Chapter 145: A Pale Shadow of Jealousy

The carriage ground to a halt before the palace gates, the heavy iron bars standing like silent sentinels. Though the unspoken war between them had reached a fragile ceasefire, the air remained thick with the remnants of their shared strife. However, the tension shifted the moment they noticed a silhouette—dark and motionless—leaning against the stone archway with arms folded tightly across his chest.

“So, you have returned?”

The voice was cold, slicing through the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Mathias stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Yes. Why are you standing out here? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Leon replied, his voice devoid of warmth, “except that I find myself desiring a small word with your wife.”

“Me?” Olivia breathed, the word barely a whisper.

Matthias stiffened beside her, his hand dropping to his side as he regarded his brother with growing suspicion. “Leon?” his voice was a low, dangerous rumble. “What has possessed you? You look as though you’re ready to tear this manor down stone by stone. What happened while we were away?”

Leon didn’t even grant his brother a glance. His silver eyes were pinned on Olivia, scouring her face as if searching for a hidden truth or a confession written in the pale moonlight.

“Matthias, stay out of this,” Leon murmured, his gaze unwavering. “Olivia, we need to talk. Now.”

Olivia looked back at him, her eyes reflecting a hollow, haunting exhaustion—a weariness so profound that Leon, consumed by his own simmering rage, failed to see it. The damp chill of her sodden clothes began to bite into her skin, a numbing reminder of the night’s ordeals.

She didn’t wait for his permission. She stepped past him, her voice quiet but iron-willed.

“I am drenched, I am freezing, and I am utterly spent, Leon. I will change my clothes, and only then shall we speak.”

She walked away without looking back, leaving behind the sting of his wounded pride and the flickering shadow of Mathias’s mounting dread.

Matthias watched his brother with piercing, inquisitive eyes, waiting for an explanation that never surfaced. Leon remained as still as a tombstone, a statue carved from sullen silence.

After a time, Olivia entered the guest drawing-room. She found him seated there in a rigid, frozen posture, looking for all the world like a man lost in a wasteland of his own making.

She took a seat opposite him, her voice cutting through the heavy air. “Well then, Leon? What is it you want? And what is the meaning of those venomous looks? You look as though you are seconds away from challenging me to a duel.”

Leon did not offer an immediate retort. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a fractured, mournful tone. “Does it please you, what you do? Do you truly find joy in turning people into mere tools to satiate your greed?”

Olivia leaned back, a delicate shadow of mockery dancing across her features. “My, my… it seems you truly are itching for a war with me,” she remarked dryly.

He ignored the barb, his eyes searching hers with a desperate, frantic intensity. “You are pathetic—to emotionally prey upon someone of her kindness.”

Olivia sighed, the thin thread of her patience finally snapping. “Prey? Exploitation? What on earth are you rambling about, man? I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean.”

Leon’s knuckles turned bone-white as he gripped the chair. He took a ragged breath and spat his poison: “I am speaking of my wife, of course.”

The teacup in Olivia’s hand froze in mid-air. For a fraction of a second, it felt as though the world had tilted on its axis. She blinked, her mind momentarily struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the accusation. But as the weight of his words sank in, the shock did not curdle into rage; instead, it blossomed into a dark, wicked amusement.

She lowered the cup slowly onto its saucer, a predatory, feline smile curling her lips. She took a deliberate, lingering sip of the tea, her eyes shimmering with a lethal spark of mischief.

“Mmm…” she murmured, her voice draped in a playful malice. “So, you’ve finally figured it out, have you?”

Leon recoiled as if struck, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. “Then… then it is true?”

“Of course it is true,” she replied, her tone terrifyingly casual. “Why would I lie to you about something so… profound?”

“How?” Leon whispered, his mind a whirlwind of shattered images of his marriage. “I don’t understand… how could this—”

She cut him off, her voice dripping with an overflow of theatrical, feigned emotion. “Well, that is a question you shall have to answer yourself, isn’t it?”

She turned her head away, her shoulders beginning to quiver. She tried to stifle the sound, but it was futile. A second later, she erupted into a fit of violent laughter so intense she had to clutch her stomach. Tea slopped from her cup, staining the delicate lace tablecloth as she bent double, her laughter ringing sharp and jarring through the silent room.

Leon watched her, his expression hardening into cold stone. “You were lying… weren’t you?”

Olivia tried to answer, but she was gasping for air, genuine tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Leon!” she managed to choke out between peals of laughter. “You truly are the greatest simpleton humanity has ever produced!”

She straightened herself, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand as she slowly regained her breath. “You come to me, blaming me because your wife doesn’t shower you with the same attention she gives me? What business is that of mine? Do not dump your pathetic insecurities at my door.”

Leon spoke, his voice trembling with a volatile mixture of wounded pride and simmering fury. “Ha! Truly hysterical… Stop laughing, Olivia. Now.”

“It’s… it’s impossible to stop,” she wheezed, her hand still pressed firmly against her stomach. “Especially when it concerns you. This is officially the greatest day of my life, you absolute simpleton!”

At that, the frayed thread of Leon’s patience finally snapped. Without a word of warning, he reached for the water goblet on the table and flung its contents directly into her face.

Olivia’s laughter died in a sudden, sodden gasp. She sat frozen, water dripping from her eyelashes and chin, seeping into the collar of her fresh gown.

“What? Not again… You… you—”

“I thought a little water might finally bring you to your senses,” Leon retorted, his eyes flashing with a cold, sharp triumph.

Olivia did not argue, nor did she scream. Instead, she bit her lip in suppressed rage, her eyes narrowing into two slits of lethal intent. In one fluid, practiced motion, she snatched up her teacup and hurled the lukewarm dregs straight at his chest.

“There. Now we are even.”

A heavy, morose silence descended upon the room. They sat there, both damp and disheveled, glaring at one another across the table with a smoldering, mutual resentment.

“Why,” Olivia asked at last, her tone returning to a jagged seriousness, “did you ask me that idiotic question moments ago?”

Leon slumped back into his chair, the crushing weight of exhaustion returning to his frame. “Because… in truth, she is the one who told me she loves you.”

“I truly don’t know how to answer that.”

“There is no need. I have had quite enough ’answers’ for one day.”

He rose, moving toward the door without a backward glance. “Regardless, I am leaving now. Thank you for… your time.”

As he reached the threshold, Olivia whispered to his retreating back. “She does love you, you know.”

He caught the words just before he vanished into the hall. “Yes,” he replied, his voice heavy with irony. “That much is perfectly clear.”

Olivia retreated to her chambers, where Kira began the tedious task of peeling away her ruined gown. No sooner had the fresh silk settled against her skin than the door groaned open without so much as a polite knock. Olivia didn’t need to turn around to know who had intruded.

“Olivia,” Isabella whispered, her voice fractured and thin.

Olivia shot her a jagged look over her shoulder. “Do you not possess hands to knock with, woman?”

Isabella stepped further into the room, her face a ghostly pallor. “Is this truly the time for your biting sarcasm?”

“I have had quite enough drama from your husband,” Olivia remarked sharply. “And now, I suppose, it is your turn.”

“Leon?”

“Yes, Leon. Regardless, what brings you here with that haunted look in your eyes?”

Isabella offered no verbal reply. Instead, she crossed to Olivia’s bureau, her fingers trembling as she retrieved a scrap of parchment she had concealed earlier. She pressed it firmly into Olivia’s palm.

“What is this?” Olivia asked, her brow furrowing as she unfurled the paper.

“Do you remember mentioning a woman named Iris? She came. She left this for you.”

Olivia’s eyes swept over the jagged, hurried script. A heavy silence filled the room, stretching until it became stifling.

“What does it say?” Isabella pressed, stepping closer. “What is the message about?”

“It is what Iris managed to extract from the memory of the ’Soul Orb,’” Olivia murmured, her voice distant. “It is a name… a type of poison. But my memory is failing me.”

“In fact,” Isabella added, “she said it had a direct connection to Elvira.”

“Elvira… Elvira…” Olivia repeated the name like a curse. That madwoman—what poison could it be?

“The Lesser Death… Elvira… Elvira…” Suddenly, Olivia’s hand spasmed, her knuckles white as she crushed the parchment into a tight ball within her fist.

“What is it, Olivia? Why has your expression turned so dark?”

Olivia turned to her, her gaze sharpening into something terrifyingly cold. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper, hushed and deadly.

“This… this poison. Elvira gave it to me months ago. It was meant for me to kill Matthias.”

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