A Storm Within the Manor

That morning passed like a storm had ravaged the grand estate. The halls were heavy with a suffocating silence, each occupant moving like shadows, their faces carved with grim expressions. By the time evening descended, the household gathered at the long, ornate dining table. The chandelier above cast flickering light upon the meal, yet no one showed the slightest appetite.

They were bound by blood, yet separated by something far deeper—something invisible but insurmountable.

Mysterious tension crackled in the air, thick as smoke, and yet one person remained unaffected. Olivia toyed with her food, a ghost of amusement dancing in her eyes, as if she were savoring the prelude to a grand performance about to unfold.

Then, finally, Mathias noticed her.

"Leila?" His voice cut through the silence like a knife. "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

The moment froze, the tension sharpening like a blade. Everyone stiffened. Everyone except Olivia, who merely watched, intrigued.

Leila hesitated. A faint tremor flickered in her fingers as she let her dark hair fall forward, attempting to veil the unmistakable bruise on her cheek. "It's nothing, brother," she murmured. "I... I fell, that's all."

Before she could spin her lie further, another voice cut in.

"I struck her."

The words, sharp and cold, belonged to their mother. She sat straight-backed, regal, her expression unreadable. "Is there a problem with a mother disciplining her daughter?"

For the first time, Mathias met his mother's gaze with unfiltered rage. His voice was low, but every syllable dripped with fury. "Yes. There is a problem. A mother does not discipline her child like this. She is my sister."

His mother regarded him with nothing but disdain. "Watch your tongue, Mathias. She is my daughter. I will do as I see fit."

A sudden, firm voice sliced through the air like a dagger.

"Duke."

All eyes turned to Olivia.

Mathias's mother narrowed her gaze. "What?"

"Duke," Olivia repeated, unfazed by the icy glares. "He is a Duke. Since you are a commoner now, you should address him properly. Or has living among the common folk made you forget the etiquette of nobility?"

A bitter smile curled at the corners of the woman's lips. "And will a Tharon's daughter now lecture me on propriety?" she mocked. Then, with a slow, deliberate glance at Mathias, she added, "And in case you've forgotten, he is also my son. I will address him however I please."

Most in the room saw it as a mere exchange of words. But Olivia knew better. She had overheard the whispered conversation between Mathias's mother and Alois. She knew the truth. She knew the woman was using her own son for her benefit.

With chilling indifference, Olivia met her gaze. "Your son?" she echoed. Then, with deliberate precision, she placed her wine glass down and smiled—cold, knowing.

"He is my husband, Lady."

A stunned silence followed. The words echoed, sending shockwaves across the room.

Only Mathias's mother responded with a slow, mocking chuckle. "Oh, how amusing," she sneered. "I stand corrected. You make quite the pair indeed—the son of that bastard and the daughter of a Tharon. How… poetic."

And then—

A sudden, sharp sound cut through the stillness.

Olivia's palm slammed against the table, the force of her anger reverberating through the grand dining hall. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the heavy silence.

"How the hell did you ever become a mother?" she spat, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. "How can someone like you bring children into this world? You bore them, and yet you treat them like this? While a stranger—someone who shares not a drop of your blood—was given the love you never spared for your own?"

The accusation struck its mark. The room tensed, waiting for an eruption. Mathias, for once, chose to remain silent. He could have intervened, could have calmed the others, but he wanted to see just how far his wife would go in defending him.

Talia's lips trembled as she bit down hard, suppressing something—guilt, fury, regret, perhaps all three. A flicker of pain crossed her face as she met Olivia's gaze.

"You are the last person who can judge me," she hissed, voice laced with venom. "Do you even know what I've endured? How could I ever love the children of a traitor? How could I love them when they are his reflection, his very shadow haunting me? Tell me, Olivia—how?"

Her breath was ragged, her composure slipping. "Every time Leila looks at me with those eyes, do you know how much I hate her? How much I've resented her mere existence?" Her voice cracked, raw with long-buried bitterness. "And now, you accuse me of being heartless? Look at him." Her trembling hand gestured toward Mathias. "He is his mirror image. Tell me, how am I supposed to love him?"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Mathias swallowed, his expression unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of sadness in his eyes. Across from him, Leila sat frozen, her face pale with shock. The woman who had raised her, the mother she had tried so hard to please—had never loved her. Not once. Not even for a fleeting moment.

Olivia's gaze flickered between them all.

Her husband, who had never known a mother's love.

His sister, who had just learned that the warmth she thought she had was an illusion.

Emilia, who had always felt like an intruder, stealing a mother who had never truly been hers.

And Leon, the quietest of them all, caught in a storm he had no part in creating.

A broken family, bound by blood yet shattered beyond repair.

Then, without warning, Olivia moved.

The air crackled with unspoken rage as she strode toward Talia, eyes dark with fury. Before anyone could react, her hand rose—swift, unyielding—and struck.

The sharp slap echoed through the room, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Talia recoiled, clutching her cheek in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice shaking with both anger and shock.

Olivia's eyes blazed with fury, a fire so raw it seemed to consume the very air around her. She took a step forward, her voice rising, trembling with righteous anger.

"You hate them because they look like him?" she spat, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "Is that really your reason? Is that it?"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she fought for control, but there was none to be found. She turned sharply, pointing at Mathias.

"Mathias and I—we are enemies." Her voice was almost hysterical now, laced with something deeper than rage, something broken. "Do you understand? Enemies."

The word rang through the room, sharp and undeniable.

"And yet," she continued, her voice dipping into something raw and unguarded, "I was a mother once. Not for long, but I was." A bitter, painful laugh escaped her lips. "And believe me, he was just like him. His sharp nose, his raven-black hair—"

She faltered. For the first time, her gaze dropped, as though she were staring into a past no one else could see. A past that no longer existed.

"I never even got to see the color of his eyes," she whispered.

The room stilled.

"But I never hated him." She raised her gaze again, fierce and unwavering. "There is no love between Mathias and me. I will say it now, in front of everyone. Our marriage is nothing but a political contract. But I did not—could not—hate the child I bore just because he was his father's son. He was mine. I carried him for nine months. I waited for him. I longed for him."

Her voice cracked, but her anger did not falter.

"And you," she turned to Talia, her eyes burning with disbelief, "you hate them for their resemblance? Are you out of your mind?"

Talia remained frozen, stunned into silence. She had never seen Olivia like this. Neither had her daughters. None of them had known. None of them had even suspected.

But Olivia wasn't finished.

Her voice grew softer, tinged with something almost mournful. "Do you know," she murmured, "if my life had been the price to pay for his, I would have given it without a second thought. That child was mine, even if he had been born of a devil himself. I would have given my soul just to hear his voice once."

Her breath hitched. Then, slowly, she exhaled, shaking her head.

"I don't understand you. I never will. What did we ever do to deserve mothers like you?"

The words, though spoken softly, landed like a death sentence.

A heavy silence fell, suffocating and unbreakable. The air itself felt weighted, pressing down on them all. No one spoke. No one could speak.

Mathias, who had remained silent all this time, finally moved. He reached for Olivia's trembling hand, his grip firm yet gentle. Without a word, he turned, pulling her with him toward the door.

"Excuse us," he said quietly, though his voice left no room for argument. "It seems we should take our leave now."

And with that, they were gone, leaving behind only the echoes of unspoken grief and a room too heavy with things no one dared to say.