Isabella lowered her gaze, her hand tightening over her stomach until her knuckles went white. "Unfortunately... I am."

​"Unfortunately?" Olivia’s voice was a low, dangerous rasp. "What is wrong with you, Isabella?"

​Isabella swallowed hard, the bitterness coating her tongue. She looked up, her eyes bloodshot and desperate. "I know this is a madness to ask, but... do you have anything? A medicine, an herb—you would know better than I. Anything to... to end this. To stop this child from coming."

​The words had barely left her lips when Olivia’s hand cracked across her face.

​The slap was sharp, a sudden explosion of sound in the stifling room. Isabella’s head snapped to the side, her skin blooming a violent red. Olivia stared down at her, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated loathing.

​"Never," Olivia hissed, her voice trembling with a rage that seemed to vibrate in the very air. "Never make that request again."

​Isabella didn’t cry out. She simply touched her stinging cheek, her fingers trembling. "Olivia... you, more than anyone, know what happens to a child rejected by his father. I know Leon. He won’t accept this. I cannot bring a child into this world just to watch him suffer. I can’t do that to him, Olivia."

​"It is a soul," Olivia breathed, her voice cracking with a pain she couldn’t hide. "It is your child. How can you speak of it as if it’s a curse?"

​Isabella slipped from her seat, her silk skirts hissing as she sank to the floor. She knelt at Olivia’s knees, clutching at her dress like a drowning woman.

​"I know it’s cruel," Isabella sobbed, looking up with a face shattered by grief. "But Olivia... there is no other way. Please."

Olivia stood up, her face a mask of cold indifference as she turned away from the woman kneeling at her feet.

​"We will speak of this tomorrow," she said, her voice flat, cutting through Isabella’s sobs. "This isn’t a simple matter. I’ll... I’ll try to help you."

​Isabella looked up, a flicker of desperate hope in her tear-stained eyes. "You mean—"

​"Not in your foolish way," Olivia snapped, not looking back. "I will find a way. Just... not that."

​Olivia walked out of the room, her composure shattering the moment the door clicked shut behind her. The small spark of happiness she had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a bitter, hollow ache. The irony was suffocating: some fought with every breath to hold onto their children only to have them torn away, while others were forced to cast them aside.

​Her shadow stretched long and jagged against the corridor wall. In a sudden burst of silent rage, she slammed her palm against the stone.

​"Damn them," she hissed to the empty hallway. "Damn every one of these wretched noble rules that made us this way. Damn it all."

​Before she could strike the wall again, a hand reached out from the darkness, catching her wrist in a firm, steady grip. A thumb brushed over her skin, a gentle, grounding touch that made her breath hitch.

​"What has possessed you," a low voice murmured, "to be striking stone like this?"

​"Oh... it’s you," she breathed, her voice tight, trying to steady her racing heart.

​"Is that how you address your husband now?" Mathias didn’t let go of her wrist. His grip wasn’t aggressive, but it was inescapable.

​Olivia turned to face him, her eyes still burning with the remnants of her rage. "Don’t you feel you’ve become a bit... insolent lately? Your behavior has changed, Mathias."

​"Has it?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching hers in the dim light of the corridor. "Perhaps. But truly... why were you striking the wall? Did my sister-in-law say something to upset you?"

​Olivia hesitated. The secret of Isabella’s pregnancy felt like a physical weight behind her teeth. "In a way," she muttered, pulling her hand back—this time, he let her.

​"And...?" Mathias pressed, stepping closer until the scent of cold air and old paper that clung to him filled her senses. "What could she possibly say to make the composed Olivia Locron lose her temper with a stone wall?"

​Olivia looked at him, her gaze traveling over the sharp, tired lines of his face—the face of a man who might not be there to see any child grow.

​"She is just... overwhelmed," Olivia said, choosing her words like she was walking on broken glass. "As am I. This house is full of ghosts and secrets, Mathias. Don’t you find it exhausting?"

"Enough, it is truly exhausting," Mathias murmured, his fingers firm around her wrist as he steered her toward the sanctuary of their chambers, away from the prying eyes of the corridor. "Sit, Olivia. You look as though you’re ready to execute a servant in the middle of the courtyard."

Olivia sank onto the edge of the velvet chair, her breath coming in sharp, jagged heaves of suppressed fury. "In fact," she bit out, "that is precisely what I’ve been asked to do."

"What?" Mathias’s brow furrowed. He crossed to the side table, the decanter clinking softly as he poured two glasses of wine. He handed one to her, a silent offering intended to douse the fire in her eyes.

She took the glass but did not drink. Her gaze snapped to his, cold and accusing. "Mathias, are you aware that your brother is a scoundrel?"

Mathias choked on his drink, a harsh cough racking his chest. "Leon? What on earth has Leon to do with this?"

"Yes, a scoundrel," she repeated, her voice cutting. "How dare he impose such a condition on his wife? What kind of man demands that a woman murder her own instincts just to appease his cowardice?"

Mathias took a slow, deliberate sip, then seated himself opposite her, his composure settling like a shroud. "You mean the condition to remain childless? To harbor no ambition for the Dukedom?"

Olivia froze, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You knew?"

"I knew," he said evenly, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "It is their life, and their decision. I had no desire to meddle in Leon’s affairs; he flees from responsibility as if it were the plague. But..." He paused, his gaze sharpening with sudden suspicion, "Why bring this up now?"

Olivia hesitated, then set her glass on the table with a sharp *thud*. "Isabella is pregnant, Mathias. And she just asked me to help her rid herself of the child."

Mathias’s leaned forward instantly, the last traces of relaxation vanishing from his frame. "A child? Wait... you mean she is actually with child?"

"Yes," Olivia said, the word tasting like bile. "And she wants it gone. She wants to kill it simply so she doesn’t violate that pathetic ’contract’ Leon set. She’s willing to commit murder just to avoid the wrath of her ’ideal’ husband."

Mathias recoiled slightly, a short, dry laugh escaping his throat—a sound entirely devoid of mirth. "And here I thought *we* were the mad couple of this manor," he whispered. "It seems they have surpassed us in their insanity by a long margin."

​"Truly? Is this the hour for your cynicism?" Olivia shot him a piercing look, his dry laughter striking her like an ill-placed blade.

​"What?" Mathias raised his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender, the hollow smile still clinging to his lips. "Leave me be. I am already burdened enough as it is. Allow me to laugh, if only for a moment, at this farce. But tell me... what is your stance on the matter?"

​Olivia fell silent for a heartbeat, her sharpness dissolving into a weary, ancient exhaustion. "My stance? I cannot condone it, of course. I have no desire to meddle in their domestic disputes—let them resolve their own wreckage—but not like this. Not through blood."

​She trailed off, her voice dropping to a faint whisper as she stared into the empty shadows of the room. "This Dukedom requires an heir, sooner or later."

​"Yes," Mathias replied curtly. It was a single word, yet it carried a weight heavier than the very foundations of the manor. He knew, and she knew, that ’heir’ was the one word they dared not touch—the ghost that haunted the halls of their marriage.

​Olivia rose heavily, the walls of the chamber suddenly feeling as though they were closing in on her. "We shall speak with them tomorrow. I am tired now... beyond tired."

​"Very well," Mathias said, his eyes tracking her silhouette as she moved toward the door. "Goodnight, Olivia."

​"And to you."

​She stepped out, and the moment the door clicked shut, Mathias’s grip tightened around his glass until his knuckles flared white. The bitter truth hung in the stagnant air between them like dust. No matter how close they drew, no matter how much they preoccupied themselves with politics or Leon’s foolish conditions, the reality remained: they had lost their children yesterday, and lost the hope of them today. It was a raw, open wound, one they both refused to look at, yet felt in every breath.

Olivia opened her eyes to a strange sensation—something soft, warm, and small shifting against her pillow. It moved toward her face with a faint, breathy mewl. She sat up abruptly, finding a mass of ink-black fur settled directly before her, two wide emerald eyes staring back with feline curiosity.

​Astonishment flickered across her features as she rose slowly. "What is this?"

​"It is a cat, Olivia. I trust you haven’t forgotten the form of a common pet," Mathias’s calm voice drifted from the window. He stood there, framed by the morning light, watching her with a coolness that barely masked a hidden concern.

​Olivia looked from the creature to him. "I know it is a cat. I am asking what it is doing in my chambers."

​"I thought she might suit you," Mathias said, stepping closer with his hands tucked into his pockets. "You spend too much time thinking, brooding, and watching the shadows. This little creature will require your attention... and perhaps distract you from the rot consuming this house."

​Mathias would never admit—could never admit—that he had brought her because he had seen the way she shattered last night. He had seen the buried grief that clawed its way to the surface when she learned of Isabella’s pregnancy. He wanted to give her a soul to care for, one that didn’t remind them of what they had lost.

​Olivia reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the kitten’s silken fur. "A black cat? Are you trying to frighten me, or the servants?"

​"She resembles you," Mathias replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Quiet, mysterious, and sharp-tempered when provoked."

​"She resembles you when you lie," Olivia shot back, her voice dry as bone.

​The kitten’s playful batting at her hand momentarily pulled her from her thoughts, but she did not lose her focus. She looked at Mathias, her gaze turning lethal in its seriousness. "A cat will not fix the mess Leon and Isabella have made, Mathias. We need to speak to those two lunatics. Today."