dad

Olivia's voice was cold, indifferent. "Yes. Who else would it be?"

Isabella lunged forward, gripping Olivia's dress by the collar, her eyes blazing with fury. "Olivia, I am not joking! Where is my father? Do you think I'll fall for your games?"

Without a word, Olivia lifted her hand. A delicate silver chain dangled from her fingers, catching the dim light of the sun. At its end, a small, engraved plate bore a single name: Edward Norman. In the corner of the plate, a tiny feather had been etched, its delicate lines unmistakable.

The moment Isabella saw it, her fingers slackened, releasing Olivia's dress. The fire in her eyes extinguished, replaced by a chilling horror. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her trembling hands reached out hesitantly..

"No… no, this cannot be true…" she whispered, her voice broken. "He promised he would come back to me. This must be some kind of nightmare. You're lying, aren't you?" Her tear-filled eyes bore into Olivia, desperate, searching. "Where did you get this? Tell me!"

A slow, deliberate smirk touched Olivia's lips, void of sympathy. "I took it from his body before they buried him."

A raw, guttural scream tore from Isabella's throat. It was a sound of agony so profound that even Olivia, in all her cold detachment, felt something tighten in her chest. Isabella collapsed, her body wracked with sobs that shook her to her core.

Olivia watched her in silence. There was nothing left to say. Finally, with a tired sigh, she bent down, her voice softer but firm. "This is the truth, Isabella. You have to face it. Now get up. We don't have time."

But Isabella could not move. Tears streamed down her face, silent now, as if she had run out of the strength to cry. Her body trembled, her gaze vacant. She stared at Olivia as if looking through her..

"What?" Isabella's voice was barely above a whisper. "I will not leave him. My father hates being alone. I will stay with him. I won't leave him now that I've finally found him."

Olivia exhaled sharply, crossing her arms with an impatient huff. "Fantastic. Now she's lost her mind. What am I supposed to do with you now? Isabella, snap out of it! We have to go back!"

No response.

Frustrated, Olivia grabbed Isabella's arm, attempting to haul her to her feet, but Isabella fought back, clinging to the ground as if she could anchor herself there.

"For heaven's sake, Isabella," Olivia groaned. "Is this really the time to lose yourself? The sun is setting! Do you think they'll believe we stayed out shopping this late?"

Still, nothing. Olivia tried again, but Isabella refused to move. There was only one solution left. With an exasperated sigh, she turned and gestured sharply to the waiting carriage driver.

"You! Come here! Take her to the carriage."

The driver hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obeyed, stepping forward. He grabbed Isabella, who struggled wildly, her nails scraping against the cold earth as she fought to stay by her father's side.

"Please, no! Let me stay! I haven't seen him in two years! Please, I need to be with him!" she sobbed, her voice hoarse from desperation.

But Olivia did not waver. She nodded to the driver, who lifted Isabella into his arms. Blood trickled from her fingers, torn and raw from her futile resistance. Yet Olivia remained unmoved..

She climbed into the carriage and sat across from Isabella, watching her as one leg crossed over the other. Isabella had gone silent, her eyes lifeless, her body limp. She was a doll with its strings cut.

Olivia studied her carefully, her mind drifting elsewhere. Was there truly a father worth this? Worth breaking yourself for? She thought of days she had buried, memories she had convinced herself no longer mattered.

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels echoed in the empty streets. Olivia gazed at Isabella, whose vacant stare never wavered. The girl's face was pale, her body still trembling slightly.

Yet here they were, rising from the ashes"I can't believe he's gone," Isabella whispered at last, her voice so faint Olivia barely heard it.

Olivia sighed, leaning back against the cushioned seat. "Believe it. There's no changing the past."

A long silence stretched between them before Isabella spoke again, her voice raw. "You don't understand. He was my world. My only family."

A shadow crossed Olivia's face. "People die, Isabella. That's what they do."

Isabella turned her teary gaze to Olivia. "Is that what happened to you? Is that why you're like this?"

Olivia didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned her head, staring out the window as the carriage continued its relentless path forward. She had spent years building walls around herself, but tonight, Isabella's grief chipped at them, exposing fractures she thought long buried. Memories she had buried deep resurfaced—faces, laughter, a warmth she had convinced herself she no longer needed.

With a slow breath, she finally muttered, "Maybe."

For the first time since they left, Isabella's lips quivered into something almost like understanding. But it was fleeting, like a whisper lost in the wind.

The carriage rode on into the night, carrying them toward an uncertain future, leaving the past buried in the cold, unforgiving ground.

At last, after a harrowing journey, they returned to the grand estate. The towering structure loomed over them, its gilded doors offering little warmth to the two figures stepping inside. Isabella, still dazed, trailed behind Olivia like a shadow, her once-bright eyes now dull and vacant. The butler was waiting at the entrance, his face a mask of careful neutrality. He noted Isabella's disheveled hair, the pallor of her face, and—most of all—the blood dripping from her fingers. Yet, he knew better than to ask questions, not when the Duchess was present. Instead, he merely bowed and spoke with practiced ease.

"Welcome back, Your Grace. His Lordship will be remaining under the Emperor's care for the night."

Olivia barely acknowledged him, her voice flat and uninterested. "Fine. That doesn't concern me. As for dinner, I won't be needing it. I have no appetite."

With that, she ascended the grand staircase, Isabella following in silence, as if tethered to her by an invisible thread. They entered Olivia's chamber, its vast space filled with an eerie quiet. Without a word, Olivia gestured for her maid to tend to Isabella's wounds and bring her a glass of water. Isabella did not resist. She sat motionless as the maid cleaned and bandaged her hands, her silence a stark contrast to the turmoil she had endured.

Olivia observed the scene with detached interest before her mind drifted—to a different time, a different place. The damp, suffocating walls of a dungeon replaced the luxury of her chambers. Cold chains bit into her skin. She lay crumpled on the stone floor, her dress in tatters, bruises darkening her arms like ink stains. Every breath she took was agony.

Then, a gentle touch on her forehead. A voice, rough but kind.

"My dear, are you all right?"

She opened her swollen eyes with effort. A man knelt beside her, his face lined with age and hardship. A scar slashed across his cheek, and his eyes—green like fresh grass—held a tenderness she had not known in years.

"Who are you?" she rasped, her throat raw.

"A prisoner, like you," he replied, his voice tinged with sympathy. "And you? Why have they put you here?"

A bitter laugh bubbled up within her, though it died before it could escape her lips. So this was it? Not content with breaking her in private, they had thrown her into a cell with a strange man, stripping away the last vestiges of her dignity. She pulled the tattered remains of her dress closer around her, eyeing him warily.

Noting her fear, the man averted his gaze. "There's no need to be afraid, child. I have a daughter your age. Here, take this."

He slipped his shirt over his head and handed it to her, leaving himself bare in the freezing air. Olivia hesitated before accepting it. Wearing it was better than sitting there, exposed and shivering.

Moments later, a guard arrived, tossing a plate of food onto the grimy floor. "For you," he sneered at the man, then cast a cruel glance at Olivia. "Not for her."

Her stomach clenched in hunger, but she remained silent. The man, however, picked up the plate and placed it in her lap. "Eat, my child. You look like you haven't had a meal in days."

His kindness startled her. In him, she found the warmth she had never received from her own father. He protected her in that dark place, shared his rations, and spoke to her as if she mattered. Over time, he became more than just a fellow prisoner—he was her guardian in the abyss, a beacon of hope in a place where hope had no right to exist.

One night, when the echoes of distant screams filled the corridors, he whispered to her, "When you leave this place, live. Do not let them steal your soul."

She had never forgotten him.

A voice snapped her back to the present.

"Olivia," Isabella murmured, breaking the silence at last. The maid had finished tending to her wounds, but the emptiness in her eyes remained. "I want to know how my father died."

Olivia exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. "Ah. You want to know how he died? And why, exactly? Are you planning revenge?"

"I just want the truth," Isabella said, her patience thinning. "Tell me."

Olivia leaned back, her expression unreadable. "He was strangled. Suffocated until there was nothing left."

Isabella's fingers twitched, her breath hitching. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then… your father… he—"

"You think my father killed him?" Olivia interrupted, her tone almost amused. "No, Isabella. You're mistaken."

A frown creased Isabella's brow. "Then who?"

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in Olivia's gaze.

"It was me," Olivia said, her voice eerily calm. "I killed him."

Silence fell between them like a heavy shroud. Olivia didn't look away, didn't flinch. And as the realization sank in, Isabella felt the weight of those words settle into her bones, a cold and unrelenting truth she was not prepared to face.