Chapter 97: Dust and Deception

Leon stood before the gates of the Norman estate, his gaze lingering on the modest, crumbling facade. Ever since Olivia had leveled that chilling look at him—the one that flared when he dared ask about Isabella—his heart had been a frantic drum against his ribs. A primal instinct clawed at his throat; he knew, with a sickening certainty, that something had befallen his wife.

The garden was a testament to neglect, a wild, choking sprawl where nature had reclaimed its territory. No hand had pruned the shaggy trees or shorn the overgrown grass in months.

Even for a fallen noble, the desolation was unnatural. Leon reached for the brass handle, but the door remained stubbornly locked. Stepping back, he channeled his desperation into a single, violent kick. The wood groaned and gave way, slamming against the floor with a hollow boom that echoed through the skeletal remains of the manor.

Lantern in hand, Leon waded into the gloom. He moved from room to room, the amber light dancing over furniture draped in thick shrouds of dust and cobwebs that hung like funeral veils from the rafters. The air tasted of rot and long-abandoned secrets. It looked as though life had fled these walls a lifetime ago.

“Isabella!” he roared, his voice cracking the heavy silence. “Isabella, are you here?”

The only reply was the mocking echo of his own name dancing back from the rafters. When he pushed open the final door, his silver eyes met nothing but the vast, hungry void of the empty mansion. Panic, cold and sharp, began to pulse through his veins.

He retreated from the suffocating interior, spilling back out into the open air. His eyes landed on an elderly woman hobbling down the path, her back bent under the weight of years. Seeing his noble attire, she offered a shaky, hurried bow.

“Blessings upon you, My Lord,” she rasped.

“Peace, mother,” Leon replied, his voice strained. “I have but one question for you.”

“Ask what you will, Sire,” she whispered, peering at him with milky, curious eyes.

“The people of this house,” Leon began, his voice tight with a desperate edge. “Where are they? And have you seen a woman—young, beautiful, with chestnut hair and eyes like emeralds—passing through these gates?”

The old woman squinted at the decaying structure, pointing a gnarled wooden cane toward the peeling shutters.

“The Norman place? Bless you, child, no one has lived in that tomb for an age. As for the girl… she used to haunt this path once upon a time, but she hasn’t been seen in these parts for a long, long moon.”

Leon’s breath hitched. “I see… thank you. You may go.”

As the woman hobbled away, Leon stood paralyzed, staring at the skeletal manor. He raked his fingers through his hair, his silver eyes darting frantically. “My God, Isabella… if you aren’t here, where are you?” he whispered to the wind. “Olivia. She has to know. That woman is hiding something.”

The horses were screaming under his whip, their lungs burning as Leon forced them to cover a two-hour journey in half the time.

He returned to the main estate like a man possessed, his carriage horses lathered in foam by the time he reached the gates. He stormed through the halls, his boots thudding like a death knell.

He threw open the doors to Olivia’s study with a violent crash—nothing. Empty silence. He lunged toward her private chambers, invading the sanctuary of her bedroom, only to find the sheets cold and the hearth extinguished.

“Dammit! Where did that madwoman go?”

The door creaked open, and Kira stepped in, her arms laden with fresh linens. She froze, the color draining from her face as she saw Leon standing in the center of the room like a cornered wolf. She moved to offer a trembling bow, but Leon didn’t give her the chance.

In a flash of pure, unadulterated rage, he lunged. His hand clamped around Kira’s throat, hoisting her small frame off the ground until her feet dangled uselessly in the air.

“Talk!” he roared, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning with a terrifying silver fire. “Where is Olivia? And tell me where Isabella is, or so help me—”

Kira clawed at his iron grip, her face turning a panicked shade of purple as she gasped for air.

“My Lord… please… I know nothing of Lady Isabella… I swear it!” she choked out. “But the Duchess… she… she said she was going to visit her father. To the Norman Duchy!”

Leon’s grip loosened abruptly, letting the maid collapse in a heap on the floor. Kira huddled there, clutching her bruised throat and sobbing in ragged gasps. Leon stepped over her, pausing at the threshold to cast one final, murderous glance over his shoulder.

“I am going there now,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a deadly, low vibration. “And if I do not find her, I will return to peel your head from your shoulders.”

On the other side of the estate, Olivia stood before Elvira, her spine like iron and her gaze devoid of a single flicker of fear. She let out a short, dry scoff that cut through the lingering scent of sex in the room.

“Oh, look at you,” Olivia sneered, her voice dripping with acid. “It seems my little sister hasn’t changed a bit. Still a common whore to the very marrow of her bones.”

Elvira threw her head back, erupting into a jagged, melodic laughter that chilled the air. She sauntered forward, her silk kimono fluttering open as she draped her arms around Olivia’s neck in a mock embrace.

“Has my little toy forgotten how to be afraid? Or do I need to remind you of your place, darling? Do I need to remind you who owns every inch of your miserable skin?”

“Remind me of my place?” Olivia countered, her eyes narrowing into slits of dark fire. “Perhaps you should remind yourself of yours—and stop mounting every cock you lay eyes on, Miss Tharron.”

The playful malice in Elvira’s eyes vanished, replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred. Her hands flew from Olivia’s shoulders to her throat, pinning her against the stone wall with a bone-jarring impact. “How dare you speak of my honor,” Elvira hissed, her face inches away, her breath hot with rage.

Olivia choked out a jagged laugh despite the pressure on her windpipe. “Honor? Do you even have a shred of it left for me to speak of?”

Elvira’s fury boiled over into a fever pitch. Her grip tightened, her knuckles turning white as her eyes began to throb with a sickening, luminescent yellow light—the mark of her inhuman heritage. She was a predator intent on snapping the neck of a nuisance.

But she was too blinded by her own rage to notice Olivia’s hand slipping behind her own back. With a blur of motion, Olivia drew a long, surgical needle she had hidden in her sash. In one fluid, violent strike, she buried the needle deep into Elvira’s spine.

“Still as hot-headed as ever, sister,” Olivia whispered, a terrifyingly calm smile spreading across her lips.

Elvira recoiled, a sharp cry escaping her throat as she wrenched the needle from her back. Instantly, her knees buckled. She felt her strength—the unnatural, pulsing energy in her veins—being drained away as if a plug had been pulled.

“What… what did you inject me with, you bitch?” Elvira gasped, her vision blurring. “I’ll gut you… I’ll—”

She swung a desperate, heavy fist at Olivia’s face, but the strike was sluggish. Olivia caught Elvira’s wrist mid-air with effortless ease. With a surge of strength fueled by her own emerald elixir, Olivia threw Elvira to the floor, pinning her down and straddling her chest before she could even draw a breath.

“It’s a venom tailored specifically for you, dearest sister,” Olivia whispered, her voice vibrating with a terrifying, rhythmic resonance. “It won’t claim your life, but it will leave your body a hollow, powerless shell for a while.”

Before Elvira could even process the words, Olivia unleashed a brutal, heavy blow. The impact cracked against Elvira’s jaw, sending a spray of crimson across the silk sheets. Then came another. And another. Each strike was fueled by the emerald fire in Olivia’s veins, a relentless storm of knuckles and bone.

“Now,” Olivia growled, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “Where is Isabella?”

As she spoke, a single, dark drop of blood leaked from Olivia’s own nose. The elixir was demanding its price; her heart was hammering against her ribs with such violence she feared it might burst.

Elvira, staring up through swollen eyelids, caught sight of the blood. She erupted into a jagged, manic laughter. “You used a stimulant to match me… you pathetic fool. You’re burning your own life away for the sake of that little green-eyed pet.”

Olivia’s response was a heavy fist to Elvira’s stomach. “Talk, you psychotic bitch! Talk!”

Elvira’s body was becoming a map of purple-and-blue bruises, the poison stripping away the unnatural resilience of her skin. Yet, strangely, she didn’t weep. The pain only seemed to feed her madness.

“There is no need for the theatrics, Olivia,” Elvira wheezed, her voice thick with blood but dripping with mockery. “I would have told you exactly where she was if you had simply asked. I’m going to savor the look on your face when you find her.”

“What are you talking about?” Olivia’s grip on Elvira’s throat tightened.

“Mmm,” Elvira hummed, her eyes dancing with a sick, predatory glee. “Tell me… how long do you think a human can survive inside a sealed, airless box?”

Olivia froze, her mind struggling to bridge the gap between Elvira’s words and her deepest fears. Elvira used that moment of hesitation to surge upward, grabbing Olivia’s face and pulling her close until their noses touched. Her breath smelled of copper and expensive wine.

“Your green-eyed whore… I sent her away just before you arrived,” Elvira whispered with a sickening, wide-mouthed grin. “I sent her to sleep beside your precious son, sister. I’ve tucked her right into a grave beside Elias. Am I not wonderful at taking care of the things you love?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep