The Duchess plan 2

Adam was sent away, leaving Flora alone in the dimly lit chamber. She let out a frustrated sigh and tore the veil from her head, nearly ripping it off as if it were a suffocating shroud. Tossing it aside, she settled onto the sofa, her gaze drifting toward the wooden box before her. Fingers tapping against the polished surface, she mulled over Adam's words.

"Make him the duke... and then he dies."

The thought took shape like a masterpiece in her mind. Her lips curled into a slow, devious smile. "He's doomed either way. Why not ensure he serves my purpose first?"

Satisfied with her own brilliance, she rose gracefully, picking up the box with careful hands. As she stepped out into the grand hallway, her sharp gaze landed on a figure emerging from a room at the far end. The physician.

He was just leaving after completing his daily check-up on Aurelius.

The moment he caught sight of the duchess, his eyes immediately dropped to the floor, and he bowed deeply, his movements stiff with unease.

"G-Greetings to Your Grace," he stammered, the weight of their last encounter still lingering over him like a phantom.

Flora tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Does the physician bring good news?" she asked, her voice laced with cruel sarcasm.

She already knew the answer. Aurelius would never wake, not as long as she lived. Even if the heavens themselves aligned in his favor, she would ensure his fate remained unchanged.

The physician hesitated, his silence stretching between them like a noose tightening around his throat. Finally, he forced himself to speak, choosing his words carefully.

"I... will try my best to bring good news to the duchess soon. He will recover completely."

A bold lie. A necessary one.

He knew exactly what she meant by her question. And she knew exactly what he meant by his answer.

A slow, knowing smirk played on Flora's lips.

"See that you do."

Without another word, she walked past him, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air long after she was gone.

Flora's footsteps echoed softly as she approached Aurilius's chambers. The grand double doors stood guarded, but the sentries barely hesitated before stepping aside and bowing deeply, allowing her passage.

The room was vast—large enough to house an entire family—yet eerily empty. A single massive bed stood at its center, its heavy curtains draped over the still figure lying within. The silence in the room was suffocating, amplifying the sound of Flora's heels clicking against the polished floor.

She circled the bed, her gaze locked onto the unmoving man before her. He was the very image of perfection—a masterpiece carved from the hands of gods themselves. Jet-black hair framed a face of sharp, chiseled beauty, his features strikingly symmetrical, hauntingly cold. His skin, almost pallid, bore an ethereal contrast against the darkness of his hair. And though weakened, his physique remained sculpted, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

It was almost laughable. This man—the very definition of male beauty—was the sickly heir to the dukedom.

Flora swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as she gazed at him intently. Something flickered in her eyes—longing, hesitation, an unreadable emotion she quickly buried.

She set the ornate box beside him and slowly took a seat at the edge of the bed, watching his face closely. Her fingers twitched before she reached out, her hand hovering just above his chest.

A silent battle raged within her. To touch or not to touch?

Her lips parted, and a whisper slipped past them, tinged with something akin to regret. "Isn't it a pity? You had to be this stubborn."

Disappointment laced her voice, but something else lingered beneath it—a yearning she refused to acknowledge.

"Trust me, I don't enjoy doing this to you."

With those words, her palm pressed flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the loose fabric of his robe. Her touch wasn't casual—it lingered, tracing the contours of his body, memorizing the ridges and dips beneath her fingertips.

"But you left me with no choice."

As if lost in the moment, her hand slid beneath the silk folds, revealing more of his sculpted torso. But just as her fingers brushed against his bare skin, she suddenly stiffened.

The door creaked open.

Flora's head snapped up, her entire body freezing in place as a maid entered the room. The girl halted mid-step, eyes widening briefly before she quickly cast them downward, pretending to have seen nothing.

The tension in the room thickened, but Flora, ever composed, remained still, her fingers idly drawing small, lazy circles against Aurilius's chest—an act of defiance, or perhaps something else entirely.

The maid bowed deeply. "Your Highness."

Flora barely spared her a glance, her gaze still lingering on Aurilius as if savoring the sight of him, as if she were witnessing his presence for the last time.

"What brings you here, Claudia?" she asked, her tone laced with disinterest.

The maid straightened slightly, her voice steady, almost rehearsed. "Your Highness, the gifts have been sent as requested to Countess Darla's estate. The imperial mage has been informed of your journey and will arrive tomorrow to escort you."

Flora gave a slow nod, flicking her fingers in silent dismissal.

Without hesitation, Claudia bowed once more and swiftly exited the room, leaving Flora alone with the unconscious duke.

Summoning an imperial mage was no small feat. Only those with immense influence could command such power. As the former duchess, Flora still held authority—but it was slipping, her position hanging by a fragile thread. If Aurilius woke, if he interfered with the succession, all of it—her status, her privileges—would be reduced to nothing.

Her fingers traced one final, lingering pattern on his skin before she withdrew her hand.

"It's a shame," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She drew closer to his ear her hand now boldly pressing onto him putting all her weight on him beofre whispering. "Things could have been so different between us."