what you thought I should do, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it from my mouth, from my pen.

I need to say it one more time. I am Baron Goodwater.

Yours, Stiles

P.s. This has been the craziest day of my life. I still keep thinking I'm dreaming. All my dream needs now is you walking through the door, and I'll know I've finally lost my mind.

He folded the letter with obsessive precision before even attempting to slide it into an envelope. He spent a ridiculous amount of time perfecting the curl of the letters in his address. He even wasted time cleaning up the extra wax around the seal on the back. When he was done, he ran a hand over his face and sighed.

All this explicit attention to detail meant nothing, because he couldn't mail the letter. Even if he did, Derek wouldn't reply. Dream or not, Derek would not be walking in the front door like a hero, because Stiles was no longer in danger. Because Derek didn't want him anymore.

Shaking off the thought, Stiles slid the envelope into his desk drawer and determined himself to never touch it again. He had enough problems now. He didn't need to keep dwelling on Lord Derek Hale. In the grand scheme of things, Stiles' forlorn love story was truly a speck in time and energy. Rediscovering himself and his entitlements, now that was deserving of his vigor and attention. And after writing it all down, Stiles was finally ready to focus on what truly mattered.