The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 265: The Cruel Woman

Is this the same Jessamyn I knew?

Imogen’s thoughts churned as she stared at the woman before her, a mix of fear and disbelief flickering in her eyes. The Jessamyn she once knew—the timid, easily cowed girl who had always bent to others’ wills—was gone. In her place stood a woman who had been forged in the fires of adversity, tempered by loss and betrayal, and who now commanded not just respect but fear.

Jessamyn had become a formidable opponent, one who would stop at nothing to protect what was hers.

The transformation in Jessamyn was undeniable. There was a hardness in her eyes now, a steely resolve that left no room for weakness or pity. It was clear that she was not the same woman Imogen had once belittled and tormented.

Imogen’s heart pounded in her chest, her bravado faltering in the face of this new Jessamyn. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of the old Jessamyn still remained—or if she had been entirely replaced by this cold, unyielding figure who stood before her.

Jessamyn finally turned to face Imogen, her gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made the air between them crackle. Her voice was icy, each word cutting like a blade. "This is my castle now, Imogen. You’d do well to remember that."

The declaration sent a shiver down Imogen’s spine, but she wasn’t ready to back down. Stubborn and defiant, she stomped her foot like a petulant child, trying to muster the remnants of her old bravado. "I will get back at you," she spat out, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation.

"Sure," Jessamyn replied, dismissing Imogen with a casual wave of her hand, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. The nonchalance of Jessamyn’s response only served to enrage Imogen further, her face contorting with fury as she took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides.

But as Imogen advanced, Jessamyn’s demeanor shifted. She placed the brush she had been using on Jostein’s coat down with deliberate care, her movements slow and measured. Then she turned fully to face Imogen, her expression serious, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension

"How could you kill your own son, Imogen?" Jessamyn’s voice was steady, but there was an underlying note of pain and disbelief.

Her hands, almost unconsciously, came to rest on her pregnant belly, as if seeking comfort from the life growing inside her. Her eyes bore into Imogen’s, searching for answers that might make sense of the senseless act.

"It must have been hard to stay in a loveless marriage. I won’t blame you for eloping with the man who gave you attention, but why kill that innocent life?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, as Jessamyn tried to comprehend the incomprehensible. How could a mother do such a thing? The very thought of harming her own child was unfathomable to Jessamyn. She couldn’t even begin to imagine a situation where she would entertain the idea of hurting her son, let alone something so monstrous as burning him alive.

For a brief moment, Jessamyn thought she saw a flicker of regret in Imogen’s eyes, a shadow of something that could have been remorse. But it was fleeting, and in an instant, the hatred and hostility that had defined Imogen for so long returned, hardening her features.

"That was not my fault. It was his fault," Imogen replied coldly, her voice devoid of any emotion that might suggest she understood the gravity of her actions.

Jessamyn’s heart skipped a beat, the horror of Imogen’s words sinking in. She was talking about the baby—her own flesh and blood. How could a mother harbor such hatred for her child? Jessamyn’s mind raced, trying to grasp the depths of Imogen’s madness.

"What did the baby do? He was two years old!" Jessamyn’s voice cracked, the disbelief and sorrow evident in her tone.

She had hoped, against all logic, that Imogen might be referring to something else, something that might make her actions seem less monstrous. But no, it was clear that she was speaking of her son—the innocent child she had brought into the world and then destroyed.

Imogen’s response was chilling. "He irked me. Every time I looked into his eyes, every time he smiled at me, I wanted to squeeze the life out of him," she spat, the venom in her voice revealing the depths of her loathing.

Jessamyn’s stomach churned, her heart breaking at the thought of such pure, innocent love being met with such unfathomable cruelty. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. What kind of twisted soul could look at their own child and feel nothing but hatred?

"Why?" Jessamyn asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. It was a question born of genuine confusion and pity. She could not understand how a mother could feel such malice toward her own child, a child who should have been the center of her world, the source of her greatest joy.

Imogen’s face twisted in anger and bitterness. "What would you know?" she snapped, her eyes blazing. "What would someone like you, who has everything, know? Don’t you dare judge me!"

"Judge you?" Jessamyn’s voice shook with emotion. "Because of you, I lived like a slave!" The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, a testament to the years of pain and suffering she had endured because of Imogen’s cruelty.

Imogen sneered, the expression on her face one of pure disdain. "Slave..." she scoffed, the word dripping with sarcasm. "You had a father, a title, beauty that could make stone melt... But more than that... You had love. Not one, but two men loved you and were willing to do anything for you. And what did I have? Nothing... Nothing!"

The bitterness in Imogen’s voice was palpable, and Jessamyn could see that, in her twisted mind, Imogen genuinely believed she had been the victim. But that didn’t excuse the things she had done—the lives she had destroyed in her quest to take what wasn’t hers.

"That didn’t stop you from stealing what was mine," Jessamyn said, her voice steady but filled with quiet determination.

"To steal was my only option!" Imogen shouted, her voice cracking with the intensity of her emotions. "What else was I supposed to do? Accept defeat and perish?"

Jessamyn understood a little now. The world was cruel, and in a world where the strong preyed on the weak, Imogen had done what she thought she had to do to survive. But that didn’t make it right. It didn’t make the pain she had caused disappear.

"You could have lived a peaceful life if you had been content with what you had," Jessamyn said softly.

She could see now that Imogen’s greed and ambition had been her downfall. Even after marrying Jerrick, she could have found happiness, but she had chosen a different path—one paved with envy and bitterness.