Chapter 83: The Pride that Blinds

He looked at her with a smile so bitter it felt like a physical blow. Olivia, finally shaking off the lingering haze of the morning, looked back at him with a flicker of confusion.

“What do you mean by that? I didn’t hear you clearly,” she asked, her voice laced with a growing, defensive agitation.

His eyes raked over her. She wasn’t wearing her usual silks or the Luceron colors; she was dressed in simple, nondescript garments designed to vanish into the shadows. To him, it was the uniform of a woman returning from a clandestine tryst. He leaned in until his face was mere centimeters from hers, his breath cold against her skin.

“Hmm… my sweet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “The kissing, the lingering touches, the scene you just performed… it was a masterful performance. You truly deserve a standing ovation.”

“I am truly not in the mood for a quarrel this early in the morning,” she snapped back, her exhaustion fraying her temper.

“Hmm… that wasn’t how it seemed just a moment ago.”

The implication hit her like a bucket of ice water. She realized exactly what he thought he had seen. “How dare you speak to me that way!” Olivia hissed, her face flushing with indignant rage.

She raised her hand to slap the mocking, wounded look off his face, but Matthias caught her wrist mid-air. His grip wasn’t violent, but it was absolute—unyielding steel.

“Not this time, Olivia,” he whispered, his eyes dark with a pain he was fighting to hide. “Not this time. I have overlooked many things. I have made excuses for your coldness and your secrets. But even I have my limits.”

“Matthias, listen to me—”

“There is no need to listen,” he interrupted, releasing her hand as if it burned him. “I won’t bother you anymore. Things will simply return to the way they were before. A cold house. A silent marriage.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to leave. Before he walked away, he spoke in a whisper so heavy with sorrow it cracked the air between them.

“And here I was… thinking you had changed. I feel like a fool.”

He walked away without looking back, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard. Olivia pushed her hair back with trembling fingers, her heart racing. “I’ll deal with him later,” she muttered to herself, her pride masking her guilt. “I don’t know what has gotten into him.”

In the Solitude of the Room

She retreated to her chambers and bolted the door, the silence of the room finally allowing the weight of the last twenty-four hours to crash down upon her. She was beyond exhausted—physically broken and mentally frayed.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the empty glass vial she had managed to hide before passing out in Cedric’s arms. She held it up to the light, watching the last few droplets of the amber liquid coat the glass.

I need to know exactly what was in that toxin, she thought, her eyes narrowing. My father and Elvira would never play a game this simple. This isn’t just a threat to bring me to a meeting… there is more to this story. There is always a second sting.

She retreated into the sanctuary of her chambers, the heavy click of the bolt acting as a final barrier between her and the world’s madness. She was utterly spent—shattered by the poison, the confrontation with her father, and the freezing disdain in Matthias’s eyes.

Collapsing onto the velvet chaise lounge near the hearth, she watched the embers dance in the grate, their warmth failing to reach the chill in her bones. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the empty glass vial, the residue of the antidote shimmering like a dying star under the firelight. She examined it with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

I need to know exactly what they injected into my veins, she thought darkly. My father and Elvira are not practitioners of simple cruelty. There is always a hidden barb, a second layer to the agony. This story is far from over.

A soft, hesitant tapping at the door interrupted her grim reflections—a knock so faint it seemed afraid of being caught.

“Enter,” Olivia rasped.

Isabella slipped into the room with feline grace, followed closely by Keira. The maid gave a deep, respectful curtsy, her voice thick with relief. “Thank the heavens you are safe, my Lady.”

Isabella, however, bypassed all formalities. She rushed to the chaise and sat beside Olivia, her face a mask of frantic agitation. “For pity’s sake, Olivia! Why were you so late? You promised to return before the first light of dawn!”

Olivia let out a weary, frustrated sigh. “I intended to. But my body betrayed me. The poison took its toll, and I lost consciousness.”

“And are you truly well now?” Isabella pressed, her eyes searching Olivia’s pale face. “What happened between you and your father?”

Olivia leaned back, closing her eyes. “We had a… fascinating conversation. But as a result, I was forced to spend the night at Cedric’s estate.”

“Cedric?” Isabella’s voice rose an octave, her brow furrowing. “You speak of him so familiarly? And you spent the night there?”

Isabella’s gaze sharpened with a sudden, piercing suspicion—a look mirrored by Keira, who stood frozen by the door.

“What is it?” Olivia asked, glancing between them. “Why are you both looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head?”

Isabella turned her head slightly toward the maid. “Keira, would you mind giving us a moment of privacy?”

The maid bowed instantly and retreated, the click of the door echoing in the tense silence. Isabella leaned in, her eyes locked onto Olivia’s with unwavering intensity.

“Olivia,” she began, her voice dropping to a low, deadly serious whisper. “Be honest with me. I need the truth, no matter how bitter it is. Are you… involved in a romantic affair with Cedric Alistair?”

Olivia looked at her with blatant disdain, a harsh laugh escaping her lips. “Me? In a relationship with that lunatic? Have you lost your mind? Besides, I am a married woman—or has that fact slipped your notice?”

“I know you’re married,” Isabella countered, her voice cautious yet firm. “But spending the night at his estate… well, how do I put this delicately?”

“Speak plainly! I slept there, fine. Perhaps it was a mistake in judgment, but why this dramatic interrogation? I was his guest, nothing more.”

“Olivia, have you forgotten? He is your former lover. Of course the rumors are spreading like wildfire!”

Olivia froze, her eyes widening in genuine shock. “Wait, wait, wait… my what? Former lover? Are you joking? What kind of absolute nonsense are you spewing? Whose lover?”

Isabella bit her lip, retreating slightly. “Yours?”

Olivia surged to her feet, her exhaustion replaced by a searing, white-hot fury. “I think things have become dangerously muddled. I am not some harlot who drifts from one man to another, and I am certainly not the type to take a lover while I am wed. Whatever you’ve heard is a lie. Is this why that fool was so enraged this morning?”

“Fool?”

Olivia narrowed her eyes scornfully. “Matthias. Who else? We had a… disagreement at the palace gates.”

“A disagreement? About what?” Isabella asked, her anxiety peaking.

“Nothing of substance. He is merely hallucinating events that never happened.”

Isabella took a deep breath, trying to anchor her friend. “Olivia, would you kindly do me the favor of telling me exactly what happened? Please.”

“Fine,” Olivia sighed, pacing the room. “I returned in the carriage with Cedric. And… he was talking nonsense as usual. ’My sweet,’ and so on. You know how men of his temperament are.”

Isabella let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “He called you ’my sweet.’ Wonderful. Is there more?”

“He demanded a lock of my hair, and I gave it to him. Spare me the lecture on why I did it.”

“And you gave it to him… right in front of Matthias? And don’t tell me these are the clothes you were wearing when you faced him…”

“Yes. Why, Isabella?”

“Olivia,” Isabella said, her voice dropping to a somber tone. “Your logical intelligence is boundless, but your emotional intelligence is below zero. Do you realize that?”

“Hey!” Olivia snapped.

“Truly, Olivia. If I were your wife and I were in Matthias’s shoes, I would have divorced you on the spot. Do you have any idea how this looks? To the world, you look like you’re in the middle of a torrid affair. That is my opinion. You need to clarify things with him—immediately.”

Isabella glanced at the clock on the mantle and stood up abruptly. “Forgive me, I must leave now. Leon has begun to suspect my every move because of my association with you. I need to maintain some boundaries for a while.”

“Oh. Fine. If that’s how it is, then go.”

Once Isabella had vanished, Keira slipped back into the room. “Change my clothes,” Olivia commanded, her voice flat. Keira worked quickly, stripping away the nondescript traveling garments and replacing them with a gown that felt more like a suit of armor.

Olivia sat in the deepening shadows of her room until evening bled into night. Finally, she stood up, her resolve hardening.

“He is a fool for believing those rumors,” she whispered to the empty room. “But I suppose I must be the one to set things right.”

In the Duchy of Tharon, Duke Roland had finally returned to his stronghold. He made his way directly to Elvira’s chambers, but the moment he stepped across the threshold, the soles of his boots were stained by a spreading crimson tide.

The room was a scene of visceral, blood-soaked devastation; the bodies of maids lay scattered like broken dolls across the floor, their lifeblood painting the walls in a horrific display of ruin.

Amidst the carnage stood Elvira. She had pinned one remaining maid against the wall, her hand clamped tight around the girl’s throat while the other rhythmically buried a dagger into her abdomen. Upon spotting her father, she released the lifeless body with a nonchalant shrug and hurried toward him, throwing herself into his arms with a childlike embrace.

“Papa… you’re finally here,” she chirped, her voice eerily sweet against the backdrop of death.

“Yes, my pure angel, I am here,” Roland murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as if they were standing in a sunlit garden rather than a slaughterhouse.

“Papa, did you find Mother?” she asked, pulling back to look at him with wide, hungry eyes. “Did that little rat Olivia tell you where she is hiding?”

Roland let out a heavy sigh, adjusting his coat. “Not yet. But I am closer than ever to finding her. Do not fret, my love.”

Elvira recoiled from his embrace, her face twisting into a mask of sudden, sharp fury. “I told you to let me meet her! I would have taught her a lesson she’d never forget! I would have carved the truth out of her!”

Roland tucked his hands into his pockets with a weary groan. “And that is exactly why I didn’t let you near her. You would have ended the game by killing her, and then we would be the ones entangled in the mess. Patience, my dear. Take everything slowly.”

A wicked, calculating smirk spread across Elvira’s lips as she wiped a stray droplet of blood from her cheek. “You’re right, Father. It seems my dear sister hasn’t learned from her previous losses. Perhaps it’s time I prepared a new gift for her.”

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