I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 103: Bitter Truths

The weight of her confession seemed to hang in the air, but Mathias’s reaction did something unexpected. It acted as a catalyst, stripping away the ghost of her father and the shame of her mother. If he didn’t care for the crown or the lineage, then why should she? In that moment, the crushing guilt began to dissolve. She didn’t have to be a Tharon or an Imperial—she could just be Olivia. Her life belonged to her, and her alone.

"Are you truly indifferent to my lineage?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, testing the sincerity of his silence.

"Not in the slightest," Mathias replied with a steady, unyielding conviction. "I am perfectly content with Olivia—just Olivia—without a family, without a name, without anything else."

A sense of relief, strange and unfamiliar, washed over her, chasing away the grief that had draped over her like a shroud. Though his sudden shift into tenderness felt almost illogical given their history, she felt the tension in his grip.

"I understand," she murmured, her voice regaining a hint of its old strength. "You can release me now. I won’t repeat it. And please, calm yourself... your hands are shaking."

Mathias narrowed his eyes, staring at her with deep skepticism. He didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened slightly as if he expected her to vanish into the shadows again. "Are you certain? Promise me you won’t retreat into that darkness again."

"I won’t," she sighed, a flicker of her usual impatience returning. "Stop being so childish; I have no idea what has gotten into you today." Then, sensing the heavy air was becoming too much, she allowed a mocking, sharp-edged smile to cross her face—a tactical maneuver to change the subject. "Now, unhand my face. Or do you have some other intention, holding me with such... intensity?"

The anxiety vanished from Mathias’s face, replaced by a momentary, stunned silence. In mere seconds, the atmosphere shifted from protective worry to a heavy, simmering hunger. His gaze dropped, fixating on her lips with a raw intensity she couldn’t see but could certainly feel.

He swallowed hard, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Olivia remained perfectly still, offering no protest, her silence acting as a provocative invitation. Emboldened, he slipped his finger into the warmth of her mouth, intent on tasting her defiance—only to be met with a sharp, sudden snap of her teeth.

"Ouch! Olivia!"

Mathias recoiled, jerking his hand back and nursing his throbbing finger. "Why on earth did you bite me?"

A genuine, spontaneous laugh escaped her, so forceful that fresh tears began to prick at her sightless eyes. "You men... you truly are such simple, laughable creatures."

Mathias narrowed his eyes, his ego bruised along with his finger. "You did that on purpose. You redirected my attention from the ’impending doom’ of your origins just to mock me, didn’t you?"

She shrugged with a cool, irritating confidence. "Well, who knows?"

"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped back into her space. "I admit it. I am easily distracted when it comes to you. It’s the nature of the beast, I suppose."

She let out a scoffing, cynical laugh. "Idiot."

But Mathias wasn’t finished. He slid his hands upward, his palms framing her neck, his thumbs resting just beneath the bruises Elvira had left. He leaned in until his breath was a warm ghost against her skin. "I’ll return to the ’idiotic’ questions later. Right now, I want to focus on what is right in front of me."

He leaned closer, his voice a lethal whisper against her mouth. "Open your lips."

Lost in the void of her blindness, Olivia felt a jolt of disorientation. "What—?"

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. He caught her lips with his in a searing, possessive kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth until she yielded. It was a hungry, rhythmic exchange that seemed to pull the very air from her lungs, a desperate attempt to claim her in the dark. He broke away for a fleeting second, only to dive back in, his passion fueled by the vulnerability she had shown him.

He was about to deepen the kiss when a sharp, rhythmic clearing of a throat cut through the silence.

"Ahem... I believe that is quite enough."

The two of them snapped toward the voice. Mathias’s eyes met a pair nearly identical to his own, while Olivia’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the familiar, melodic cadence of the newcomer.

Mathias’s face transformed into a vibrant spectrum of crimson and purple, the sheer embarrassment of being caught in such an intimate moment radiating from him. Leila stepped into the room, the rhythmic click-clack of her heels against the polished floor sounding like a ticking clock in the heavy silence.

"You... you should have knocked," Mathias stammered, frantically trying to regain his composure and adjust his disheveled appearance.

Leila held up a sealed letter before him, her expression a mix of amusement and dry wit. "Weren’t you the one who commanded me to come straight to the room without drawing any attention? Regardless..."

She bypassed Mathias entirely, her focus shifting to the woman on the bed. Leila moved with grace, pulling Olivia into a sudden, fierce embrace. "Olivia! Oh, my dear, are you alright? What has happened to you, my little one?"

Olivia sat there, feeling like a stranger at her own funeral. The sheer tenderness in Leila’s voice was jarring; she was being treated like a fragile child, a stark contrast to the iron-willed Duchess she usually portrayed. "I... I sometimes forget you are older than me," Olivia replied with a flustered half-smile. "Thank you for coming, Leila."

Leila took Olivia’s bandaged hands in hers, her touch brimming with maternal warmth. "Do not thank me. Your kindness has always preceded you, my dear. I would give my life for yours."

Mathias, now feeling very much like a third wheel in his own chambers, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ahem. Leila, please finish what you came for quickly. We cannot afford to stir suspicion with a prolonged visit from the Crown Princess. Do we have an agreement?"

"Ah, right. Of course," Leila murmured, her tone shifting from affection to professional focus. "Now, Olivia, dear, would you please lie back for me?"

Olivia did as she was told, her body stiffening as she felt the familiar hum of Leila’s power radiating near her face. For a long moment, the room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth and the heavy breathing of the three souls gathered there. Finally, the warmth of the magic dissipated.

"Well?" Olivia asked, her voice small, trembling with a fear she couldn’t hide. "Is there any hope? Will I ever see again?"

A sad, gentle smile touched Leila’s lips, though Olivia couldn’t see the pity in her eyes. "Of course, my dear. You’ll regain your sight soon enough. Don’t you worry."

Leila then stood and gave Mathias a sharp, subtle nod toward the far corner of the room. Mathias followed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Mathias," she whispered, her voice low enough to be a secret. "We need to talk. Privately."

"What is it? Is there something wrong with her?" Mathias’s face went pale, his eyes darting back to Olivia, who sat waiting in the dark.

Leila sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a growing headache. "How do I put this... the nature of her injury is... peculiar."

"And?"

"Mathias, physically... there is nothing wrong with her eyes," Leila breathed, her expression pained. "I believe she is suffering from a psychological trauma. She isn’t blind because of a wound; she is blind because she simply refuses to accept her reality. Her mind has pulled a veil over the world to protect her from what she has seen."

On the other side, the air was thick with a different kind of darkness—one born of malice and ancient grudges.

​Elvira’s eyes fluttered open, meeting the hovering, anxious gaze of her father. "My angel, are you finally awake?" he murmured, his voice a low caress.

​"Daddy," she whispered, throwing herself into his arms with a desperation that suggested she had been lost for an eternity.

​The Duke pulled back slightly, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, now restored by the finest healers. His eyes, however, smoldered with a cold, flickering hearth of rage. "Oh, my sweet child. Had I known that whore would dare to raise a hand against you, I would have butchered her and fed her to the hounds when she was but a babe. This is my failing—to have been so lenient, to have indulged her existence for so long."

​Elvira’s expression hardened, a cruel confidence blooming in her eyes. "Do not fret, Papa. I shall handle her. This will not pass without a reckoning. Let her savor her petty victory for a moment longer; the fall will be all the more exquisite." She rose from the bed with predatory grace.

​"Where are you going, my dear?"

​"To find Mother," Elvira replied, her lips curling into a sharp, poisonous smile. "I must tell her of her second daughter’s sudden ’bravery,’ and exactly how I intend to break her for it. You know how she relishes the tales of Olivia’s suffering."

​The Duke offered a sinister smirk. "Of course. We mustn’t keep my darling Serene waiting."

​Together, they strode toward the Empress’s private chambers. As they approached, a heavy, unnatural silence seemed to seep from the walls. The lamps were unlit, and the air held a stagnant chill. Elvira pushed open the heavy doors, her voice ringing out with a mock-playful sweetness.

​"Hi, Mama! Did you miss your favorite daughter? I have the most ’delightful’ news about that slut, Olivia. Shall I tell the story as I always do?"

​There was no reply. Serene lay atop the sprawling silken bed, seemingly lost in a deep, undisturbed slumber.

​A primal seed of dread took root in Elvira’s chest. She rushed to the bedside, her hand darting out to rip the velvet coverlet away. She froze, her breath hitching in a jagged, hollow sob. A massive, congealed stain of crimson—dark, cold, and absolute—had blossomed across her mother’s chest, saturating the white linens like a macabre flower of death.

​Elvira’s hand trembled violently as she touched her mother’s cheek; the skin was as cold as the marble floor. "Mama? What is it? Answer me, Mama!"