Chapter 95: Debt

Olivia remained frozen in a stony silence. There was no point in arguing with her father; she had learned long ago that words were merely fuel for his cruelty. She would simply let him vent his malice upon her until his bloodlust subsided—it was a losing game she had played a thousand times before.

But Edward could no longer endure the sight of her suffering. “Leave her be,” he rasped, his voice cutting through the gloom. “And I will do it.”

The Duke paused, leaning back as he set the dagger aside with a clatter. “What?”

“The recording… or whatever it is you demand,” Edward repeated, his eyes fixed on Olivia’s trembling form. “Just let the girl go.”

A jagged, mocking laughter erupted from her father. “Fools pitying fools. How utterly enchanting. Very well, Olivia—you’ve escaped your punishment this time. But do not think I will be so merciful the next.”

He strode toward Edward, thrusting a small silver orb toward his face. “Then speak, you wretch. You’ve saved me the tedious effort of breaking your bones every morning. Had I known she was your weakness, I would have crushed her skull before your eyes weeks ago.”

Edward’s lips moved, reciting the scripted lies forced upon him. When it was finished, the Duke looked at them both with a sneer of utter revulsion. “Enjoy your little sanctuary, you pathetic creatures. You are both sickening.”

Once the iron door slammed shut, Olivia spoke, her voice thick with a bitter, jagged grief. “You shouldn’t have done that. You promised… you said you would protect your daughter and never let them use you against her.”

Edward leaned his head back against the weeping stone, a weary, peaceful smile on his bloodied lips. “I do love my daughter, little one. But a single recording will not change the bitter reality of this world. I cannot sit by and watch a girl in the spring of her life endure such rot. If my own daughter were in your place, I would pray she found someone to hold her hand in the dark. My time is over. I only hope you find your way out of this place soon—and finally find rest.”

The memory dissolved into the cold air of the present. Olivia stared at the yellowed parchment, her voice a hollow whisper. “I thought it was just a message, sir… but it was a death warrant for your child.”

The letter was a masterpiece of manipulation: a promise that if Isabella ever wished to see her father alive again, she must return to the Tharon den.

Olivia watched the flames devour the parchment, the name Edward Norman curling into blackened flakes. A defensive rage flickered in her eyes, a desperate attempt to drown out the guilt clawing at her throat. “She chose this,” she hissed, her boots striking the wooden floor in a sharp, restless rhythm. “She chose to trust Elvira’s silver tongue over me. Let her bear the weight of her own naivety.”

Her nerves were frayed wires. She paced the length of the room, her teeth gnawing at her knuckles until the skin was raw. “Damn you, Isabella! Why cling to a ghost? I took you to his grave, yet you still chose to believe a lie. It is madness… pure, pathetic madness.”

But the bitterness tasted like poison because it was so familiar. In Isabella’s frantic hope, Olivia saw a reflection of her own shattered soul—the girl who had once clawed at the earth, refusing to believe Elias was cold and gone.

“Any fool would see the trap,” she snarled, her heart hammering against her ribs. “She threw herself into the lion’s maw for the sake of a sentiment.” She refused to call the feeling ’worry.’ It was a weakness, an insult. Yet, she knew the architecture of her father’s cruelty and the jagged edge of her sister’s spite too well to remain still.

“KIRA!”

The maid burst into the room, breathless. “Yes, my Lady? What is it?”

“Fetch me trousers, a tunic, and my black cloak. Quickly!”

Kira stared in bewilderment but obeyed. As Olivia pulled on the heavy fabric and bound her hair high in a severe knot, she caught her reflection in the glass. A haunting, hollow laugh escaped her lips. “I look like a madwoman. Perfect. It suits the place I am going.”

She bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a dark, desperate resolve. “And Kira… fetch it. The elixir I told you to hide.”

Kira’s eyes stretched wide with instinctive dread, her voice trembling as she whispered, “But my Lady… it is far too dangerous for your constitution. You have never tested it; it could stop your heart, or—”

“I have no time for your lectures!” Olivia snapped, her eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light. “Isabella is gone; do you intend to take up her mantle as my conscience?”

Kira bowed her head, her spirit breaking under the weight of Olivia’s resolve. “I understand, my Lady. I shall be silent and fetch it at once.”

The vial Kira returned with was filled with a viscous, emerald liquid that pulsed with an ominous, rhythmic luminescence. It was a forbidden concoction—a chemical pact that granted unnatural strength at a ruinous cost to the flesh. Olivia drained it in a single, defiant gulp.

For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, a searing agony ignited in her throat as if she had swallowed molten glass. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs with a violent, erratic tempo, and her pupils dilated until her eyes were nothing but vast, dark voids. A fit of ragged coughing seized her, forcing her to double over until droplets of dark crimson splattered against her palm.

She wiped the blood away with a slow, deliberate thumb. “It has begun,” she whispered, her voice vibrating with an eerie, newfound resonance. “My body feels… capable. I can face that yellow worm now.”

Kira watched her mistress, her voice trembling with tears. “My Lady, why go this far? To what end? Will you truly be alright?”

“If Matthias asks,” Olivia said, her gaze drifting toward the window, “tell him I have gone to visit my father. I doubt he will care enough to look closer, anyway. I shall not be gone long.”

“As you command, my Lady. But… are you truly safe, returning to that house? To those people?”

Olivia let out a heavy sigh, a faint, melancholic smile flickering on her lips like a dying ember. “I have an old debt to settle,” she said softly, “and a foolish partner I must retrieve from the dark.”

The journey was short, and soon the towering, iron-wrought gates of the Tharon Estate loomed before her. In the past, standing in this shadow would have made her limbs tremble with a paralyzing terror, but not today. She let out a dry, mocking laugh as she looked upon the servants gathered in the courtyard.

“How are you, you wretches?” she called out, her voice dripping with a terrifying levity. “Did you miss me?”

Some scrambled to avoid her gaze; others simply fled in a panic. Only one remained, paralyzed by the sight of her. Olivia’s laughter echoed through the halls, sounding more like a descent into madness with every step she took. She felt a surge of dark ecstasy as she watched them recoil.

She was no longer the frightened girl who had escaped these walls. She was the monster they had spent years meticulously crafting, and now, that monster had finally come home.

The head maid, a withered woman with eyes like cold flint, stood her ground. She offered a mocking, jagged smile and a shallow bow that dripped with provocation.

“Welcome home, My Lady,” she said, her voice a condescending rasp. “I shall inform the Duke and the Young Mistress of your… unexpected visit.” Without waiting for a response, the old woman turned to leave, her back a wall of arrogance.

She didn’t get far.

Olivia’s movements were a blur, a predator’s dash fueled by the emerald fire in her veins. She caught the woman from behind, locking her in a vice-like embrace. The maid struggled, her frail limbs flailing, but she was trapped against a strength that was no longer human. The cold, biting edge of a dagger pressed deep into the sagging skin of her throat.

The maid’s smugness evaporated, replaced by a frantic, rhythmic gulp. “Lady Olivia… please. Let me simply tell the Master and the Young Mistress you are here. There is no need for… for the blade.”

Olivia leaned in, her lips brushing the woman’s ear, her whisper a silken death sentence. “There is no need for that, my dear. Tell me… do you remember? Do you remember when you used to force-feed me that putrid, raw meat?”

The woman froze, her breath hitching into a pathetic whine. “I… I…”

Olivia pressed the blade harder, drawing a thin line of crimson. “It’s no matter if you’ve forgotten. I remember it perfectly. Every bite. Every gag. And now? Now, you go to hell, you wretched creature. I hope you find the Devil’s company to your liking.”

With a single, violent jerk, she carved a path through the woman’s throat.

Blood sprayed in a brilliant, rhythmic arc, painting the pristine marble of the foyer. Olivia released the head maid’s hair, and as the body slumped, she delivered a brutal kick to the woman’s head. It rolled like a discarded ball, slamming against the ornate wall and leaving a gruesome, scarlet smear behind.

The corpse collapsed in a heap of silk and gore. The surrounding servants stood paralyzed, the air thick with the copper scent of death. Some stumbled back; others stood in their own filth, their minds breaking under the sheer horror of the display.

Olivia turned to them, her face splattered with red, her eyes vast and hollow. She wore a smile that could haunt a god.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” she chirped, her voice eerily cheerful. “I don’t want anyone—anyone—spoiling my little surprise for Father and Sister. Have we an agreement?”

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