He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity.
His eyes traced the contours of her agitation. The silence between them stretched, thin and brittle.
"How long do you intend to stare at me like that?" she snapped.
Her voice trembled with a mixture of defiance and exhaustion. "Are you ever going to answer?"
With a weary sigh, he leaned back into the velvet shadows of the chair. He draped an arm over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world.
"Love or hate," he murmured, the words heavy with contemplation.
"You're quite right—I don't love you. But to hate you? I don't believe I could ever find it in me to do that."
A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips—a sound like breaking glass.
"You have every reason to hate me. You should, darling."
At the mention of the endearment, he shifted his arm, peering at her with an unreadable expression.
"'Darling'? It seems that confrontation with that woman has truly rattled your senses."
"You're right, though; I have reasons to loathe you—countless ones, to be precise. But," he paused, his voice softening, "I suppose I also have reasons that prevent me."
"Really?" She arched an eyebrow, her skepticism masking a flicker of surprise. "Such as?"
"Such as what you did today," he replied, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
"I don't fully understand why you chose to defend my sister and me, but I am grateful. I am not such a scoundrel that I would ignore a debt of kindness."
He hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze intensifying.
"And more importantly... because you gave me a son."
"Even if he is no longer with us, what you endured to bring him into this world is enough, in my eyes, to wash away every sin."
"It is only natural that I feel gratitude rather than hate."
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
She stood frozen, his words echoing in the hollows of her heart, leaving her speechless and stripped of her usual defenses.
"I... I think I should go now," she stammered, her gaze darting away to avoid the weight of his honesty.
"My head is clouded, and I need rest. Excuse me."
"As you wish," he said quietly. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," she whispered back.
That night, sleep was a stranger to them both.
In the vast, echoing expanse of the manor, every grand hallway and meticulously decorated room seemed to contract.
The walls, once symbols of prestige, now felt like they were closing in.
The sprawling estate felt smaller and more suffocating than ever before.
The morning sun cast long, amber glints across the palace corridors as Isabella made her way toward the grand study.
The rhythmic click of her heels against the polished marble echoed through the silence.
She had expected to be the first to arrive.
However, as the heavy doors creaked open, she found Olivia already entrenched behind the mahogany desk.
Her quill was dancing feverishly across a parchment.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Isabella offered, her voice a calm ripple in the quiet room.
Olivia looked up, her expression a mask of cold fatigue. Dark shadows beneath her eyes betrayed a sleepless night.
"Ah, Isabella. Good morning," she replied, gesturing for her to draw near.
"These are the adoption papers," Olivia said, sliding a folder across the desk.
"They must reach the Imperial Registry today. Take them to that old hag and ensure she signs."
"If I have to look at her face again, I fear I'll claw her eyes out in a fit of rage."
"I understand," Isabella replied, reaching for the documents.
However, as she fanned through the pages, her brow furrowed. "There are two forms here, and both are blank."
"I made no mistake," Olivia snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"The second is a mere precaution. Have her sign both; I shall fill in the details myself later."
Isabella hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing her mind. She knew better than to challenge Olivia when she was in such a state. With a curt nod, she gathered the papers and withdrew. Left alone, Olivia sank back into her chair.
A chilling, predatory smile curled her lips.
"If I do not have you begging at my feet, Talia Hamill," she whispered to the empty room, "then the name Olivia Lockron means nothing."
On the other side of the estate, Isabella entered the guest chambers where Talia resided.
After the stiff exchange of morning pleasantries, Isabella presented the documents.
Talia flipped through them, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Two copies? And why are they blank?"
Isabella maintained a mask of professional poise, her smile practiced and thin.
"The second is a contingency, should the first be misplaced. The Duke will fill in the particulars and apply his seal once the signatures are secured."
With a weary sigh, Talia took the quill.
Despite the lingering doubt gnawing at her, she trusted Isabella's reputation for efficiency.
She signed both sheets, unaware of the weight of the ink she spilled.
Back in the study, Isabella placed the signed documents before Olivia.
The Duchess gripped her quill, meticulously filling in the blanks before pressing her signet ring into the hot wax.
A look of profound satisfaction washed over her face—a look that sent a chill down Isabella's spine.
"May I ask," Isabella ventured cautiously, "the reason behind such a smile?"
Olivia gathered the papers, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
"You will know soon enough, soon enough. Finish the rest of your duties; I have other affairs to attend to."
Isabella watched her sweep out of the room.
The hem of her gown hissed against the floor.
"The last time she said those words," Isabella whispered to herself, "the world felt like it was ending."
"I dread to see what storm she's brewing now."
Olivia ascended to the third floor.
A heavy, unsettling silence hung in the air like a shroud.
She bypassed the formality of knocking, sweeping into the chambers of Eloise—the Dowager Duchess.
She entered with the arrogance of a predator who knew no cage could hold her.
"Good morning, Dowager Duchess," Olivia announced, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
Eloise looked up, a flicker of primal fear dancing across her aged features.
She had never trusted Olivia.
In her, she saw the ghost of her father's legendary cruelty, now refined into a sharper, more beautiful blade.
"Your Highness," Eloise replied cautiously. "Forgive me for not rising to greet you. You are well aware of my... condition."
"Oh, think nothing of it," Olivia dismissed with a wave of her hand.
She began to pace the room with a cold, detached curiosity.
"Has anyone ever told you," Olivia began, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"That you have truly magnificent eyes?"
Eloise blinked, caught off guard. "I... thank you, I suppose. What brings such sudden flattery?"
"Nothing at all. I simply appreciate beauty," Olivia smiled, though the warmth never reached her eyes.
"Seeing little Emily reminded me of you."
"Though she resembles Lady Talia in form, those eyes... they are yours, through and through."
The air seemed to leave Eloise's lungs.
Olivia leaned in closer, playing on the old woman's heartstrings like a master musician.
"Why the silence? Do you doubt me? Ah, I forgot... you haven't seen her in years."
"How tragic. Do you even remember the curve of her smile?"
"Enough!" Eloise's composure snapped. "Cease these games. What is it that you want?"
Olivia let out a soft, mock-innocent gasp.
"Do I look like a villain to you? I am merely trying to help a mother reunite with her flesh and blood. Is that a crime?"
Her eyes glinted with malice. "Tell me, Eloise... do you wish to see her?"
Eloise swallowed hard, her mind racing.
"I know you do not walk these halls dispensing mercy like a saint. Tell me the price I must pay to see my daughter."
Olivia moved to the window, the sunlight framing her like a dark angel.
"Sickness may have weakened your body, but it hasn't touched your wit."
She produced the documents and laid them on the bed.
Eloise's trembling hands reached for the papers.
The first was an adoption contract for Layla Hamill.
But as she turned to the second, her breath hitched.
The name inscribed was Emily Hamill.
"What is this?" Eloise gasped. "Did Talia ask for Emily to be adopted as well?"
"Let's just say... she consented," Olivia replied enigmatically.
"Olivia, what are you plotting?" Eloise demanded. "I will not be an accomplice to this deception."
Olivia leaned over the table, her shadow falling over the documents.
"Deception? She is your daughter. There is no lie in returning a child to her mother."
She began to pull the papers away.
"And here I was, being generous, intending to bring her to you today."
The promise of her daughter acted like a lure.
Eloise instinctively reached out, clutching Olivia's hand. "Truly? Can I really see her?"
"Of course," Olivia crooned, her voice a velvet trap.
"But you must sign. Would you have your daughter remain a wanderer, a ghost in the streets, when she could live in the luxury she deserves?"
"She belongs here, not in a life of misery."
The hollow words found their mark.
Eloise's heart hammered against her ribs. "If you bring her to me... I will sign whatever you wish."
Moments later, Olivia stepped out into the hallway, admiring the fresh ink of the signatures.
She handed the scrolls to her loyal maide, Kira.
"Take these to the Imperial Registry immediately," Olivia commanded.
She poured a glass of dark wine and watched through the window.
Below, Emily was practicing with a wooden sword, her movements sharp and determined.
Olivia raised her glass in a silent toast, a terrifyingly satisfied smile gracing her lips.
"I cannot wait to see the look on your face when you realize the truth, Talia Hamill."
Then, her eyes narrowed, gleaming with a dark, predatory intent as she struck the final blow.
"If your husband was the one who stripped you of your lands and titles, then I shall be the one to take the only thing you have left—the only thing you truly cherish."
"You really have chosen the wrong woman to toy with."