"In the name of all that is holy, Olivia, what is this madness?"
Isabella's voice trembled, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
"Yesterday, you were the very portrait of a grieving soul, offering her solace. And today? Today you speak of murder. Has that visit to the cemetery stripped you of your senses? I am leaving."
"Sit down," Olivia commanded, her voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "I assure you, my mind has never been clearer."
Isabella scoffed, her hand already hovering over the door handle. "I find that hard to believe."
"I am not going to kill her, Isabella. Now, sit."
"Oh, you're not going to kill her? My, how remarkably trustworthy you've become," Isabella retorted, her sarcasm thin-veiled by fear.
"I swear it," Olivia said, her gaze steady. "Death is not the intent. We shall merely introduce a toxin into her veins, only to offer the antidote moments later. No harm will truly befall her."
"No harm?" Isabella echoed, a cold laugh escaping her lips.
"Listen to me—I will not be an accomplice to the end of a life that has done me no wrong. That was never our arrangement."
With a sharp turn, Isabella wrenched the door open, intent on fleeing the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
But she froze.
Standing in the shadows of the corridor was Leon. His gaze met hers—piercing, cold, and unnervingly calm.
For a long, suffocating moment, silence reigned.
"What arrangement would that be?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
The blood drained from Isabella's face. "How... how long have you been standing there?"
A smirk, devoid of any warmth, curled his lips. "Long enough to hear my brother's wife plotting the demise of my sister. Or something to that effect."
"Leon, I... I can explain..." Isabella stammered, her words tripping over each other.
Leon's eyes turned into flint, his expression hardening into a mask of cruel indifference. "Leave, Isabella. Now."
"But—"
"I do not care to repeat myself. Leave us. I have a few matters to discuss with my dear sister-in-law."
Beaten by his authority, Isabella retreated into the shadows of the hallway.
Olivia, now alone with the intruder, did not flinch. She watched him for a moment, her composure regained.
"My apologies," she said smoothly, gesturing toward the empty table. "I have no tea to offer. Would you settle for wine?"
Leon crossed the room with predatory grace, sinking into a chair and crossing one leg over the other.
"Why not? Provided, of course, you haven't seasoned it with your latest 'experiment'."
Olivia poured the dark crimson liquid into two glasses, sliding one toward him.
"I do not make a habit of killing family members, Leon. You needn't worry."
"Of course," he said, glancing pointedly at the vial resting on the table. "That much is evident. Now, would you be so kind as to enlighten me? I am curious to know exactly what mess you are trying to drag my wife into."
Olivia sipped her wine, her eyes gleaming over the rim of the glass.
"You speak as though you didn't hear every word. Spare me the theatrics, Leon, and tell me what it is you truly want."
"I want only one thing," he replied, leaning forward, his shadow stretching across the floor.
"Keep Isabella out of your schemes. Whatever game you are playing, she is no longer a piece on your board."
Olivia tilted her head. "I stand corrected. I thought you were concerned for your sister."
"I am," he said nonchalantly. "But so long as you don't intend to put her in a grave, it matters little. It's not as if we were ever particularly close."
"A vote of confidence, then?" Olivia teased.
Leon's smile vanished, replaced by a gaze of absolute frost. "Make no mistake, Olivia. I do not trust you in the slightest."
Leon held the vial aloft between two fingers, his gaze fixed on the pale liquid as it danced under the candlelight.
"I wonder," he mused, his voice a low hum of dark curiosity, "how many drops would suffice? Two? Three? Just enough to deliver a message, I suppose."
"What?!" Olivia whispered, her heart skipping a beat.
A chilling smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Leon moved toward the chaise longue, settling across from her with an ease that felt predatory.
"Since we have all seemingly embraced this madness as our only recourse, I thought I might offer my services. Emilia visits me daily, as you well know.
It would be far simpler—far more discreet—if the poison came from my hand rather than Isabella's."
"You? Truly?"
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "And why not?"
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room, broken only when Olivia spoke, her words laced with caution.
"Very well. I suppose that would be more efficient. But tell me, Leon—do you truly believe me? Do you believe an antidote even exists?"
His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "No. Not entirely."
Without a second's hesitation, Olivia reached out her hand, her palm turned upward.
"Then give it to me. I shall drink it myself, here and now, under your watchful eye."
Leon let out a short, dark laugh. "Ah, Olivia, you always did have a flair for the dramatic."
He leaned back, the vial still gripped firmly.
"Emilia might forgive me for this if she ever found out... but Mathias? He would have my head if I allowed you to swallow poison for a second time.
And unfortunately, I am quite fond of being alive. So, I shall stake my trust on your own life. If Isabella trusts you, I suppose I can manage the same."
The sudden, rhythmic thud of a knock at the door shattered the tension.
"Olivia, I'm coming in," a voice announced.
Mathias.
In one fluid motion, Leon slipped the vial into the inner pocket of his coat.
The door creaked open, and Mathias stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing as they landed on his brother.
"What are you doing here?" Mathias asked, his voice thick with suspicion.
"Merely visiting my sister-in-law," Leon said, his tone shifting instantly to one of casual concern. "She seemed quite unwell earlier this evening, so I thought I'd check in."
Mathias stared at him for a long beat, his skepticism palpable. "Well, visiting hours are over. Return to your quarters."
"As you wish," Leon murmured, rising to his feet. "I'll leave the two of you in peace."
Mathias didn't spare him a second glance.
His entire focus shifted to Olivia, his eyes searching her face, noting the lingering shadows under her eyes and her disheveled state.
He stepped closer, his presence commanding the space between them.
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked, his voice softening, though it still held its usual weight.
The memory of her earlier hysteria—the screaming, the shattered composure—rushed back to her like a cold wave.
It felt surreal to look into his eyes after the storm she had unleashed. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
"I am fine," she replied, though the lie felt heavy on her tongue.
Mathias sat beside her, his presence heavy and grounding.
Without a word, he reached for the fastenings of her gown, his fingers working with a grim, practiced efficiency.
"What... what are you doing?" Olivia whispered, startled by his sudden intimacy.
"Undoing your dress, as you can see," he replied, his voice flat.
"But why?"
"Do you have any idea how you appear?" He paused, his eyes sweeping over her.
"You sat before Leon looking like a ghost haunting its own ruins. Your clothes are stained with the earth of the cemetery, your face is ashen, and your hair... you are a wreck, Olivia."
She sighed, a long, weary sound, and allowed him to continue.
He moved to the mahogany wardrobe, retrieving a nightgown of soft, flowing silk.
He helped her into it with a clinical detachment, never meeting her eyes, never uttering a word of comfort.
Then, he took a brush and began to stroke her hair in silence. She had no strength left to resist; she simply surrendered to his ministrations.
His gaze fell upon her hands, still clutching the wilted flowers from the grave. A flicker of pain crossed his features.
He reached for her other hand and placed a small pill in her palm.
"What is this?" she asked, staring at the small white object.
"A sedative. Not opium, but something the physician promised would help your... condition."
"My condition?" Olivia's voice rose slightly. "I don't understand what you mean."
Mathias sighed, finally looking deep into her eyes.
"Olivia, you are trapped in the wake of a loss you refuse to leave behind. Even after all these months, the mere mention of Elias sends you into a paroxysm of grief.
You couldn't even say goodbye to him properly, and when you finally visited his grave, you collapsed into hysterics.
You may not have noticed, but I did. Everyone did."
"I am fine," she insisted, her voice trembling. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" He gestured to her thin frame.
"Look at yourself. You've stopped eating until your body is but a shadow. You refuse to let go of a ghost. Look at how you cling to those dead flowers."
"What do these flowers have to do with anything? You and Isabella are imagining things."
"Then," Mathias said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, "give them to me."
"No. Just leave them with me. It's fine."
"Olivia, do not make me repeat myself. Give them to me now."
He moved closer, his shadow looming.
"I will not sit by and watch you bury yourself alive. I suspected your mind was fracturing, but the doctor confirmed it today. You are digging your own grave."
"I told you to leave me be!" she cried. "I am perfectly sane!"
In a sudden movement, Mathias grabbed her hands.
He forced her fingers open, one by one, with a violent tenderness, and wrenched the flowers from her grasp.
"Mathias, stop! What are you doing?" she pleaded, her voice breaking.
But he was relentless.
"I have ignored this for too long. You are losing yourself to madness, Olivia. When will you move past this? When?"
"He was my son!" she shrieked, the words tearing from her throat.
"He was my son too!" Mathias roared back, his composure finally shattering.
"A piece of my own soul! But you cannot live in the graveyard forever."
He stood tall, stuffing the flowers into his coat pocket.
"When we returned from the funeral, I gave the order. Elias's room has been emptied. I've sent his belongings to the orphanage. The doctor said it was the only way."
The sound of the slap echoed through the silent room.
Mathias's head snapped to the side. He turned back to her, stunned.
But the look in Olivia's eyes wasn't one of rage. It was pure, unadulterated heartbreak.
"You?" she whispered, the tears finally cascading down her cheeks. "You, Mathias? You did this to me?"
This wasn't the fury he had expected.
She looked so small, so fragile, as if he had reached into her chest and extinguished the last flickering candle of her world.