Olivia was already there, a silhouette by the window, her arms crossed precisely over her chest. Her gaze was fixed on Emilia's prone form on the bed.
"Well done," she murmured, her eyes glinting with a chilling satisfaction. "I didn't think you had the nerve."
Leon met her stare, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his face. "I played my part. I expect you to play yours. Or else..." His voice sharpened to a threat, "...you will fall with me."
Olivia's expression remained unruffled. "No need for the theatrics. He'll be fine. This poison requires three doses to kill, not one."
"I know," Leon replied, his tone as cold as hers.
"You know? Good then."
"And now?" Leon asked, a hint of steel in his voice. "What is our next move, sister-in-law?"
"Now," Olivia smiled, a predator watching its prey, "we simply wait for the mouse to enter the trap."
It was only a few short hours later when the piercing shriek echoed from Emilia's room. Talia had finally come to check on her daughter.
"Emilia, my little one," Talia called out softly, approaching the bed. "How about we go out? You haven't left your room since yesterday."
There was no response, only the barely perceptible rise and fall of Emilia's chest, as if her breath itself was struggling. Talia's hand reached out, touching her daughter's forehead. "Emilia... are you sleeping?"
She nudged her gently—no response. A tendril of icy dread began to coil around Talia's heart. She shook Emilia more urgently. "Emmy, my darling, answer me! What's wrong?"
Her hand flew to Emilia's nose, feeling for a breath. "There's barely anything there!" Talia clutched her daughter in a frantic embrace. "My baby, what's happening? You're alright, aren't you? Answer me! Why are you so silent?"
Amidst her terror, Talia's eyes caught a glint of sapphire. A pair of eyes watched her from the doorway, glinting with amusement, a predatory smile playing on Olivia's lips.
"You... how did you get in here, what are you doing here?" Talia demanded.
"Through the door, of course," Olivia replied, her smile widening. She glanced at Emilia.
"Do you need any assistance?. Hmmm She looks like she'll never wake up. You should have told me not to put away the mourning dress. It seems I'll need to wear it again."
Finally, Talia understood. "Don't tell me... it was you, what did you do to her?."
Olivia merely smiled, a knowing, wicked silence her only answer.
Talia covered the distance in three wide strides, grabbing the front of Olivia's dress and yanking her forward. "You whore!" Talia spat, her voice raw with rage. "It was you! You did something to Emilia! It was you! I'll kill you! Tell me what's wrong with her! She never did anything to you! Why? Why would you hurt her?"
Olivia shoved Talia away. Talia stumbled, her heel catching on the rug, sending her crashing to the floor. Olivia rose slowly, advancing until she stood over Talia.
"Firstly," Olivia began, her voice dangerously calm, "I did nothing to Emilia.
Secondly, I told you, didn't I? That you would come to me willingly." She bent closer, her eyes glittering with a cold, triumphant light.
"Tell me... where is all that confidence you flaunted last time?"
Olivia's smile widened, sweet as poisoned honey, as she turned and sat gracefully on the edge of Emilia's bed.
Talia froze beneath her gaze, a shiver snaking down her spine. Her throat constricted, each breath a stone lodged in her chest. She swallowed, a dry, painful rasp.
Olivia tilted her head, watching her like a hawk who had already sealed the fate of its prey. Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. "Well? Has the cat got your tongue?"
At that moment, the last thread of doubt snapped within Talia.
Her hands suddenly clutched at the fabric of Olivia's dress. She sank to her knees, begging, pleading with a desperation that burned away every shred of her dignity.
"I... I'm sorry," Talia stammered, her voice trembling. "I wasn't thinking. I was distraught. Please, Your Grace, forgive my insolence. Please... tell me what is wrong with my daughter."
Olivia's smile deepened, a glint of cruel amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh, now I am 'Your Grace.' I am no longer... let me see—" She tapped a manicured finger against her chin. "Ah, yes. 'The Poisoned Whore.'"
Talia's knees buckled beneath her before she even realized it. Her voice hitched between sobs and desperate pleas. "I'm sorry... please, forgive the words of a foolish woman. My daughter did nothing. Punish me instead, I beg you. I'll do anything you ask... anything at all, you can kill me if you want, just make her open her eyes."
"Anything?" Olivia echoed softly.
"Yes... anything... please," Talia whispered, defeat etched into every line of her face.
The light of amusement vanished from Olivia's eyes. Her features hardened into a mask of cold resolve.
"Then from now on," Olivia declared, "you will be Eloise."
Shock ripped through Talia. She had prayed—foolishly—that yesterday's argument had buried that demand forever. "That... that is too much... I—"
Olivia raised a small glass vial, pulling it from her pocket, holding it aloft.
"If Emilia does not drink this before the sun sets, I fear she will join her mother sooner than you think. Perhaps they can enjoy a little tea party in the afterlife."
Talia's stomach churned violently, bile burning her throat. She hated herself for her hesitation, hated the way Olivia's presence stripped her of her power, piece by piece. Olivia leaned casually against the bed beside Emilia, her expression calm, enjoying the slow, inevitable play reaching its final act.
"Well, darling," Olivia murmured, "we don't have all day. I suggest you make your decision before the clock makes it for you."
The ticking of the mantelpiece clock filled the silence, each "tick" a nail in Talia's coffin.
Talia's breathing grew shallow. She looked at the vial again—such a tiny thing, holding so much power over life and death. Her lips trembled. "If... if I do this—"
Olivia cut her off smoothly, her voice sharp as a blade. "You will do it, because the alternative is burying your daughter before the day is out. And we both know you are not that stubborn."
It was not a choice. It never had been.
Talia's shoulders slumped as the last of her defiance drained away. Her pride lay in tatters at Olivia's feet. She whispered the words, feeling them like shackles closing around her wrists.
"...I will be Eloise."
Olivia rose from the bed, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "Such an obedient old woman. See how easy it was? You should have agreed from the start."
Olivia set the vial down on Emilia's bed—a small, glass arbiter of fate—and swept out of the room with the quiet radiance of a victor.
Later, she sat in the sanctuary of her own chambers, sipping tea with a deceptive calm, until the Head Butler interrupted her solitude. "My Lady, the Duke has summoned you."
Olivia paused, the teacup halfway to her lips. That wretch, she thought bitterly. Every time he sends for me, it ends in a nightmare.
"Very well," she said, setting the cup down with a sharp click. "Where is he?"
"In his study, My Lady."
She made her way to the study, the heavy oak doors feeling like the gates of a tribunal. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with a suffocating tension. Leon was already there, standing stiffly in the center of the room.
As she moved to stand beside him, Leon leaned in, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Sister-in-law... it seems we are finished."
"Heh," she breathed back. "Why?"
The answer came in the form of a violent crash. Matthias slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Have you both lost your minds?" he roared, his eyes blazing with a terrifying light. "Have you utterly surrendered your sanity? Olivia... I expect this from you. This brand of calculated cruelty is your specialty."
Olivia didn't argue. She didn't even grant him the satisfaction of a glance. After their last encounter, she found even the sound of his voice repulsive.
Matthias turned his searing gaze toward Leon. "But you? Have you gone mad, man? Poisoning your own sister? Tell me, before I lose what little restraint I have left—have you lost your soul?"
Leon swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from Matthias's piercing scrutiny. "Calm yourself," he stammered. "She knew."
"She knew?" Matthias echoed, his voice dropping to a deadly, incredulous low.
"Emilia. She knew I was poisoning her. She did it to help Layla. What is so wrong with that?"
"To help Layla?" Matthias's fury hit a breaking point. The coldness of Leon's logic was the final spark. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Leon's jaw in a brutal arc that sent him sprawling to the floor. Matthias didn't stop; he seized Leon by the collar, hauling him up until they were inches apart.
"I don't care what twisted game you and Olivia are playing. To hurt one sister to save another—to sacrifice one piece of your family for the sake of a bargain—you are a pathetic scoundrel."
Leon wiped a trail of blood from his lip, a jagged, painful smile spreading across his face. The sting of the blow burned, but the desire to strike back with words burned hotter.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Leon spat, his voice trembling with a dark, vengeful energy. "Is this a sermon from the man who murdered our own father to save our sisters?
Should I remind you, since your memory seems so conveniently selective?
Our father didn't die from Emilia's poison—it doesn't kill on the first dose, as we both know. No, you were the one who finished him.
You killed him, and you even slaughtered the barkeep who handled the poison just to bury the evidence and protect her.
So tell me, Matthias... what is the difference?
Was our father not 'family' too?"