The newcomers stepped into the grand halls of the estate, their footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors as they made their way toward the receiving room. Inside, only Matthias and Olivia were present at first. The air was thick with unspoken tension, an invisible weight pressing upon the room.
Then, Leila entered.
She hesitated at the threshold, her unease palpable. The moment the great doors swung open, she flinched ever so slightly, as if caught between the urge to flee and the necessity to remain.
And then, she arrived.
A woman with striking red hair stepped forward, her posture upright, her every movement measured with an air of grace that not even the modesty of her attire could diminish. Nobility was etched into her very being, an elegance that could not be erased by time or circumstance. Behind her, her daughter followed closely, her presence like a shadow—quiet, subdued.
The instant Olivia's gaze fell upon the young girl, something stirred in the recesses of her memory. A fleeting recollection, elusive yet persistent. But she pushed it aside, unwilling to let it take root.
With practiced poise, both women bowed.
— "We greet the Duke and Duchess of Luceron."
Olivia offered them a nod, a silent gesture of acknowledgment, before motioning for them to take their seats. Yet, even as the others settled, Leila remained rigid, her head bowed, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet her mother's gaze.
It did not go unnoticed.
Olivia observed her carefully. Talia's eyes flickered away from Matthias with deliberate precision, as if avoiding him at all costs. And Matthias, in turn, showed no inclination to acknowledge her presence.
The tension between them was undeniable, an invisible chasm neither dared to bridge.
And then, just as suddenly as she had entered, Leila seemed to withdraw into herself, retreating into silence.
Olivia exhaled softly, recognizing the need for intervention. If Leila would not speak, then she would take the initiative.
Breaking the stillness, she turned toward her, her voice measured yet gentle.
"Welcome, Lady Hamill," Olivia greeted, her tone measured. "I am the Duchess."
The woman before her, regal despite the simplicity of her attire, regarded Olivia with a cool gaze.
"Ah," she mused. "You are Tharon's daughter, are you not?"
A flicker of irritation crossed Olivia's features, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Yes, I am," she admitted, though her voice carried a distinct edge. "In any case, I assume you already know what happened?"
Lady Hamill's response was clipped, devoid of warmth. "Yes. I have read the papers, and the young master informed me on the way here. I already have a general understanding of the matter."
She was being deliberately curt, Olivia realized. The woman clearly did not like her, and her words were chosen with the precision of someone who wished to end the conversation before it could begin. The air between them grew heavier, the unspoken animosity settling like an unseen storm.
Matthias, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, tensed. Then, as though deciding he had endured enough, he rose to his feet.
"I have business to attend to. Excuse me."
Olivia glanced at him and, sensing the hostility lingering in the air, decided to follow. It was evident now—they were not welcome in this family gathering.
"If you'll excuse me," she murmured, standing gracefully. "I shall take my leave as well."
The doors closed behind them, sealing in the tension they had left behind.
And then—
The sharp crack of a slap shattered the silence.
Leila collapsed to the floor, her shoulders trembling, tears spilling onto the cold marble.
"Mother, please… forgive me!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I never meant for this to happen!"
But her mother's face remained unmoved, her expression like carved stone.
"You have dragged my name through the mud," she said, her voice void of emotion. "And now I must lower my own dignity and meet with her just to pull you out of the pit you threw yourself into. I spent my life raising you with propriety, yet it seems your father's blood calls you back to your origins."
A quiet gasp escaped the young girl beside Leila—Emilia. She hurried forward, helping her sister to her feet.
"Mother, you're being cruel," Emilia protested, her grip tightening around Leila's arm.
Lady Hamill exhaled, a sigh laced with impatience. "Emilia, do not waste your breath defending her mistakes. She is older than you, and yet she built her life around something as foolish as love. How many times have I warned you? There is no such thing as love between men."
Leila swallowed hard, biting back her words. She knew—better than anyone—the bitterness that had shaped her mother's heart. And now, she was paying the price for making the same mistake.
With trembling hands, she pushed herself upright, her gaze falling to the door.
"Mother… where are you going?" Liala asked hesitantly.
Lady Hamill did not turn back.
"To meet someone I should have faced a long time ago."
She ascended the staircase with measured steps, her fingers lightly brushing the ornate railing as she moved. The path was familiar—etched into her memory like the lines of her own palm. Upon reaching the third floor, she hesitated only for a moment before raising her hand and knocking three times on the intricately carved wooden door.
A few seconds passed before it creaked open, revealing a woman in a crisp black uniform. The maid's gaze was impassive as she stepped aside.
"Please, come in. The lady is expecting you."
Stepping into the dimly lit chamber, she inhaled deeply, her senses immediately assaulted by the scent of aged books, faded perfume, and the faintest trace of sickness lingering in the air. She advanced toward the chair positioned beside the heavy four-poster bed, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian carpet.
And then, finally, she looked up.
Two pairs of eyes met—one a piercing shade of silver, the other a deep, rich hazel. A tense silence gripped the room, thick and unyielding. A strange, inexplicable heaviness settled in the air as they stared at each other, unmoving. Then, as if compelled by an unspoken agreement, both women looked away, retreating into their own thoughts.
It was the former Duchess who broke the silence first.
"It has been a long time, hasn't it, Lady Thalia?"
There was no shift in Thalia's expression, no softening in the sharp lines of her face. Her reply was cool, almost distant.
"Yes. It has been quite some time."
A faint, weary smile ghosted across the other woman's lips. "You haven't changed much—still as poised and elegant as ever."
Thalia finally lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable. "I doubt I can say the same about you, Aloise."
Her hazel eyes flickered over Aloise's frail form—the thin, almost ghostly frame wrapped in heavy blankets, the pale complexion marred by the occasional fit of coughing, the fingers that trembled slightly even as they gripped the edge of the bedsheet. She looked… fragile. A mere shadow of the formidable woman she had once been.
Aloise seemed unfazed by the remark, though her fingers twitched slightly against the fabric. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer now.
"So… you've come all this way. Does this mean you've finally agreed to let me adopt Leila?"
A sharp, bitter laugh slipped past Thalia's lips before she could stop it. "You took everything from me, Aloise. What harm would it do for you to take another child?"
The words landed heavily between them, like stones thrown into a still pond. Aloise's lips parted slightly as if to respond, but no words came. Then, after a hesitant pause, she whispered, "I… I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean to what?" Thalia's voice cut through the air like the edge of a knife. "Didn't mean to steal my husband? Didn't mean to abandon your own daughter? Didn't mean to betray your closest friend—the woman who trusted you with her life?"
Aloise flinched, her breath catching in her throat. "Thalia, I—"
But Thalia was not done. Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with the weight of years of unspoken pain. "Tell me, are you truly here to justify your betrayal? Because of all the people in this world, Aloise, you were the one I never expected to hurt me. Not you. His betrayal, I could endure. But yours? You were my sister in all but blood. You knew how much I loved him. And yet… you chose him."
Aloise clenched her fists, her nails digging into the pristine white fabric of the bed. A single bead of sweat trailed down her temple as she struggled to hold Thalia's gaze. And then, finally, she asked the question that had been gnawing at her for years.
"Then why? Why didn't you fight for him? Why didn't you take him back?"
Thalia let out a breathless chuckle—empty, devoid of warmth. "Take back what, exactly? A friend who put a knife in my back? A husband who proved to be nothing more than a fleeting illusion?" She shook her head, her expression one of quiet defiance. "You see, Aloise, I have something you lack. Dignity. If a man can betray me once, he can do it a hundred times over. And I, for one, refuse to be a fool."
Silence enveloped the room once more, but this time, it was heavier, more suffocating.
Aloise lowered her gaze, her once-steadfast composure unraveling. She knew Thalia spoke the truth. She knew it in the way her hands trembled. In the way her heart clenched with regret.
But some sins could never be undone.
Each word from Thalia's lips struck like a blade, slicing through the silence and embedding itself deep into Aloise's heart. The former duchess felt paralyzed, her tongue heavy in her mouth, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
When she finally found her voice, it was barely a whisper, fragile as a thread of silk. Her silver eyes darkened as memories swarmed her mind.
"He… he betrayed me," she murmured, almost to herself. "Not once. Not twice. Dozens of times. I was nothing more than a distraction to him, a fleeting amusement. And yet, I could never leave. Divorce was never an option—not when society's eyes were watching, waiting for me to stumble. Perhaps your prayers were answered, Thalia… I have suffered every single day of my marriage to him."
A sharp breath escaped Thalia, a sigh edged with something between frustration and inevitability. "You reaped what you sowed, Aloise."
Tears spilled down Aloise's cheeks, heavy with regret, her fingers reaching for Thalia's hand in a desperate plea. "Please, Thalia… forgive me. I can't live with the weight of what I did. I wake up every day drowning in remorse, hating the woman I was, despising the choices I made."
But Thalia wrenched her hand away, her expression unmoved, her voice ice-cold. "Forgive you? Do you think I have spent all these years consumed by hatred for you?" A bitter laugh followed, devoid of warmth. "You are mistaken. You ceased to matter to me a long time ago, Aloise. Forgiveness is for those who still exist in our hearts. But you? You are nothing to me now."
Aloise's breath hitched. Her lips parted slightly, as if forming words she couldn't quite say. "I… I…"
Swallowing hard, she wiped the tears from her face, her features regaining their former composure. And then, in a voice stripped of all emotion, she asked, "How is Emilia?"
The question made Aloise stiffen, her fingers curling into the sheets as she attempted to mask the anger rising within her. "Why do you ask? What concern is it of yours?"
Aloise held her gaze, unwavering. "She is my daughter. Just as you might wish to ask about Mathias. You have seen him, haven't you? Even though I raised him, he is still your son, after all."
Talia's expression hardened, her grip on the blanket tightening. "Emilia is mine," she hissed. "I raised her. I don't care that you gave birth to her—she belongs to me. And you will not lay a finger on her. Did you think I wouldn't notice? That woman who always left her gifts, who gives her money when she thought no one was looking—I knew it was you. But now that she's grown, I won't let you ruin her life like you ruined mine."
Her voice dipped lower, venom dripping from every syllable. "As for that boy… keep him. I barely have the patience to tolerate his sister, who reminds me far too much of her father. I won't have his image standing before me as well."
Aloise's breath shuddered, anger flashing in her silver eyes, but she swallowed it down, forcing her voice to remain calm. "Thalia, I believe this conversation has reached its end. I am tired. Leave."
Thalia's lips curled into a smirk, one laced with contempt. "Of course. It's only fitting that a thief like you would throw me out of my own home."
Aloise flinched, swallowing the bitter taste of her own shame as she watched Thalia turn and leave. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, her body gave way to exhaustion, her strength crumbling like a house of cards. Her breathing became labored, her vision swam. The maid rushed forward, hands trembling as she poured medicine into a glass and helped her sip it.
From the doorway, Thalia cast one last glance inside, her hazel eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. Then, without another word, she stepped out, the cold night air wrapping around her like a silent victory.
In the dim glow of her lavishly decorated chamber, Olivia sat motionless, her breath shallow as she strained to catch every word. She had instructed her maid to place an enchanted stone for eavesdropping, and now, the voices from the distant conversation poured into her ears like an unbidden tide.
Her expression hardened as Talia's voice rang clear—calm, indifferent. She didn't care for Matthias. The words sliced through Olivia's mind like a jagged blade. A bitter chill crept through her veins, a haunting echo of her own past. He is reliving my torment... just as I did with my mother.
Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as a whisper, unbidden and raw, slipped from her lips.
"What did I just hear? Damn it... How do women like these become mothers?"