Chapter 92: A Terrifying Confession

His eyes had pierced through her very being, carrying a weight of betrayal so profound it mirrored the look he had given her in their previous life. She wanted to scream, to explain, to weep—but her lips remained sealed by a cruel necessity.

He walked toward the door, pausing only to cast one final, lingering shadow over the room. “I wish you a good night,” he murmured, his voice a ghost of its former strength.

Once Matthias vanished, leaving the room hollow and cold, Olivia stared at the door for several minutes. Her body felt like lead, her mind a fractured mess.

She sought refuge in a bath, hoping the water would wash away the scent of smoke and Cedric’s touch, but the exhaustion was bone-deep. She finally collapsed onto the bed, craving the oblivion of sleep.

Yet sleep was a cruel stranger. Elvira’s jagged promise to drag her back to the depths echoed in the silence. An hour crawled by, the clock ticking like a heartbeat in the dark, her eyes wide and burning. Then, a series of faint, rhythmic raps pierced the oppressive quiet.

“Who goes there?” she whispered, sitting up.

Isabella entered without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes were vacant, drained of the spark that once defined her. She fixed Olivia with a chillingly detached stare. “It is I,” she said, her voice flat and lifeless.

“Isabella? What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

On the opposite side of the castle, Matthias retreated into the sanctuary of his private chambers. He slumped onto the sofa near the hearth, the dying embers of the fire casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. He laid out the medical kit and his cigarettes on the low table before him, the silver glinting in the dim light.

With a grimace, he began to tend to the raw burns on his hand himself. He poured the medicinal alcohol directly over the scorched flesh; the liquid sizzled against the wound, a searing agony that would have made any other man cry out.

But Matthias didn’t flinch. He watched the skin bubble and sting with a detached intensity, as if the physical pain were a welcome distraction from the rot in his heart.

He moved with mechanical precision, binding the linen around his hand, his face a mask of stoic endurance. Every drop of alcohol that stung his hand was a reminder of the fire—and the woman who had dropped the lantern.

He heard the familiar creak of the door swinging open, but he did not turn. The stinging scent of alcohol and the heavy weight of his own thoughts kept his gaze fixed on his bandaged hand.

“Leon, I know it is you. What could possibly bring you here at this hour?”

“You know exactly why I’m here,” Leon replied, his voice heavy with a gravity that didn’t suit his usual lighthearted nature. He sank into a side sofa, his eyes locked onto his brother. “Matthias… is it true? What I heard from the knights—what Olivia did?”

“Regrettably, yes,” Matthias answered, his voice devoid of any warmth.

“And what did you do?”

Matthias shot him a sharp, sidelong glance. “I compensated Joffrey for his home. He has been settled.”

“I meant with Olivia,” Leon pressed, leaning forward. “I know about Joffrey. But what about her? Man, she has dragged your name through the mire.”

Matthias finished securing the dressing on his hand, then reached for a cigarette. The strike of the match flickered in the dimly lit room as he inhaled deeply.

“You’ve started smoking again? Are you truly alright, brother?”

Matthias sighed—a sound of profound, weary exhaustion. “I don’t know, Leon. I simply don’t know. I had an… altercation with the Duke of Aleister as well.”

Leon’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “What? Have you lost your mind? Why? Do you wish to rot in a dungeon?”

“He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he wants her for himself,” Matthias growled, the muscles in his jaw corded with suppressed rage. “That wretch covets my wife. Can you fathom the audacity?”

Leon swallowed hard, the weight of the political catastrophe sinking in. “But truly, Matthias… you shouldn’t have struck him. Not a man of his standing.”

“To hell with him! The next time he even dares to draw near her, I will sever his head from his shoulders.”

“Easy, man! Sever his head?” Leon cried, his voice rising in alarm. “The man is one of the most powerful Dukes in the kingdom. Have you gone completely mad?”

“I am not mad, Leon,” Matthias hissed, the fire in his eyes eclipsing the glow of his cigarette. “You didn’t see the filth in his smile as he spoke those words. And to top it all, he dragged Olivia into an embrace right before my eyes—deliberately. The man is a viper.”

“Ah, I truly don’t know what to say anymore,” Matthias muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “He is a scoundrel, and Olivia… Olivia is driving me to the brink of insanity. I’ve begun to feel as though I am truly losing my mind.”

“Why? What do you mean?” Leon asked, leaning in.

“Why?” Matthias crushed his cigarette into the tray only to immediately strike a candle and light another. “When I saw her in that wretch’s arms, I felt as though my heart had been physically torn from my chest. It was a bizarre sensation—a pain far more agonizing than any physical wound. A wretched, suffocating feeling.”

Leon narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “What exactly are you implying?”

Matthias looked toward his brother, his expression a haunting map of confusion and lost pride. “The fact that I couldn’t even bring myself to raise my voice at her—even after she trampled my reputation into the dust—is killing me. The fact that I find myself instinctively defending even her sins… it is a terrifying, painful thing.”

Leon stared at him in utter disbelief. A thought raced through his mind: Should I tell him what this means? Or will he simply curse me for speaking the truth? No, let him find out on his own. He cleared his throat, attempting to shift the mood. “Perhaps the pain is just the shock from the fire. Don’t overthink it. Olivia is simply being herself; don’t escalate the matter.”

Matthias shot him a look of biting derision. “Are you truly an idiot, or are you merely playing one? The pain of the fire? Is that the best excuse you could conjure?”

Leon let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, alright, you caught me. So, tell me then, O Great Duke of Locron, what is it?”

Matthias covered his eyes with his hand, dropping the cigarette as he let out a sigh that seemed to echo from the very depths of his soul. He took a sharp breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling too heavy to breathe. He looked at Leon with a guarded, sidelong gaze, cursing under his breath.

​”Damn it… damn it all,” he hissed, his voice trembling with a vulnerability he had never known.

He gripped the edge of the table until his bandaged hand began to bleed again.

“My mind is a mess, Leon. I don’t know if this sensation is real or just a cruel trick of my imagination born from this chaos… but I’ve begun to fear the unthinkable.”

​He looked at his brother, his eyes dark with a terrifying honesty.

​”I think…, I don’t know, but, I think I am falling in love with her.”

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