Olivia and Isabella sat facing one another, a heavy silence stretching between them like a fraying rope.
Cradled in Olivia's arms was little Anne, a fragile bundle of linen and soft breaths.
"Things have become... complicated," Isabella murmured, her voice barely audible.
She leaned forward, her eyes searching Olivia's guarded expression. "So? Was it Elvira? Did she truly murder the late Duchess?"
Olivia did not look up. Her gaze remained fixed on the infant, her fingers tracing the edge of the blanket.
"Hmm, I cannot say for certain," she replied, her tone hauntingly detached. Whether it was her hand or another's matters little. What matters is that her 'gift' was delivered with chilling precision."
"For now, Isabella, leave the ghosts to me and focus on finding that maid."
"Very well," Isabella sighed, standing as Olivia rose with a sudden, sharp grace.
"Where are you going now?"
"To pay a visit to my other mother-in-law."
Isabella's brow furrowed. "Talia? But why?"
Olivia paused, looking down at the small girl shivering beneath layers of fine linen.
The infant's tiny chest was rising and falling with labored breaths.
"The Duchess was murdered," Olivia stated, the words cold and clinical. "It was no natural passing."
Isabella froze, the confirmation stinging her despite the suspicions she had long harbored.
"I know," she whispered, her voice laced with dread. "But—"
"Do not interrupt me," Olivia snapped, her eyes flashing toward Isabella before returning to Anne.
"Matthias is crumbling. And your husband? Well, I doubt he fares much better."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, commanding silk.
"Listen closely. If word spreads of the Duchess's demise—specifically the fact that she was silenced by my own family's poison—it will ignite a firestorm."
"The Kingdom hasn't seen the likes of this in decades. There will be inquiries, trials, and the ruinous whispers of the Court."
"And this wedding you all cling to? It will vanish like smoke."
A cynical shadow crossed Olivia's face.
"It may sound selfish, but we cannot sacrifice the happiness of the living for a corpse that will never return."
She took one final step forward, her presence dominating the room.
"I spoke with Kyle days ago. The King's decree remains absolute: the wedding must proceed exactly as scheduled."
"If it fails, the petition to bring Leila and Anne into the Royal fold will be torn to shreds."
"We will lose everything. And those children? They will lose their future."
A heavy, suffocating silence settled between them.
Olivia looked down at Anne once more; the infant was so still, unaware of the tempest gathering outside.
"I did not kill her," Olivia said finally, her voice a soft, haunting velvet.
"But if saving them means I must shoulder the guilt... then I shall."
Isabella's hands trembled. "Even so, we cannot hide a Duchess's death forever."
"There is so little time before the wedding. What can we possibly do?"
Olivia gently laid Anne into her cradle, tucking the silks around her.
"That is precisely why I am going to see Talia."
"What do you mean?"
"You shall see soon enough, my dear," Olivia replied without looking back.
"Watch the child. She must not be left alone—not for a heartbeat."
Talia sat solitary by the hearth, the golden embers casting long, dancing shadows across her face.
She closed the book in her lap, marking her place with a silk ribbon.
She folded her spectacles with methodical precision.
The click of the door latch pierced the stillness. Without turning, Talia asked, "Who is there?"
Silence.
Talia knit her brows. "Emilia? Is that you?"
Nothing but the low hiss of shifting logs in the grate.
She sighed and rose from her chair. There, framed by the flickering, amber light, a pair of ice-blue eyes stared back at her.
The fire caught them in such a way that they seemed to burn—a cold, blue flame in the dark.
"Olivia."
The younger woman stood in the doorway like a figure from a haunting portrait—stately, mocking, and entirely at ease.
With a lazy flick of her wrist, she offered a mocking curtsy.
"I do hope I haven't disturbed you, my dear mother-in-law," Olivia said, her voice like a blade wrapped in velvet.
Without waiting for an invitation, she swept into the room, her perfume trailing behind her like a lingering threat.
Talia stiffened, the edges of her composure beginning to fray.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Olivia cut through her words like a knife.
"Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Talia sharpened her gaze. "And why should I? You've already invited yourself."
Olivia tapped her forehead with a sardonic smirk.
"Ah, I forgot. It is my house, after all. I suppose I may wander where I please."
Ignoring Talia's icy stare, Olivia glided further into the room and sank onto the velvet sofa.
She crossed one elegant leg over the other, surveying the room with the eye of a conqueror.
"A lovely room, truly. Warm. Comfortable."
She paused, then added with theatrical weariness, "But my throat is quite parched."
"Be a darling and bring me something to drink."
Talia's first instinct was to refuse—flatly and coldly—but she bit back her indignation.
"It is late," Talia replied stiffly. "But I shall pour you some tea."
Olivia leaned back, her eyes tracking Talia's every move with the patient focus of a predator.
When Talia returned with the porcelain cup, Olivia didn't even grant it a glance.
Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.
"Oh," she whispered, "but I never drink tea at this hour."
"I want wine. Something vintage. Something... worth the wait."
For a heartbeat, Talia considered telling her exactly where she could take her demands.
But the young Duchess, despite her age, held the reins of power now.
Talia met her gaze, her expression unreadable, and rose without a word to do her bidding.
The wine flowed in a steady, crimson stream.
Talia's hand remained unnervingly steady, but her gaze never drifted from Olivia.
Olivia watched her with the predatory stillness of a cat.
Olivia took the glass without a word of thanks.
Her fingers traced the delicate stem, swirling the liquid in slow, rhythmic circles.
She took a sip—leisurely, deliberate—forcing Talia to endure a silence that felt heavy enough to shatter.
When Olivia finally spoke, her tone was deceptively casual.
"Your daughter's wedding... it is but a week away, is it not?"
"It is, Your Grace," Talia replied stiffly.
Olivia hummed, tilting her head as if calculating her next move on a grand chessboard.
"Mmm. I have news. Something I suspect will... please you."
"After all, a creature as envious as you must find joy in the misfortunes of others."
Talia knit her brows, but before she could retort, Olivia's lips curled into a sharp, jagged smile.
"It seems the stage has been cleared for you, Talia."
"Your... dear friend... is dead."
The words echoed in the room like a tolling bell.
Talia's voice cracked. "What?"
Olivia rose without haste, gliding behind Talia's chair.
Her presence loomed—warm breath against Talia's ear, the faint scent of vintage wine mixed with something darker.
Her fingers slid beneath Talia's chin, forcing her face upward to meet her cold gaze.
"She is gone. Eloise Lucron is dead."
Fear finally began to seep through Talia's composure. "Are you serious?"
Olivia didn't bother with a verbal answer; her eyes, icy and unwavering, were confirmation enough.
She moved back to the table, refilled her glass, and sat beside Talia.
She acted as if they were merely discussing the weather.
"She passed perhaps yesterday," Olivia said, her voice eerily calm.
"But we are keeping the matter... quiet. For now."
"Quiet?" Talia whispered.
"Naturally," Olivia crossed her legs elegantly. "The world will know eventually, but not today."
"Leila's wedding is upon us, and we cannot have it... cancelled."
"And why tell me this?"
Olivia examined Talia's face with unsettling scrutiny.
"Excluding the eyes and hair, you possess her exact features. Perhaps it's the shared bloodline."
"Perhaps that is why you ended up exactly where you are."
Talia tried to feign ignorance. "I don't follow."
"Oh, I mean nothing by it," Olivia replied with a mock-innocent shrug.
"Only that, were it not for the color of your hair and eyes, I could hardly tell you apart from Eloise."
"Stop dancing around the truth," Talia snapped.
"Tell me what it is you want."
"Don't be in such a hurry."
Olivia's gaze locked onto Talia's, pinning her like a specimen.
"Here is what will happen: You will take her place."
"You will become the Duchess Eloise."
Talia bolted upright, a harsh laugh escaping her lips.
"What?! Take her place?" Her anger flared.
"Is this what you meant by our resemblance? Do you think I am merely a pawn on your board?"
"You are gravely mistaken. I will never play the part of that woman—not after everything she has done—"
"Sit."
The command was a whip-crack.
Olivia had not moved, but the sheer coldness in her eyes forced Talia back into her seat.
It wasn't submission; it was the weight of a superior force.
Talia sat rigid, her chin tilted in defiance.
"You cannot force me," Talia hissed. "Punish me if you wish. I do not care."
"You have already stolen my daughter from me."
"I will not play the role of the woman who destroyed my life. Not even if it costs me my head."
Olivia set her glass down with terrifying deliberation.
Then, she raised her hand.
The slap rang through the room like shattering glass.
Talia's hand flew to her stinging cheek, but Olivia caught her wrist, pulling it away.
She inspected the reddened skin as if examining a fine piece of porcelain.
"Mmm... no lasting mark. No swelling. Good," Olivia whispered.
Talia wrenched her arm back, her eyes blazed with fury. "I told you—I will not do it."
Olivia stood tall, sighing as if disappointed by a dull child.
"I find it hard to believe I care more for your daughter's future than you do."
"You won't even lend her a hand on her wedding day?"
The words were meant to wound, but Talia remained stone-faced.
Olivia walked toward the door, then paused.
With a sudden, disturbing intimacy, she reached out and took a lock of Talia's hair between her fingers.
She studied it by the firelight.
"Mmm... we shall need to dye this. And change the style."
"As for your eyes... I know of something that will make them exactly as I desire."
"Yes... we have much work to do tomorrow."
"I said I won't do it!" Talia's voice finally broke. "Are you mad?"
Olivia's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
She rested her hand on the brass doorknob, the fire reflecting a predatory glint in her eyes.
"By tomorrow morning," she said softly.
"We shall see if you still have the luxury of pride."