Isabella swallowed hard, her throat feeling as though it were lined with glass. The parchment in her hands felt unnaturally heavy, the ink of the imperial seal searing into her vision. She stood frozen, caught in a paralyzing indecision. She wanted to shake Leon awake, to demand answers, but one look at his shattered state—and the fragile, strained threads of their marriage—told her that doing so would only ignite a fire she couldn’t extinguish.

She remained there, suspended in hesitation, until the sudden creak of the door made her heart lurch. She spun around, her breath catching, only to find Mathias standing in the threshold, his gaze fixed on her with an unreadable intensity.

"Forgive me, sister-in-law," Mathias said, his voice a low, smooth vibration. "Have I arrived at an ill-timed moment? Please, excuse my intrusion."

Panic flared in her chest. Isabella clumsily shoved the parchment behind the folds of her heavy gown, her voice trembling as she stammered, "No... no, it’s no trouble at all."

Mathias didn’t move. His eyes dropped to the floor, tracking the corner of the parchment that still peeked out from behind her skirts, the gold of the imperial seal glinting like a predator’s eye in the dim light.

A slow, chilling smile played on his lips. He looked at her, then shifted his gaze to the slumped, unconscious form of Leon.

"Leon didn’t sleep last night," Mathias remarked, his tone conversational yet devoid of warmth. "He needs his rest. Shall we take our conversation elsewhere? Since it is quite clear... that you have already seen the decree."

Isabella did not argue. She followed him in a silence that felt heavier than any shout, her footsteps echoing behind him as he led the way toward his study.

Inside, the atmosphere was stifling. They sat across from each other, the steam from their tea rising in thin, ghostly spirals between them. For a long moment, neither spoke.

"Do you plan on hiding it from her?" Isabella asked finally, her voice thin but steady.

"It is not hiding," Mathias replied, his gaze fixed on the dark liquid in his cup. "She will know, sooner or later. I only wish to settle matters before she finds out and assumes the worst. I want it handled before it becomes a catastrophe in her eyes."

Isabella let out a long, weary sigh. "Can I forget for a moment that you are the Duke? Can I speak to you simply as your sister-in-law?"

Mathias looked up, a shadow of a tired smile on his face. "I have always spoken to you as my brother’s wife, Isabella. I never insisted on formalities; you were the one who built those walls."

"Fine then," she said, leaning forward, her eyes searching his. "Mathias... do you know what Olivia wants more than anything in this life?"

"What?"

"Have you really not realized it yet?" Isabella’s voice cracked with a mix of pity and frustration. "All she wants is to see you safe, whole, and alive before her. That is everything to her. So, tell me... what possessed you to do something like rebellion? Do you not see that you are going to break her heart?"

"It isn’t as though I chose this, Isabella," Mathias said, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "I am not a fool who would recklessly throw myself into such a mess. This... this is beyond my control."

Isabella leaned in, her eyes widening with a sudden, sharp realization. "Are you saying... it’s a fabrication? A setup?"

"Yes," he replied, the word sounding like a confession. "You could say that."

"And the solution?" she pressed, her hands tightening around the delicate china of her teacup.

"There is no solution at the moment. I can only wait for His Majesty’s decision before I decide my next move. Until then..." He looked at her, his eyes reflecting a hollow, desperate weariness she had never seen before. "Could you please keep this between us? I would truly... appreciate it."

Isabella let out a long, heavy sigh of surrender. She looked at the man before her—not the formidable Duke of Locron, but a man drowning in a current he couldn’t fight.

"Fine," she said softly. "I will do as you ask. But mark my words, Mathias... it is far better that she hears this from you than from someone else. Remember that."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze drifting toward the window. "I know that all too well."

Isabella left the study with her head spinning, the weight of Mathias’s desperation pressing down on her like a physical burden.

She felt as though she were carrying a glass vial of poison, one that could shatter at any moment and destroy the fragile peace of the manor. She kept her head down, her fingers trembling as she smoothed her skirts, trying to compose her features before she reached the safety of her room. But as she turned the corner near the grand staircase, the air grew suddenly thin and cold.

There, leaning against the arched doorway with an unsettlingly calm grace, was Olivia. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking; she was simply watching, her piercing blue eyes like shards of glacial ice, reflecting Isabella’s own suppressed panic with a terrifying clarity.

"Olivia! You startled me." Isabella’s heart was still thumping against her ribs.

"Startled you?" Olivia didn’t move. She remained seated, her posture unnervingly still. "I am just sitting here. Why should that scare you?"

"How long have you been here?"

"A few moments. I came back from the garden and waited because I couldn’t find you. Where were you, Isabella?"

The question hung in the air. Isabella’s mind raced back to the study, to Mathias’s desperate eyes. "Just... here and there," she muttered, her eyes darting away. "What brings you here, anyway?"

Olivia reached for a decanter and lifted it. The glass clinked softly. "It’s late. I thought we could have a drink and talk about some things."

"Things?" Isabella shook her head, almost too quickly. "No, thanks. I’m not drinking."

Olivia stopped, her hand frozen on the decanter. She turned her head slowly, her piercing blue eyes settling on Isabella with a look of genuine curiosity. "Why? Since when?"

"Just a change in mood," Isabella replied, her voice tightening.

"I see." Olivia set the bottle down. The sound was sharp in the quiet room.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

Olivia let out a long, tired sigh. She leaned back, the shadows of the room catching the sharp angles of her face. "Actually... it’s strange. I feel like Mathias is hiding something from me."

"Oh, really?" Isabella replied, her voice fluttering with a nervousness she couldn’t quite mask.

Olivia didn’t look at her. Her eyes were fixed on her wine glass, watching the dark liquid swirl before she took a slow, deliberate swallow. "I don’t know," she murmured. "But I can feel it. There’s a sensation deep inside me telling me that things are not right. It’s... annoying."

Isabella faltered, the air in the room suddenly feeling thin. Olivia’s gaze was searching, looking for a crack in her expression, any flicker that might confirm her suspicions. Desperate to deflect the attention from Mathias—and the secret burning a hole in her tongue—Isabella said the first thing that came to mind to draw the light away from the imperial decree.

"Perhaps it’s just the pressure of work, or his thoughts on the family’s future..." She swallowed hard before adding, trying to shift the course entirely, "Actually... I was wondering, since you two have been spending more time together lately... have you thought about having another child? An heir to fill this void?"

Olivia stopped drinking. A heavy silence filled the room, the kind that made Isabella regret the words the moment they left her lips. It felt as though she had poured oil onto a low, simmering fire.

"An heir?" Olivia repeated the word as if it were a foreign tongue. She set her glass down with agonizing slowness, her suspicion hardening into a painful, icy chill. "You have chosen a very wrong time for such a question, Isabella. The truth is... I will never be able to conceive again."

"I haven’t had my cycle since my last pregnancy," Olivia continued, her voice clinical. "So... I am, in a way, barren."

Isabella winced, the weight of the pain she had unintentionally caused hitting her like a physical blow. "I’m so sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean to—"

"There’s no need for apologies. I’ve accepted it."

"And Mathias... does he know?"

"Yes."

Isabella’s eyes welled with tears. The thought of Mathias—who was already facing a death sentence—not even having the hope of a child to leave behind was too much to bear. "Olivia..."

"I told you, I’m fine," Olivia snapped. The vulnerability from a moment ago vanished, replaced by a gaze so sharp it felt like a physical weight. "But why ask that now? People don’t just stumble into conversations about heirs unless there’s a reason. Did something happen? Did Leon say something to you?"

Isabella’s breath hitched. She looked down at her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her gown.

"Your relationship has been cold for weeks," Olivia continued, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum. "I’ve watched the two of you avoid each other’s shadows. Aren’t you even planning to reconcile?"

"In truth..." Isabella whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth. "I don’t know if we’ll ever reconcile. I love him... more than I should. But I broke the only thing he asked of me. The one condition that made our marriage possible."

Olivia went still, her eyes narrowing as she processed the words. "What condition? Speak clearly, Isabella."

"Leon married me because I was a fallen noble," Isabella’s trembling worsened. "He chose me because I was... safe. He wanted to prove to the Emperor, and to Mathias, that he had no greed for the Dukedom. He wanted a wife whose children could never, ever challenge your position. That was our deal. We were supposed to stay in the shadows."

Olivia stared at her, her expression unreadable. She let the silence stretch, watching the way Isabella’s hand unconsciously drifted toward her stomach, then jerked away as if burned.

"And now?" Olivia prompted, her voice like ice. "Why are you looking at me as if I’ve just handed you a death sentence?"

Isabella couldn’t meet her eyes. "Because you just told me you can’t have another child. Which means... if there is any other bloodline... the succession will naturally pass to them. I have become the very threat he tried to avoid."

Olivia’s hand tightened around her glass until her knuckles turned white. She watched the way Isabella breathed, the way she winced at the faint smell of the wine, and the frantic way her hand kept seeking the protection of her own womb.

"Wait," Olivia whispered, the realization hitting her with a cold, sickening clarity. She stood up slowly, stepping into Isabella’s space.

"The change in mood. The rejection of the wine. The talk of heirs..." Olivia’s voice was a jagged whisper. "Isabella, look at me."

Isabella’s eyes were wide, flooded with tears and pure, unfiltered panic.

"No... don’t tell me," Olivia breathed, her gaze dropping to Isabella’s stomach and lingering there. The silence in the room was absolute, suffocating. "Isabella... are you pregnant?"