Time in Locron slowed after the army departed, the days dragging with a strange, airless heaviness. At first, Olivia welcomed the quiet. She had once believed silence to be the only thing the estate could offer her—a refuge from arguments, from emotions, from the exhausting presence of others.

But silence, she discovered, could rot.

Within days, the stillness of Locron no longer felt peaceful. It pressed against her from every corner of the manor, settling into the halls like dust no servant could sweep away. The estate itself seemed altered in Mathias’s absence, too large and far too empty, as though something vital had been ripped out of its heart.

More than once, Olivia caught herself stopping in the middle of a corridor for no reason other than the lingering instinct to expect him there—leaning lazily against a wall, laughing too loudly, speaking without thinking as he always did. Sometimes her hand would drift toward the door of his study before she abruptly pulled back, irritated by her own unconscious habit.

Weeks passed before the first dispatch arrived from the front.

It was not a personal letter, nor did it bear Mathias’s careless handwriting. Merely an official military report stamped with the imperial seal, informing the duchy that the campaign was proceeding far more smoothly than expected. If matters continued at this pace, the army would likely return within a month and a half.

Olivia read the report in silence, her expression betraying nothing. Calm. Detached. The same cold composure she wore before everyone else.

Yet the moment she folded the paper shut, an unfamiliar unrest settled beneath her ribs.

His return should have relieved her. Instead, the thought of seeing him again left her strangely unsettled, caught between lingering resentment and an emptiness she could neither understand nor silence.

As the weeks dragged on, the change in her became impossible to ignore.

By the end of the first month, exhaustion had begun to carve itself into her features little by little. Olivia still carried herself like the dignified Duchess of Locron, but the illusion weakened behind closed doors.

Meals were forgotten. Sleepless nights became routine. More than once, servants found untouched tea gone cold beside stacks of unfinished documents.

Even Isabella, who had long grown accustomed to Olivia’s colder moods, could no longer pretend not to notice.

One evening, the two sat together in the drawing room while rain murmured softly against the windows. The fire crackled quietly between them, filling the silence Olivia herself seemed incapable of breaking.

From across the table, Isabella studied her carefully over the rim of her teacup. Olivia looked pale beneath the candlelight, her fingers thin around the papers resting in her lap, her attention distant—as though only half of her existed within the room at all.

At last, Isabella lowered her cup with a quiet sigh.

"Olivia... we need to talk."

Olivia lifted her gaze slowly, as if returning from someplace far away.

"What is it?"

"You haven’t been well lately," Isabella said quietly, setting her teacup aside. "You barely sleep, you hardly eat, and half the time you look as though you’re somewhere else entirely. Do you really think I wouldn’t notice?"

Olivia lowered the papers in her hands. "You’re exaggerating. It’s only work—"

"No, it isn’t."

The sharpness in Isabella’s voice startled even herself.

For a moment, only the sound of rain and crackling fire filled the room.

"It’s been a month since Mathias left," Isabella continued more softly, though the worry remained clear in her expression. "And ever since then, you’ve been slowly wearing yourself down. So tell me honestly... do you miss him that much?"

Silence fell between them.

Olivia’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the document resting in her lap. Her expression did not change, but something uncertain flickered behind her eyes before vanishing just as quickly. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"What are you talking about?" she asked at last. "I don’t understand."

Isabella stared at her in disbelief, then let out a tired breath, rubbing at her temple.

"You really don’t see it?" she murmured. "Or maybe you just don’t want to."

"Isabella."

Olivia’s tone sharpened faintly.

"Stop speaking in riddles."

For several seconds, Isabella said nothing. Then, with the patience of someone finally reaching her limit, she spoke plainly.

"You love him."

The words settled heavily in the room.

Isabella had expected denial—perhaps anger, perhaps the cold fury Olivia used to silence anyone who crossed a line. But instead, Olivia only looked at her in silence, her gaze distant and strangely hollow.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm to the point of lifelessness.

"First," she said slowly, "I don’t think I even understand what love is."

Her eyes lowered briefly toward her hands.

"And second..." A faint, bitter smile touched her lips before disappearing. "After everything I’ve done to him, do you truly think I have the right to feel something like that?"

"Olivia—"

Isabella rose abruptly from her seat, frustration and concern bleeding into her voice.

"You can’t keep denying your own feelings just because you feel guilty."

For a brief moment, Olivia said nothing.

Then she stood.

The movement felt strangely slow, almost automatic, as though her body were acting on instinct alone. She crossed the room toward the door without meeting Isabella’s eyes, her expression unreadable beneath the flickering firelight.

Her hand rested against the handle.

"That’s exactly the problem," she said quietly.

Isabella fell silent.

Olivia’s fingers tightened slightly around the brass handle before she continued.

"I don’t know what this feeling is."

Her voice remained calm, but exhaustion lingered beneath every word.

"I don’t know whether I miss him because I..." She stopped herself briefly, lowering her gaze. "Or whether this is simply guilt consuming me after everything I’ve done."

The room felt unbearably still.

"And until I understand that much myself," Olivia murmured, "I don’t want to talk about it again."

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and stepped out into the dim corridor beyond.

The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the room far louder than it should have.

Isabella remained where she stood, staring at the empty space Olivia had left behind.

For the first time, she wondered if the line between guilt and love was truly as clear as people claimed.

A week later, another letter arrived from the front.

Unlike the previous military dispatches, this one was clearly personal. The envelope bore an uneven, hurried scrawl addressed specifically to The Duchess.

Olivia stared at the handwriting for several long seconds before taking the letter to her room.

Only there, behind closed doors, did she finally allow the carefully constructed composure she wore before others to loosen at the edges.

She broke the seal quietly.

The letter inside was short.

Hello, Wife.

I honestly have no idea what people are supposed to write in letters like these.

The campaign should be ending soon. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll probably return within a few days.

I know you’re still angry with me, so there’s no need to force yourself to reply.

We’ll talk properly once I come back.

—Mathias

It was clumsy. Straightforward. Entirely lacking the elegance expected from a nobleman of his status.

So unmistakably Mathias that Olivia could almost hear his voice while reading it.

Before she realized it, the corner of her lips had lifted slightly.

A quiet purr stirred against her lap.

Lowering her gaze, Olivia found Black curled comfortably atop the blanket beside her, green eyes half-lidded in contentment as she absentmindedly stroked his fur.

"It seems your father will be returning soon," she whispered softly.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence inside the room no longer felt quite as unbearable.

The letter was embarrassingly simple, lacking any of the refinement expected from a duke. No carefully chosen words, no polished sentiment—just a few awkward lines written with the same careless honesty that defined Mathias himself.

And somehow, that made it feel far more real.

For a fleeting moment, Olivia could almost picture him standing there beside her, speaking in that familiar, unrestrained manner of his.

An involuntary smile touched her lips before she could stop it.

Curled comfortably in her lap, Black let out a soft purr, his green eyes half-closed as Olivia’s fingers absentmindedly brushed through his fur.

"It seems your father will be coming home soon, little one," she murmured quietly.

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Hi, So my dear readers ,I deeply need your Golden Tickets for this month! Every single ticket helps secure our place among the stars. Don’t forget to vote! 🌟🎫

And, in the comments a photo how I imagine Olivia and Mathias.