Chapter 69: The Wrong Target

“You’re awake?” she whispered, the words barely catching the air.

“As it turns out… yes,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her.

“Since when?”

A faint, knowing shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Since you started grumbling about the unfairness of me drifting in dreams while you remained tethered to the waking world.”

Olivia froze. She searched for a retort—a witty shield to hide behind—but her mind was a blank canvas. Sensing her sudden urge to flee, she moved to stand, but his hand was swifter. With a firm yet gentle tug, he pulled her back into the sanctuary of his embrace.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured, his eyes scanning her face with clinical intensity. “You only ever seek me out when you’re standing on the precipice of a collapse. You look like a ghost of yourself, Olivia. Stop playing the part of the ice queen and just… stay.”

Normally, she would have fought him. She would have clawed for her independence. But the thought of returning to the suffocating silence of her own room—to the cacophony of voices echoing in her mind—was unbearable.

“Can you just… hold me?” she asked, her voice cracking.

He looked down at her, struck by how fragile she seemed, like a bird with broken wings. Without a word, he tightened his arms, enveloping her completely until she felt shielded from the world.

“Is this enough?”

“More,” she breathed.

He pulled her closer still, their ribs pressing against each other until their heartbeats seemed to sync in a rhythmic cadence.

“Olivia?” he asked softly, his tone shifting to one of genuine concern. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

She let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “You’re acting with such grace, even though we’re at war. You truly are an enigma.”

He pulled back slightly, confusion knitting his brow. “At war? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Are you joking?” She looked at him. “Well, We haven’t spoken for nearly two weeks. Of course we’re fighting. You’re furious with me because I kept the truth buried… because I didn’t tell you that it was my father who took your mother’s life.”

“Who said I was angry with you?” he countered, his voice steady, devoid of the malice she had imagined.

“Why would I hold a grudge against you? It wasn’t your hand that struck the blow.”

Olivia blinked, searching his face for a lie. “What? Then why have you been avoiding me? I understood if you couldn’t stand the sight of me, but to ignore me so completely… even Isabella noticed the distance.”

He fell silent for a heartbeat, his gaze drifting toward the shadows of the room.

“I wasn’t avoiding you out of spite,” he admitted quietly.

“I was haunted by the memory of how I blamed you—how I shouted in your face when I first made the accusation. I thought it would be unbearable for you if I acted as though nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t wounded you with my words.”

A small, weary smile played on her lips. “Well, you certainly were a bastard for that,” she whispered, “but I don’t blame you. I’ve never truly known the meaning of the word ’mother,’ so I suppose your grief is a language I don’t speak. You’re excused.”

She leaned her head against his chest, the weight of the confession draining the last of her energy. “Anyway, I’m exhausted. Let me sleep.”

“Rest then,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Just sleep.”

She drifted off almost instantly, her breathing slowing into a rhythmic calm. He remained awake for a long while, a silent sentinel watching the rise and fall of her shoulders until sleep finally claimed him too.

When Olivia finally opened her eyes, she was met by a pair of emerald depths watching her with unsettling intensity.

“You’re going to burn a hole through my face if you keep staring like that,” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep.

He chuckled softly, not breaking his gaze. “Usually, a wife greets her husband with sweet words and a kiss, not a complaint. But then again, you’ve never been ’usual.’”

” But you know It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shifting to get up. “I’m getting up.”

But before she could retreat, she lunged forward, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him down into a deep, startling kiss. His eyes widened in shock, his body freezing for a fraction of a second before the heat of the moment took hold.

When they finally broke apart, their breath came in hot, shallow gasps.

“Good morning, darling,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you satisfied now? Good. Because I’m going back to sleep.”

A rich, genuine laugh erupted from his chest as she buried herself back under the covers, looking half-conscious and entirely stubborn.

“Yes, more than satisfied,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Sleep, then. But don’t stay under too long; your brother is expected at the manor today.”

Her sleepiness was far greater than her curiosity. “I don’t care,” she mumbled into the pillow. “You welcome him. I’m staying right here.”

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, rising from the bed. “I’ll play the host. Sleep until then.”

At the grand gates of the manor, Kyle arrived like a conquering hero, flanked by Leila and Anne. His face radiated a triumphant glow, a man no longer burdened by the need for secrecy. He moved with a newfound pride, wordlessly declaring to the world that Leila was, at last, his wife.

“Leon! My friend!” Kyle bellowed, throwing himself into a boisterous embrace with Leon.

“Easy, man, easy,” Leon chuckled, patting his back. “What brings you here at this hour? You’re a married man with a child now, Kyle, yet you still behave like a restless schoolboy.”

He then turned toward Leila with a playful bow. “My apologies, sister. It seems we did you a grave injustice by marrying you off to this fool.”

Leila’s laughter rang out. It was a scene of pure domestic bliss—for almost everyone. Standing apart from the warmth, Isabella watched them with a gaze as cold as flint. The revelations Olivia had whispered the night before seemed to have burned away any capacity for joy, leaving her face a mask of frozen indifference.

“So,” Kyle announced, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, “where is that insufferable nuisance who dared oppose our union?”

“Are you truly going to provoke Mathias the moment you arrive?” Leon asked, sighing.

“Absolutely. I’ve waited far too long for this satisfaction.”

“He’s in his quarters,” Leon replied. “He worked late into the night; he’s likely still dead to the world.”

Without a second thought, Kyle stormed into Mathias’s chambers. “Good morning, you bastard!” he roared, grabbing a silk pillow and hurling it toward the bed. He leaned over the shrouded figure beneath the sheets, whispering with mock venom, “I’ve married your sister, you coward. Face me now, you villain!”

He threw another pillow for good measure. Behind him, the group watched in stunned silence. Leila face-palmed, her cheeks flushing with second-hand embarrassment.

“Kyle, that’s enough,” she hissed. “If Mathias wakes up in this mood, he’ll kill you. He’s only tolerated you this far out of Saint-like patience.”

“Nonsense! He’s just a coward hiding under the duvet,” Kyle scoffed.

At that moment, the bathroom door clicked open. Mathias stepped out, thankfully fully dressed, drying his damp hair with a towel. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing at the intruder.

“And who exactly are you calling a coward?” Mathias asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Kyle froze. He looked to the right, seeing Mathias standing there, very much awake and very much not in bed.

“If you’re standing there…” Kyle stammered, his gaze drifting back to the occupied bed, “then who the hell was I hitting?”

“In fact, She is —” Mathias began, but Kyle didn’t let him finish.

She?…

The realization hit Kyle like a physical blow. Veins pulsed in his neck as his face contورت with sudden, violent rage. Before anyone could react, Kyle swung his fist, a brutal blow that sent Mathias staggering to the floor.

“Hey! What is wrong with you?” Leon shouted, stepping forward. The room was thick with confusion; even Leon’s expression had soured into one of profound disappointment.

Isabella leaned in, whispering harshly to Leon, “We left Olivia’s room late last night… so who is this woman? Could he really have…?”

Kyle wasn’t finished. He lunged at Mathias again, but Mathias shoved him back.

“Calm down, man! Let me explain!”

But Kyle’s fury had crossed a point of no return. He drew his sword, the cold steel singing as it came to rest against Mathias’s throat. Leon rushed forward, gripping the blade to keep it from drawing blood. “Kyle, stand down! We can resolve this!”

“Resolve it?” Kyle spat, his voice trembling with disgust. “How can he do this to Olivia? To bring a whore into his bed while his wife suffers?”

Mathias went silent, his expression unreadable.

“Answer me!” Kyle roared. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Mathias didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly shifted his gaze toward the bed. “Hmm… Kyle? You might want to look behind you.”

Kyle turned, his breath hitching in his throat. Emerging from the tangled sheets, two piercing blue eyes stared back at him—heavy with sleep, but burning with an icy, terrifying indignation.

“Olivia?” Kyle gasped.

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