To Emily, it felt like a ghostly echo from another life—a story she had no desire to reopen.
She took a sharp step back, hoping the physical distance could shield her from the encroaching past.
Her gaze was flinty, a turbulent storm of resentment and denial.
"No… it's impossible." Her breath hitched. "You… you are Eloise?"
The name struck the old woman like a physical blow. Its weight was far heavier than Emily could ever comprehend.
Yet, the old woman merely nodded, accepting the agony.
"Yes… it is I. I am your mother."
A sharp, mirthless laugh escaped Emily's lips. She crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of cold defiance.
"Well then," she sneered, "what is it you want?"
"The Duchess promised me a new life if I came here. I never imagined I'd encounter your ghost."
She paused, her eyes like ice.
"So, speak your piece—I have no reason to linger a moment longer."
Eloise flinched. But what wounded her more than the words was the hollow vacancy in the girl's face.
It was sheer, woven indifference.
Tears welled in Eloise's eyes, tracing silent paths down her withered cheeks. She made no move to brush them away; she felt she deserved every drop.
"I only wished to see you one last time," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread.
"You have grown… into such a beautiful, formidable woman."
A mocking smile touched Emily's lips.
"Yes, thanks to my mother. My real mother. Not you."
The words were jagged shards, piercing Eloise to the core.
Emily turned toward the door, ready to sever the connection.
But before she could take a step, a trembling hand clamped around her wrist.
The grip was frail, yet it carried a plea heavier than any language could convey.
"Please…" Eloise's voice broke. "Just once… let me hold you."
"Let me catch your scent, and feel you in my arms… just this once."
Emily's eyes widened. Her entire frame turned to stone.
She tried to recoil, but despite her frailty, Eloise held on with the desperate strength of the dying.
In a sudden motion, Emily was pulled into an embrace—warm, yearning, and saturated with the grief of lost decades.
Emily did not return it.
Her arms remained frozen in the air. She looked as if she feared the mere touch might contaminate her.
After what felt like an eternity, she shoved Eloise away with brusque force.
"That's enough," Emily said, her tone granite-hard.
"Consider this the price I pay for whatever I stand to gain from this meeting."
Eloise stumbled back. Her eyes remained fixed on her daughter, trying to memorize every detail before the light faded forever.
"I am sorry," she whispered, choked with terminal regret.
"I am so sorry I left you… I only pray that one day, you find a place in your heart to forgive me."
Emily said nothing.
Without a backward glance, she pushed open the heavy timber door and vanished into the corridor.
Outside, Olivia stood leaning against the cold stone wall.
She was a figure of poised patience. It was as if she had known exactly how this encounter would end before it even began.
As Emily emerged, Olivia's gaze was brief and hollow.
"Why didn't you tell me," Emily asked, her voice flat, "that she was the one I was to meet?"
Olivia's lips curled into a sly, feline smile. She tilted her head slightly.
"Hmm... it appears I forgot."
Emily studied the woman's face, searching for a sincerity that didn't exist.
"Fine. It doesn't matter," Emily finally replied. "Just fulfill your end of the bargain."
Without another word, she strode away into the shadows.
Olivia remained motionless, watching her retreat with a predator's focus.
A soft, cynical chuckle escaped her throat before she stepped into the room.
Inside, the Dowager Duchess was a broken heap upon the floor. Her frail frame convulsed under the weight of silent sobs.
Olivia did not offer a glance of pity. In fact, she seemed to savor the ruin.
She moved closer, leaning down to whisper with poisonous sweetness.
"You are a pathetic sight, you know. But perhaps, my dear, this is simply the wages of your sins—justice for what you did to your own daughter."
Olivia's eyes glinted.
"The truth is, you were never fit to be a mother."
Eloise's head snapped up. Fire sparked in her eyes.
"Get out!" she rasped. "I thought you were helping me, but you are nothing more than a cunning fox!"
Olivia let out a low, mocking laugh.
"How tragic. Did you truly believe I was here for a touching family reunion?"
"Be grateful... because of me, she is returning to a family she truly deserves."
Thalia stood there, trembling with a fury that bordered on the convulsive.
Her knuckles were white as she gripped the imperial documents. Her fingers twitched as if she meant to shred the very paper.
"What is the meaning of this?!" she shrieked.
"I never signed adoption papers for Emilia! I signed for Layla—and Layla alone! How has this happened?!"
Mathias and Leon were already hunched over the scrolls, their eyes widening in sheer disbelief.
Slowly, Mathias turned his gaze toward Leon, utterly ignoring Thalia's burgeoning hysterics.
"Leon..." Mathias began, his voice low and dangerous. "Who was in charge of handling the final adoption filings?"
A silent understanding passed between the two men.
Leon's lips curled into that familiar, predatory smirk. He turned to Thalia, eyeing her with dark amusement.
"My Lady," he drawled, "it seems you've set your sights on the wrong target."
"I see my brother's wife remains as sharp as ever."
"Leon." Mathias cut him off with a single, warning word.
Thalia's eyes widened in panicked confusion. "What do you mean?!"
Before she could demand an answer, the heavy study doors swung open.
Olivia stepped inside, moving with the measured confidence of a victor. She came to a halt directly in front of Thalia.
"Well, Lady Thalia," Olivia purred, "did you enjoy the morning's news?"
Thalia spun toward her like a wounded animal. "It was you... you did this! You stole my daughter!"
Instead of recoiling, Olivia took a deliberate step forward.
"Why such a grim expression?" Olivia asked, her voice like spun silk.
"Did you not appreciate my little surprise?"
Her tone then shifted, turning as cold and final as a knife.
"You said it yourself once... I am the daughter of Tharon. The Duchess of this domain."
"Did you truly believe I would forgive your transgressions and simply look the other way?"
"I am not called a villainess without reason, my dear. Consider yourself fortunate—I could have buried you alive."
An icy shiver raced down Thalia's spine.
In that moment, the reality took hold: if she pushed a hair's breadth further, she wouldn't just lose a daughter; she would lose her life.
"Get out," Olivia commanded, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Now. Before I drag you out myself."
Leon and Mathias watched Thalia's departure in silence.
Then, they turned to Olivia, a glint of genuine admiration in their eyes.
"Finally," Leon remarked with a dry chuckle, "someone has managed to silence that madwoman."
Mathias nodded. "You're right... at last, a moment of peace."
"By the way," Olivia added, "I have already dispatched the documents to the Imperial Registry. I believe you ought to see the Emperor regarding this matter."
Mathias nodded. "Yes. I was intending to go. Will you be joining us?"
Olivia's eyes widened slightly. "Me?"
"No, thank you. Isabella and I have planned a shopping trip tomorrow."
Leon looked at Olivia as if trying to decipher a complex riddle.
"Since when do you and my wife go shopping together?"
A small, knowing smile played on Olivia's lips.
"Since today. Consider it official from now on."
Without waiting for a response, she swept out of the room.
As she walked through the sun-drenched corridors, the servants lowered their heads in a new kind of fear. She wasn't just their mistress anymore; she was the storm itself.
By the time she reached the gardens, the scent of blooming jasmine offered a deceptive peace.
She took her seat at the tea table, the iron mask of the Duchess melting back into a facade of aristocratic boredom just as Isabella approached.
"Isabella," Olivia began, her voice casual. "To what do I owe this sudden invitation?"
Isabella met her gaze with eyes of flint.
"I believe you have been conveniently avoiding your promise. I have performed my part. Now, it is your turn."
Olivia set her teacup down with a deliberate clink.
"Very well. You said you wished to see your father. I will take you to him myself."
Isabella's brow arched. "Truly?"
"Indeed. Do I strike you as a woman who weaves lies?"
A flicker of doubt brushed against Isabella's mind. But the desperate joy of a reunion smothered it.
"Then shall we depart now?" Olivia asked.
The carriage moved steadily.
Isabella could barely contain the thrumming in her chest. Finally, she was going to him.
Across from her, Olivia sat in a terrifying silence. Her face was a mask of stone.
Soon, the city buildings dissolved.
They were replaced by vast, desolate plains. The landscape was barren.
An icy dread began to coil in Isabella's chest.
"Where are we?" she asked.
There was no reply—only Olivia's steady, unblinking stare.
At last, the carriage stopped.
The two women stepped out into the biting air. Isabella scanned the surroundings.
"You said you would take me to my father."
"And I have."
Isabella spun around. "Then where is he? Is he meeting us here?"
A long, suffocating silence fell between them.
Finally, Olivia spoke. Her voice was stripped of every shred of humanity.
"You could say... that he liberated himself from my father."
Hope flared in Isabella's eyes one last time. She seized Olivia's hands.
"Then he is coming here? How much longer must we wait?"
"You need not wait at all," Olivia replied softly. "He is already there."
Isabella's gaze followed Olivia's pointed finger. Her breath caught.
The ground was empty—save for a singular, uneven mound of fresh earth.
Isabella's face went pale. Her hands dropped.
"Olivia... you don't mean... you can't possibly mean what I think you do?"