battle of words

Olivia moved gracefully through the vast corridors of the palace, her steps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows along the gilded walls, and as she passed one of the grand mirrors, she caught sight of her own reflection—her figure poised elegantly, her back straight, and her expression devoid of emotion, like a statue carved from the coldest marble.

She did not have the luxury to linger on her own image for long. A voice, measured yet firm, broke the silence.

"My lady, the Duke requests your presence."

She turned, arching a delicate brow at the speaker. It was the head butler, standing with practiced composure. Her gaze sharpened.

"Did you not inform me upon my return that he would remain at the royal palace for the night? Were you lying to me?"

Despite the unspoken threat woven into her words, the butler did not flinch. His posture remained as impeccable as ever, though his tone held an edge of carefully measured contrition.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. It seems that something urgent has arisen, prompting his unexpected return. I had no intention of misleading you."

Olivia regarded him for a moment longer, then brushed past him without another word. She had no interest in his excuses—only in the implications of this sudden summons.

"That wretched man must have told Matthias about Isabella's condition; otherwise, why would he call for me now?"

Her fingers curled slightly, and she bit down on her nail, a rare display of unease.

"I will deal with him later. For now, let's see what awaits me."

She arrived at the door to the Duke's chambers. Just as she lifted her hand to knock, the door swung open violently, and before she could react, a strong grip seized her wrist, yanking her inside with force.

"What in the—?"

Her words caught in her throat as she steadied herself. She lifted her gaze, already prepared to unleash her fury, but instead, her eyes locked onto the stormy expression of Matthias.

"Oh, it's you," she said, irritation creeping into her voice. "Is this how you usually greet people? What is the meaning of this?"

Matthias's green eyes burned with barely restrained anger. He let go of her wrist abruptly, but his stance remained tense, his voice sharp with accusation.

"You dare ask me that? What is the meaning of your actions?"

Olivia feigned innocence, turning her head slightly away as if she were utterly perplexed.

"Me? I have no idea what you're talking about. I simply chose not to accompany you all to the royal palace. Is that truly a crime?"

Matthias stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate—almost predatory. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, yet it carried an unsettling weight.

"Olivia, don't be foolish. What happened between you and Isabella?"

Her response came too quickly.

"Nothing happened."

A lie. And a poor one at that. The speed of her answer betrayed her. Matthias narrowed his eyes, his voice turning sharper.

"Such a hasty response for someone telling the truth. Tell me where the two of you went, what you did to her. And why, when she returned, she was in such a state. I have ignored your many indiscretions, but to lay a hand on Leon's wife? That is a line you should have never crossed. She is family, Olivia, not one of your servants."

Olivia let out a breath of mock outrage, her eyes flashing with feigned anger.

"I told you—I did nothing to her. And what? You would believe that old man over me?"

Matthias's lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"Funny, I never mentioned that the head butler was the one who told me."

Olivia froze for only the briefest moment before masking her expression once more. He had trapped her, and he knew it. He took a step back, tilting his head slightly.

"Tell me the truth, Olivia. Or I'll go ask Isabella myself."

Her mind raced. She had been so sure he would not return tonight—Kyle's message had been clear. Matthias was meant to stay at the royal palace. What had changed? How had he found out so quickly?

But she refused to let him see her falter. Instead, she straightened her posture and met his gaze with icy resolve.

"Go ahead," she said smoothly. "Ask her. I don't mind."

Matthias studied her for a moment, then turned toward the door, ready to leave. But before he could take a step beyond the threshold, her voice rang out behind him, soft yet laced with a venomous amusement.

"Yes, do go ahead—go visit a woman who is not your wife, in the dead of night, to ask her what your wife has done to her. What a fascinating conversation that will be at such an hour."

His stride faltered. He stopped just as his fingers touched the door handle. Slowly, he turned to face her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"What exactly are you implying, Olivia?"

She met his gaze with unwavering confidence, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks.

"You heard me. A man visiting a woman in her private chambers while her husband is away—questioning her about another woman, his own wife, no less. It makes one wonder, does it not? About the nature of your relationship with Isabella."

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick and suffocating. Then, the quiet control Matthias had held onto so tightly snapped like a frayed thread. His composure shattered, his fury palpable. His jaw clenched, veins prominent against his forehead as he forced himself to speak—his voice low, seething, barely restrained.

"Olivia." The way he said her name was a warning, a threat. "You have truly crossed the line this time. Do you even understand what you are accusing me of? That I would betray my own brother? That I would look at his wife with anything other than indifference?!"

His breathing was heavy now, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his anger. He took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower, dangerously steady.

"I would rather drive a blade through both my eyes than look at Isabella with desire—not even for a single moment. So erase that thought from your head, Olivia."

Olivia could feel the air in the room shifting, growing heavier with his anger. Yet she stood firm, unshaken, pressing forward with a cruel smirk playing at her lips. She had struck a nerve, and she wasn't done yet.

"You say you would never lay eyes on Isabella because she is your brother's wife," she mused, tilting her head slightly, her voice laced with mocking curiosity. "But what about that other woman? What was her name again?" She paused deliberately, as if struggling to recall. Then, with a spark of amusement in her eyes, she continued, "Ah, yes. Lina. I wonder… did you enjoy watching her legs every day?"

She expected anger, but what she received was something far more volatile.

Matthias' hand shot up so fast she thought, for a fleeting moment, that he might actually strike her. But instead, his fist crashed against the stone wall beside him with a force that sent a sharp crack through the room. The impact left a faint indentation in the surface, his knuckles scraped raw.

His breath was ragged, his body tense with restrained fury.

"For the love of the gods, Olivia, do you even hear yourself?" His voice was dangerously low, almost trembling with suppressed rage. "What nonsense are you spewing now? Will you accuse me of sleeping with every woman in this damned palace?"

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his expression twisted in frustration.

"I already know the rumors about that maid," he spat. "And I do not care. Do you hear me? I. Do. Not. Care. I have never looked at her. I do not even know her name."

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he exhaled sharply, trying—and failing—to rein in his fury.

"Tell me, Olivia," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "Will you continue prowling these halls, throwing accusations as you please? Or will you finally drop this ridiculous charade?"

The room was thick with tension, the air crackling between them like a storm waiting to break. But Olivia? She merely smiled, her eyes gleaming with something that was neither fear nor remorse.

She had pushed him to his limit. And she was just getting started.

The conversation had taken a sharp, dangerous turn. What began as a clash of words had escalated into something far more personal, far more destructive. With no servants around, no audience to maintain decorum, the masks had fallen. Here, in the solitude of this dimly lit room, they were nothing but two people drowning in the fury they had caged for months.

A slow, venomous smile spread across Olivia's lips as she took a deliberate step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"Is that what a man says when he has visited his wife only three times since their wedding?"

Matthias didn't even blink. Instead, his reply was as sharp as a dagger pressed against her throat.

"And is that what a wife says when she drowns herself in sedatives just so she won't feel her husband touch her?"

A chill ran down her spine. Her throat tightened, her pulse quickened. She had forgotten about that—forgotten how she had carefully calculated every step to avoid the humiliation of lying with the man she once considered her enemy. She had refused to surrender to the reality of their marriage, had fought against it with every breath. And she had her ways.

Her lips parted, but no words came. When she finally spoke, her voice wavered.

"I… I only did it because—"

"Because?" He cut her off, his tone dripping with mockery. "Don't bother with excuses, Olivia. I don't need to hear them."

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them until his breath ghosted over her skin.

"Do you want to know something?" he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down her spine. "I have a thousand reasons to betray you if I wanted to. But I never did. Not because of loyalty, not because of duty—but because I refuse to be that kind of man."

He leaned closer, his lips just beside her ear, his words seeping into her bones like poison.

"Do you know how it felt to sleep beside you?"

She stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"It felt," he continued, voice dark and unyielding, "like I was violating you. As if I were forcing myself onto a lifeless doll."

He pulled away, his expression unreadable, his voice devoid of any warmth.

"This marriage was never meant for love—it was meant for an heir. And we did that. Even if he is dead now." His words were cold, merciless. "So don't force yourself anymore. You don't have to pretend."

He turned toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate.

"You may leave now," he said, his voice steady but final. "I've had enough of this conversation. We'll discuss Isabella another time."

For the first time in a long while, Olivia was left speechless. She had always known, deep down, that in her eyes, he was nothing more than a means to an end. That no matter what title she held, she would never truly be his wife. And yet, the weight of his words settled in her chest like stones, suffocating and heavy.

Still reeling, she turned toward the door, her steps hollow. But before she could reach it, Matthias was suddenly behind her, draping his coat over her shoulders.

"It's cold outside," he muttered. "Wear something warm."

Even after everything—even after tearing her apart with his words—he still cared. Not as a lover, not even as a husband, but as someone who, at the very least, refused to watch her freeze.

She walked away, silent, numb.

Upon reaching her chambers, she made her way directly to her desk, her fingers trembling as she pulled open the drawer. The moment her eyes landed on the neatly arranged vials—small, black, and countless—her breath hitched.

The sedatives. The very thing Matthias had thrown in her face tonight.

A wave of fury unlike anything she had ever known surged through her. She seized the bottles with both hands, and without a second thought, she began to smash them against the floor. One after another, the glass shattered, the dark liquid seeping into the cracks of the stone, an eerie representation of everything she had lost.

The door burst open, and Kira rushed inside, her eyes widening in alarm.

"My lady! What are you doing? You'll hurt yourself!"

"Stay back!" Olivia snapped, her voice raw, unsteady.

She sank to the cold floor, her hands tangling in her hair, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. She had spent so long trying to be strong, so long convincing herself that she was in control. But tonight, as she sat alone amidst the broken glass and the ruined remnants of her defiance, she felt utterly, completely lost.

And so the night passed, with Olivia curled on the cold stone floor, sleep claiming her in the midst of the wreckage she had created.