I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 144: The Misplaced Devotion

He did not wait for her reply. Stripping off his heavy overcoat, he draped it around her shoulders with a firm, protective urgency—as if shielding a fragile child from a gathering storm. Then, with a gentleness that defied his usual nature, he took her hand to guide her into the safety of the carriage.

​"Rest for now," he muttered, his voice a low promise of retribution. "I will ensure she regrets this later."

​Seated within the plush interior, Olivia felt the lingering warmth of his coat and the scent of him enveloping her, a silent balm to the frigid void Lucius had left in her heart. She looked up at him, a small, fractured smile playing on her lips.

​"You came here because you were afraid the Empress would strike again... just like last time, didn’t you?"

​Matthias averted his gaze, a desperate flicker of denial crossing his features. "Does that truly matter now?" he countered, his jaw tightening. "Besides, I am not the sort of man who allows others to lay a hand on his wife while he sits idly by."

​"Oh, such gallantry," she remarked, her voice laced with a thin veil of irony. "Well, do not fret. I took my pleasure in watching her be struck. It was a spectacle beyond imagination—a scene well worth the soaking."

​Matthias arched his eyebrows in sheer disbelief. A brief, heavy silence settled between them before he murmured, his eyes searching her amused expression, "Who do you mean? Who struck her?"

​"The Emperor himself," she replied. "You should have seen the look on her face."

​"The Emperor?" Matthias echoed, his mind racing. He went still, his gaze intensifying as he realized she was meticulously crafting her expression, layering a veneer of iron over a soul that was clearly fraying. "Did you tell him? You know what I mean..."

​"That I am his daughter?" Olivia’s smile vanished, replaced by a hollow, haunting exhaustion. "No. I lack the strength to go searching for paternal affection at this stage of my life. And I know not if he would ever truly accept an illegitimate daughter. I think it best to leave things as they are... in the shadows."

​"As you wish," Matthias replied, his voice a low rumble.

​Olivia tilted her head, her eyes flashing with a provocative glint. "Did my dear husband not say that regardless of my blood, I would always be the Duchess of Locron? That is enough for me."

​"Are you mocking me now?" he countered, his brow arching. "For your information, I have yet to forgive you for your recent antics."

​She let out a dry, cynical laugh. "If you knew the half of what I’ve done while you remained oblivious, you wouldn’t forgive me if we lived a thousand lifetimes. I’m quite used to it."

​"Must we open that door again?" he asked, his tone weary yet sharp.

​"Fine, fine. My lips are sealed," she murmured. She fell silent for a moment, watching the shadows of the passing trees dance across his face. "When I saw the guards, I couldn’t help but wonder... how in all the hells did you storm the Imperial Palace and humiliate the Empress like that?"

​Matthias allowed a slow, predatory smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. He idly toyed with the signet ring on his finger, the metal catching the lantern light. "Hmm... it seems we both have our secrets, Olivia. Perhaps I’ll tell you... one day."

​As the carriage rattled further away from the suffocating stone walls of the palace, Matthias returned his gaze to the road, his silence now a watchful shield. Olivia closed her eyes, leaning back into the velvet cushions. For the first time in an eternity, a stray spark of warmth flickered in her chest—the realization that she was no longer forced to march into every battlefield alone, as long as he stood there in the fray. It was a sensation she couldn’t yet name, but for now, it was enough.

​Back at the ducal estate, a veiled woman stood before the towering iron gates, her presence an enigma to the passing servants. She had waited for a considerable time before the head butler finally bowed in apology.

​"Her Grace is currently unavailable," he stated firmly.

​However, Isabella, who had been watching from a distance, felt a sudden jolt of recognition. She remembered Olivia’s cryptic instructions: A woman will come to the palace; if I am not there, you must be the one to meet her.

​Just as the stranger turned to vanish into the evening mist, Isabella called out, halting her in her tracks.

​"Forgive me, Miss, but... are you Iris?"

​The woman halted, her gaze sweeping over Isabella with a piercing intensity. "And you must be Lady Isabella, correct?"

​"I am," Isabella replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of unease in her chest. The stranger offered a diligent, practiced bow before stepping forward, her movements as fluid as a shadow.

​"Please," Isabella gestured toward the estate, "come inside for a cup of tea."

​"No, thank you. My time is far too precious for the pleasantries of a tea circle," the woman countered, her tone clipped and businesslike. "We must speak in private."

​"Of course. Follow me."

​The moment the heavy oak doors closed behind them, isolating them from prying eyes, the woman moved with startling speed. She reached up, undoing the intricate braids of her own hair with deft fingers. From the silken depths of her tresses, she extracted a strange, weathered slip of paper and pressed it firmly into Isabella’s palm.

​"Deliver this to Olivia in absolute secrecy," she hissed, her breath a cold ghost against Isabella’s ear. "I am counting on you, My Lady. And tell her... the name ’Elvira’ was all I was able to extract."

​Isabella swallowed hard, the paper feeling unnervingly heavy in her hand. "I... I understand. It shall be done as you ask."

​With practiced ease, the woman readjusted her hair, pinning the braids back into place until not a strand was out of line. Within minutes, the two emerged from the room as if nothing more than a casual greeting had occurred.

​"Then I shall bid you farewell, Lady Isabella," the stranger said, bowing once more.

​Isabella forced a thin, artificial smile to her lips, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Goodbye, then. I wish you a safe journey."

​The woman vanished into the mist without another word. Isabella stared at the mysterious parchment, her mind racing; there was no place safe enough to hide such a thing, save for Olivia’s own private chambers. After securing the message within the lion’s den, she retreated to her own room. She sat perfectly still, trying to project a mask of calm, but the tremors in her hands betrayed the suffocating tension that now took root within her.

Leon sat in a secluded alcove of the library, the dim light casting long shadows across the pages he held. He flipped through them with a studied, frigid indifference, but his eyes never truly registered a single word. As he sensed her moving toward the door, he spoke without lifting his gaze.

​"And where are you going now?"

​Isabella paused at the threshold, her reply clipped and breathless. "To Olivia’s office. I have an urgent matter to discuss with her."

​Leon closed his book slowly, the dull thud echoing sharply in the heavy silence of the room. "She was summoned by imperial decree in the early hours... you will not find her there."

​"I am aware," she countered, her voice trembling slightly, "but perhaps she has already returned."

​Leon did not miss the flicker of dread that invaded her eyes, nor the way her fingers twisted convulsively into the silk of her gown. He exhaled a weary, stifled sigh, attempting to ground her frantic energy. "There is no need for such agitation. As you well know, Olivia is no fragile blossom. Even if the Empress were to strike, do you truly believe my brother would stand idly by?"

​Isabella turned on him with a sudden, jagged sharpness that he hadn’t anticipated. "You understand nothing, Leon! You have no inkling of how predatory that Empress is toward Olivia, nor the depths of the malice she might unleash if she finds her vulnerable and alone!"

​A suffocating silence descended upon the library. Leon stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his gaze a bruised mosaic of raw pain and bitter irony. Finally, he spoke, his voice dropping to a low, hollow resonance that sent a shiver down her spine.

​"Perhaps," he began, "you should afford our marriage the same degree of frantic concern you lavish upon Olivia."

​Isabella recoiled, her brow furrowing in genuine bewilderment. "What?"

​"You heard me." Leon stood, closing the distance between them with slow, tension-charged strides. "You have been avoiding me lately as if I were a plague you feared to contract. Is this what our union has become? Two ghosts haunting the same halls, while one’s heart resides elsewhere?"

​"We were speaking of Olivia!" Isabella cried out, her voice rising in disbelief. "What madness possesses you to drag our marriage into this now?"

​Leon finally snapped. A roar erupted from his chest, a sound that seemed to rattle the very foundations of the library. "Because every sentence you begin ends with her name! When does it become my turn, Isabella? Am I merely a toy to amuse you until the Duchess of Locron beckons?"

​His volume plummeted, curdling into a terrifying, hollow whisper as he gave voice to the question that had been clawing at his soul. "Answer me truly... do you love Olivia?"

​Isabella answered with absolute simplicity, entirely unaware of the jagged trap she was setting for herself. "Yes."

​She spoke of a pure, crystalline devotion—the unshakable bond of a sister and a confidante. But the word fell upon Leon’s ears like a blade disemboweling his pride. A single, solitary tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek—a tear that burned through his mask of the stoic knight. Stunned, Isabella reached out to brush it away, her fingers trembling.

​But he recoiled, pushing her hand away with a smile so sad and fractured it was harder to look at than his rage.

​"Thank you," he breathed, retreating into the shadows, his eyes turning stone-cold and vacant. "I understand my place in your world now. Thank you for being honest... at least this once."