a silent revenge

The two women stood before the ancient wooden door, where the evening shadows danced across its surface, painting silent tales of a forgotten past. Emilia hesitated—only a single step separated her from the truth, yet her mind swarmed with doubts, whispering that this was a path best left untrodden.

She turned toward the Duchess, uncertainty flickering in her gaze, and murmured with a trace of unease,

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but... who am I supposed to meet beyond this door?"

The Duchess smiled gently, her expression serene, concealing a secret buried deep within. "You won't know unless you step inside, my dear."

With trembling fingers, Emilia pressed against the door, and as it creaked open, the scent of aged wood and time-worn memories seeped into the air. But before she could move forward, she heard the sound of the door closing behind her. Turning swiftly, she found that Olivia had remained outside, as if knowing that this encounter did not belong to her.

In the center of the dimly lit room stood Aloise, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. She looked as though even standing was a battle she barely won, yet she refused to face this moment from a position of weakness. Time had left its mark upon her body, but her eyes still held a flicker of something—something Emilia could not quite define.

Her lips quivered as she spoke a single name, hesitant, as if fearing it was only an illusion.

"Emilia... my child."

The voice was familiar, yet its echo in Emilia's ears felt like something from another life—a story she had no desire to revisit. She took a step back, as if the distance between them might shield her from the past. Her gaze was sharp, filled with emotions that wavered between anger and denial.

"No... it can't be." Her breath hitched, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "You... you're Eloise?"

The name struck the older woman like a dagger, its weight heavier than Emilia could ever know. But she nodded, accepting the pain that came with it.

"Yes... it's me. I am your mother."

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped Emilia's lips, her arms crossing over her chest in defiance. Her voice was cold, devoid of nostalgia.

"Well then, what do you want from me?" she scoffed. "The Duchess told me I'd be given a new life if I agreed to meet someone. I never imagined that someone would be you. So, go on. Say what you need to say—I have no reason to stay here a moment longer."

Eloise flinched at the harshness in her daughter's tone. But what wounded her most was the emptiness in her face, the sheer indifference woven into every word.

Tears welled in Eloise's eyes, slipping silently down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away, as though accepting that she deserved every drop of this sorrow. She gazed at the young woman before her—the child she had once cradled in her arms, now standing before her as a stranger, unwilling to even meet her with warmth.

"I just wanted to see you one last time..." she whispered, her voice fragile. "You've grown... into such a beautiful, strong woman."

Emilia arched a brow, an empty smirk flickering across her lips. "Yes, thanks to my mother. My real mother. Not you."

The words struck deep, but Eloise merely nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're right... she is your mother, in every way that matters."

Emilia turned toward the door, prepared to leave, but before she could take another step, a trembling hand caught her wrist. The grip was weak, but within it lay a plea heavier than words could ever convey.

"Please..." Eloise's voice broke as she inhaled sharply. "Just once… let me hold you. Let me breathe you in, feel you in my arms... just once."

Emilia's eyes widened, her body stiffening. She tried to pull away, but despite her frailty, Eloise's grasp held her with a desperate strength. In an instant, she was pulled into an embrace—warm, yearning, filled with the sorrow of years lost.

But Emilia did not return it.

Her arms remained frozen in the air, as if afraid to touch, as if the very act might taint her. There was no tenderness in her posture, only disdain. And after what felt like an eternity, she pushed Eloise away with force.

"That's enough." Her tone was flat. "Consider it the price you pay for whatever I'm meant to gain from this."

Eloise stumbled back, but her eyes remained fixed on her daughter, as if trying to memorize every detail before she disappeared forever. Even now, her hands still carried the warmth of the brief embrace—a moment that had revived her soul for an instant, only to shatter it again.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry for leaving you… and I only pray that one day, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me."

Emilia said nothing. Her cold gaze was enough to convey the tangled web of emotions within her—disgust, rejection, and a quiet, unwavering resolve. Without hesitation, she turned toward the door, pushing the heavy wood open with force, stepping out into the corridor without so much as a backward glance. She left behind not just the room but the weight of the past itself.

Outside, Olivia stood leaning against the wall, waiting as if she had known all along how this encounter would end.

Emilia arched a sharp brow before speaking in a clipped, emotionless tone. "Why didn't you tell me it was her I would be meeting?"

Olivia's lips curled into a smirk, the kind that carried an infuriating sense of amusement, as if everything was just a game to her. Tilting her head slightly, she replied in a mockingly thoughtful tone, "Hmm, I must have forgotten."

Emilia studied her face for a moment, then, without another word, turned on her heel and strode away. Her firm, decisive steps made one thing clear—she would never return to this place.

Olivia remained still, watching her go, then exhaled a soft chuckle of derision before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Within, Duchess Eloise was crumpled on the floor, her frail body trembling beneath the weight of silent sobs. Olivia did not spare her so much as a glance. She moved past her with effortless indifference, heading instead for the table where scattered documents lay in disarray. Picking them up delicately between her fingers, as though they were of little consequence, she examined the signature at the bottom.

"Ah, good. It seems you've signed the papers as promised," she remarked, her voice devoid of warmth. Then, slipping the documents beneath her arm, she added with a glacial detachment, "I'll be taking these."

Despite the agony carved into Eloise's weary frame, despite the tears staining her cheeks, there was no pity to be found in Olivia's eyes. Instead, she stepped closer, leaning in just enough to whisper with a venomous sweetness,

"This, my dear, is your reward—for what you did to your daughter. The truth is, you were never fit to be a mother."

Eloise's head snapped up, fury flashing through the haze of her exhaustion. Her voice, hoarse yet filled with fire, lashed out, "Get out! I thought you were helping me, but you're nothing more than a cunning fox!"

Olivia let out a low, mocking laugh, her eyes gleaming with undeniable satisfaction. "What a shame. Did you really believe I was here to reunite you with your daughter? Be grateful, at least… thanks to me, she will return to a family that truly deserves her. She will have the respect she never would have found in your shadow."

With that, Olivia turned and strode toward the door, leaving the broken woman behind without a second thought.

In her office, she placed the signed documents in Isabella's hands, her tone carrying the weight of command.

"Isabella, send these to the Imperial Registry. Make sure they process everything at once—today, not tomorrow."

There was no room for debate. No hesitation. Everything would proceed exactly as she had planned.

The next morning, a sharp cry of outrage shattered the stillness of Matthias's office.

Talia stood there, shaking with fury, her hands clutching the imperial documents as if she could rip them apart and undo the disaster they contained.

"What is the meaning of this?!" she shrieked. "I never signed adoption papers for Emilia! I only signed for Laila! How did this happen?!"

At that moment, both Matthias and Leon were reviewing the documents, their eyes widening in disbelief. Then, slowly, Matthias turned to Leon, utterly ignoring Talia's continued outburst.

"Leon… who was responsible for handling the adoption papers?"

The two men exchanged a look—a silent understanding passing between them.

Leon's lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one that always made others uneasy. Turning to Talia, he regarded her with a mix of amusement and thinly veiled satisfaction.

"My lady… it seems you've crossed the wrong person."

Her eyes widened in panicked confusion. "What do you mean?!"

Before she could get an answer, the door to the office swung open, and Olivia entered, walking with the effortless confidence of someone who had already won.

She stopped in front of Talia, a cool smile playing on her lips.

"Well, Lady Talia, did you enjoy this morning's news?"

Talia turned to her like a wounded beast, her eyes blazing with rage, her fists clenched as though she were on the verge of striking.

"It was you… You did this! You stole my daughter!"

Yet, instead of denial, Olivia took a step closer, her gaze steady, unwavering. Her smirk remained, as sharp as a blade.

"Didn't you enjoy my little surprise?" she asked in a silky voice, before adding with a razor-sharp edge, "You said it yourself before… I am Tharon's daughter. The Duchess of this castle. Did you truly believe I would forgive what you did? Consider yourself lucky—I could have had you buried alive."

Her words were final, as merciless as they were true.

A cold shiver ran down Talia's spine. In that moment, she understood—if she pushed any further, she wouldn't just lose her daughter. She might lose her life.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, her fury burning silent now, she turned on her heel and left, dragging the weight of her defeat behind her.

Leon and Matthias watched her retreat. Then, as if in perfect sync, they exchanged another glance before turning to Olivia, unmistakable admiration gleaming in their eyes.

"Finally," Leon mused with amusement, "someone managed to shut that lunatic up."

Matthias nodded in agreement. "You're right… finally, some peace."

She looked at him

"Matthias, we must resolve the issue with Lilia as soon as possible," Olivia said, her voice calm yet sharp as a blade. "The newspapers have begun spreading rumors that have gone far beyond acceptable limits. We cannot afford further delay."

Matthias lifted his gaze from the scattered documents on his desk, his expression serious, as if his thoughts had already been revolving around the same issue. "Yes, I've been considering it. Perhaps I should visit the Empress tomorrow."

Olivia let out a dry, mocking laugh, an expression of disdain flashing across her face. "The Empress?" She repeated the title as though the mere suggestion was absurd. Then, with a voice even colder, she added, "She's nothing but talk. True power does not lie in her hands—it rests with the Emperor. If you truly wish to put an end to this farce, take Lilia and his granddaughter to see him. He alone can settle this matter."

Matthias studied her for a moment, reconsidering his plan before nodding in agreement. "You're right. I'll take her to him." Then, turning his gaze to Olivia with mild curiosity, he asked, "Will you come with us?"

Her eyes widened slightly in feigned surprise. "Me?" She waved a hand dismissively. "No, thank you. Isabella and I have planned a shopping trip tomorrow."

Leon raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Since when do you and my wife go shopping together?"

A small, knowing smile played on Olivia's lips, a hint of challenge in her tone. "Since today. Consider it official from now on."

By the next morning, the arrangements had been made for an audience with the Emperor. The brothers set off towards the imperial palace, each lost in their own thoughts about the events that would unfold. Meanwhile, Isabella remained at the estate, preparing for what she assumed would be a simple shopping trip with Olivia.

Inside her chamber, Olivia sat in silence, sipping her tea, watching the steam curl into the air as though reading a future only she could see.

The door creaked open, and Isabella entered, suspicion evident in her gaze. "So, Duchess," she said, crossing her arms. "I heard you told my husband that we're going shopping." She hesitated for a moment before adding, her voice tinged with irritation, "Are you joking with me?"

Olivia did not even glance up from the rim of her cup, as if the entire matter was too trivial to warrant acknowledgment. "Didn't you say you wanted to see your father? I keep my word—I will take you to him."

The doubt vanished from Isabella's face, replaced by unfiltered joy. She instinctively reached for Olivia's arm, her eyes alight with childlike hope. "Are you serious? You'll really take me to him?"

Olivia's response was cold, unblinking. "Yes. I will take you to him."

The carriage rolled steadily down the road, and Isabella could barely contain her excitement. She watched the passing scenery through the window, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of her dress, her heart pounding. Finally, after all these years—after every moment she had thought she would never see him again—

On the opposite side of the carriage, Olivia sat in silence, her face dark as a storm-laden sky.

The journey continued, until the buildings began to fade into the distance, replaced by vast, empty plains. The landscape stretched endlessly, barren except for the whisper of the wind and a few scattered stones.

A strange unease crept into Isabella's chest.

"Where are we?" she asked, casting a quick glance at Olivia, whose expression remained unchanged.

No answer came—just a steady, unyielding gaze, as cold and lifeless as a winter's night.

At last, the carriage came to a halt. The two women stepped out, and Isabella turned in circles, scanning the desolate surroundings.

"You said you'd take me to my father."

"I did."

She turned swiftly, her eyes searching Olivia's face for an explanation. "Then where is he? Is he meeting us here? Did you free him from your father?"

For a long moment, silence weighed heavy between them. The wind was the only thing that moved in the empty space.

Finally, Olivia spoke, her voice devoid of warmth, devoid of anything at all.

"You could say… he freed himself from my father."

A spark of hope flickered in Isabella's eyes as she grasped Olivia's hands with desperate eagerness. "Then he's coming here? How long do we have to wait?"

Slowly, deliberately, Olivia raised her hand and pointed to the ground.

At first, Isabella did not understand. She followed Olivia's gesture, gazing down at the spot she indicated. It was a small mound of earth, uneven, the dirt still fresh as though the wind had not yet fully claimed it.

And then, suddenly, realization struck.

The color drained from her face. Her limbs turned cold, as if life itself had withdrawn from her.

She turned back to Olivia, her eyes wide with horror, her lips trembling.

"You… You mean my father is…"

But she could not finish the sentence. She did not need to. The truth stood before her—merciless, immovable, beyond denial.

She had come seeking a living man.

But now, she stood upon a grave.