Chapter 71: The Rat in the Trap

A sound scratched at the silence of the room—a wet, muffled friction of vocal cords straining against cloth. “Mmm… mmm… please… someone…”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. The voice was a pathetic thing: frail, trembling, and saturated with the stench of raw terror. It was the sound of someone who knew they were already halfway into their own grave.

“What is that?” Olivia asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous low.

Isabella’s lips curled into a predatory smirk, a look that sat unnervingly well on her features. “Didn’t I tell you? I found the little rat. To save us the walk, I decided to bring the party to you.”

Olivia followed the sound toward the bathing chamber, and the air shifted, growing heavy with the smell of salt and cold sweat. There, anchored in the center of the tiled floor, was one of the housemaids. She was bound to a wooden chair with a brutal efficiency—thick cords bit deep into her wrists, turning the skin a mottled purple.

A filthy rag was shoved into her mouth and lashed behind her head, though it failed to swallow the jagged sobs leaking from her throat. Her eyes were blown wide, bloodshot and streaming with tears, tracking Olivia like a cornered animal watching a butcher.

Olivia turned, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp as glass. “Isabella… how the hell did you manage this? Did no one see you? If Mathias had walked in—how could you be so reckless?”

Isabella leaned against the doorframe with a chilling nonchalance, her posture radiating a confidence that felt entirely disconnected from the whimpering woman a few feet away. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled an envelope from her bodice and flicked it toward Olivia.

The wax seal. The jagged, aristocratic script. It was a perfect twin to the letters Isabella had been receiving from the viper himself—Duke Tharon.

“Mathias and Leon left a while ago with Kyle and Leila,” Isabella said, her voice smooth as silk. “The Emperor summoned them. The castle is practically ours for the taking.”

“I see…” Olivia murmured, her gaze returning to the bound girl. “But how did you confirm it was her?”

“She’s the courier. The one who spent the last few weeks slipping Tharon’s poison into my hands under the guise of service,” Isabella replied, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the maid. “I did a little digging in her quarters. Beneath the floorboards, I found a stash of letters bearing that same godforsaken seal. I told you I’d find her, Olivia. And here she is.”

Olivia stepped closer to the chair, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the stone. She reached out, her fingers grazing the maid’s tear-streaked face with a terrifying, mock tenderness.

“Well then,” Olivia whispered, leaning down until her breath fanned the girl’s frantic eyes. “Since you’ve been so diligent in delivering messages, it’s only fair we give you one to take back. Though I doubt you’ll be using your hands to carry it.”

Olivia’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine admiration piercing through her cold exterior. “This… this is exquisite,” she murmured, glancing from the trembling captive to the woman standing so casually by the door. “But tell me, Isabella, how did you manage to drag this filth all the way to my chambers without a single soul noticing?”

Isabella gave a nonchalant shrug, as if discussing the weather rather than a kidnapping. “Oh, nothing so complicated. I simply had Kira send word that the Duchess required her presence. She came wagging her tail quite willingly. The rest,” she added with a dark glint in her eyes, “was elementary.”

Olivia arched an eyebrow. “And ’the rest’ entailed…?”

Isabella’s smirk deepened into something truly sinister. “Subjugation. Kira pinned her down, and I… well, let’s just say I made use of that blue vase on the pedestal. Don’t fret over it; I’ll find you a much finer replacement once we’re finished here.”

A dry, sharp smile tugged at Olivia’s lips. Damn it, she thought, Isabella is becoming a smaller, sharper blade forged in my own image. It was true what they said: live among wolves long enough, and you’ll find your own fangs beginning to sprout.

Olivia stepped toward the shivering maid, her features hardening into a mask of glacial cruelty. She began to circle the chair, her movements slow and predatory, a hunter savoring the scent of a cornered kill.

“Well, well, well,” she whispered, her voice a low vibration. “What do we have here? A filthy little sewer rat caught in the trap.”

With a violent jerk, Olivia tore the gag from the girl’s mouth.

The maid erupted into a panicked shriek immediately, her voice cracking with terror. “Please! Please! I don’t know what Lady Isabella told you, but I swear on my life, none of it is true! I beg of you, Your Grace, believe me!”

Olivia tilted her head, feigning a moment of contemplative doubt. “So… you are suggesting that Isabella is lying to me?”

A flash of pathetic hope ignited in the girl’s bloodshot eyes. “Yes! Yes, Your Grace! She’s lying just to make me look like a villain. You cannot trust her—she covets your title! She wants your power for herself!”

Olivia let out a soft, melodic hum, casting a sly, sidelong glance at Isabella. “And here I thought my sister-in-law was incapable of such treachery. Tell me, Isabella, why are you casting your sins upon the innocent? Why do you plot to usurp my place?”

Isabella caught the cue instantly, letting out a low, mocking laugh as she joined the charade. “What can I say, Your Grace? I am a creature of envy and spite. It’s simply in my nature.”

The maid’s face lit up with a sickening radiance; she straightened in her chair, a fool believing she had snatched victory from the jaws of death. But the delusion shattered in a heartbeat.

Crack.

Olivia’s palm collided with the maid’s cheek in a blow so violent it echoed off the bathroom tiles. The girl’s head snapped to the side, her gasp of triumph turning into a strangled wail as a blooming, crimson welt rose instantly against her pale skin.

The maid’s lips trembled, a pathetic, broken sound escaping her as tears carved tracks through the grime on her face. “Y-Your Grace…” she whimpered, her voice barely a thread.

Olivia’s hand shot out, her fingers clamping around the girl’s jaw like a steel trap. She wrenched the maid’s face upward, forcing her to look into the abyss of her cold, sapphire eyes. A thin, glacial smile spread across Olivia’s lips.

“Oh, spare me the pitiful wailing,” Olivia hissed, her breath ghosting over the girl’s terrified features. “Do you truly think me so dense that I would take the word of a gutter-born rat over my own blood? Your acting is as cheap as your loyalty.”

Olivia let out a laugh—low, sharp, and utterly devoid of mercy. It was the sound of a guillotine blade sliding home, severing the last fragile thread of the maid’s hope.

Panic surged anew, and the maid spiraled back into a frantic stream of denials. “My Lady, I swear! I have nothing to do with this! I never sent messages to Lady Elvira! Please, you must believe me!”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed into lethal slits. The predatory tilt of her mouth grew more pronounced. “Funny…” she whispered, her voice dangerously silky. “I don’t recall ever mentioning Elvira’s name. That was a remarkably honest confession, little rat. Remarkable, and incredibly stupid.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, a heavy velvet curtain dropped over the room. The maid’s breath hitched, her lungs seizing as her voice shriveled into a pathetic, shuddering heap. She had tightened her own noose.

Olivia turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking to the shadow in the corner. “Kira,” she commanded softly. “Bring it.”

Kira bowed and vanished from the room like a ghost. Isabella watched with a morbid, electric curiosity, her pulse visible in the hollow of her throat. “What exactly is she bringing?” she asked, unable to mask the thrill of anticipation in her tone.

“You’ll see,” Olivia replied, her voice flat. “If your stomach is weak, Isabella, leave now. I won’t have you fainting on my floor.”

Kira returned almost instantly, carrying a heavy, coarse burlap sack that clattered with a dull, metallic weight. She moved toward the captive with practiced, chilling efficiency. She loosened the ropes just enough to wrench the girl’s wrists forward, binding them together in front of her body, before shoving the gag back into her mouth with a brutal force that made the maid’s jaw creak.

“Kira, the table, and engage the sonic barrier. I want no one to hear the music I’m about to play.” Olivia directed.

They produced a heavy wooden board, scarred and stained, and slammed it down onto the stone surface. Kira forced the maid’s trembling hands onto the wood, pinning them flat. Olivia turned, finding Isabella still standing there, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“Ah… Isabella. Still here?” Olivia asked, a mockingly dark glint in her eyes. “Are you quite certain you wish to stay? What happens next is not for the faint of heart. It tends to get… messy.”

Isabella swallowed hard, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe, but she didn’t flinch. “It’s fine,” she whispered, her voice hardening. “I think I can endure it.”

Olivia reached into the sack Kira had brought, her fingers closing around a heavy, iron-headed mallet. She weighed it in her hand, the cold metal reflecting the flickering candlelight.

“Good,” Olivia said, her voice dropping to a low, guttural purr. “Then pay close attention. This is how we deal with rot in this house.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep