A Twisted Truth Unfolds

The room fell into an eerie silence as Klaus surveyed the crowd, his piercing gaze sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to meet his eyes. One by one, they averted their gazes, their nervous hands fidgeting, their throats drying. A smirk played on Klaus's lips as he let out a low chuckle, a sound both amused and sinister. 

With a casual flick of his wrist, a magnificent throne materialized from his space ring—grander, more ornate, and infinitely more intimidating than the one Nikolas sat upon. The intricately carved backrest gleamed under the grand chandelier, reflecting the tension in the air. Slowly, deliberately, Klaus settled into his throne, his movements exuding an effortless confidence. 

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a cigar—thick, dark, and rich with an intoxicating aroma. With practiced ease, he lit it, inhaling deeply before exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke that curled around him like a ghostly veil. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the assembled nobles before he spoke, his voice carrying both amusement and disdain. 

**"You all seem to be singing the same tune,"** he mused, his smirk widening. **"George did this, George did that. Blah, blah, blah. But tell me—where is the proof? Where is the confession? And yet, here you are, ready to deliver punishment for a crime that was never even proven."** 

A visible shift rippled through the room. Faces paled. Riya, standing at the far end, visibly trembled, her fingers clutching the fabric of her gown. The Fifth Prince furrowed his brows, and even Nikolas, usually composed, wore a deep frown. The Gilbert family, once brimming with confidence, now exchanged uneasy glances. 

Klaus leaned forward slightly, his voice calm yet laced with an unsettling edge. 

**"How much of a fool would George have to be to commit such an act?"** He tapped his cigar lightly, letting the ash fall. **"And that too, in the Nelson House? At a noble gathering of all places?"** He let out another chuckle. **"Tell me, do you really believe that?"** 

Nikolas stiffened. **"We all saw it. George tried to force himself on my daughter, Nikki. What more proof do we need?"** 

Klaus smiled, a knowing gleam in his eyes. **"Ah, yes. But tell me, why would George do such a thing?"** He tilted his head slightly, as if deep in thought. **"Is Nikki more beautiful than Riya? I don't think so. Is George so desperate for women? I doubt it. He is a genius, after all—many women would willingly accept him. So why would he need to force himself on a girl who can't even walk?"** His voice dropped into a near whisper. **"Isn't something about this whole scenario… off?"** 

Silence. 

Klaus's gaze flickered toward George, his smirk widening. **"Why don't we hear it from George himself?"** 

All eyes turned to the young man, who swallowed hard before speaking, his voice hoarse but steady. 

**"That night… I was in the garden with Riya. We were having drinks."** His eyes darted toward Riya, who looked like she wanted to disappear. **"She suddenly asked me how much I loved her. I told her—'A lot.' And then she handed me a drink, saying it was something special she made just for me."** His jaw clenched. **"I drank it without a second thought. Then… everything became hazy. I started feeling dizzy. The next thing I remember… I was in Nikki's chamber."** 

He fell silent. 

A sharp gasp echoed through the room. Riya's entire body shook, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her gown even tighter. The Fifth Prince, who had been watching Klaus with caution, suddenly understood—Klaus knew everything. And now, he was ensuring the entire room knew too. 

Nikolas's face contorted with fury. **"He's lying! He's just trying to frame Riya to save himself!"** 

Klaus chuckled—softly at first, then louder, as if thoroughly entertained. He tapped his cigar once more, taking another long drag before exhaling leisurely. 

**"Oh, is that so?"** he mused. **"Well, isn't the solution simple then?"** He spread his arms, an innocent smile playing on his lips. **"All we need is a healer—one with great ability. It's only been five or six days. A competent healer can still detect if there was anything… wrong with George's blood."** 

A deep, suffocating silence fell over the hall. 

Riya's knees buckled. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, it looked like she would collapse right then and there. A skilled healer could easily verify if something foreign had been in George's system—something like a drug. 

Her eyes darted toward the Fifth Prince, desperation evident in her expression, but he wasn't looking at her. He was lost in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed the implications. 

Frank's lips parted slightly as doubt crept into his mind. His gaze flickered to George, then to Riya. Were there truly missing pieces in this puzzle? Had they condemned the wrong man? 

Nikolas, however, was far less composed. His face twisted with rage, his hands clenched into fists. He understood the weight of Klaus's words. If a healer confirmed that George had been drugged, the entire blame would shift. His family name—his legacy—would be dragged through the mud. 

And Klaus? 

Klaus simply leaned back into his throne, cigar in hand, watching the chaos unfold. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. 

**"Well, well, well,"** he murmured, his voice a silky purr. **"What do you have to say now, Lord Nikolas?"**