The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 123: Date?

The rain hadn’t started yet, but the air outside the stone terrace was heavy with the scent of it—like metal and moss crushed beneath footfalls that hadn’t arrived. Atlas leaned into the armrest with both elbows now, his darkened hair falling into his eyes as if to hide the storm behind them. Claire sat opposite, back straight, like she was made of carved obsidian and silk. The tension between them didn’t crackle. It simmered—low, slow, and relentless.

"Claire, I get it." His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The edges were sharp enough to slice. "Isabella is a monster in her own right. But she’s not stupid."

He held her gaze, waiting for the rebuttal that didn’t come. Instead, Claire’s lips parted slightly, and then closed. A queen without a crown in this moment, just a woman holding back fire behind her teeth.

"She’s been calling me nonstop for days," Atlas continued. "If I ghost her now, she’ll vanish into her own schemes and take that psycho mage with her."

Claire blinked slowly. Then leaned back, arms folding—an act that would’ve looked casual on anyone else. But not her. On Claire, it was a form of armoring.

"You’re assuming she wants to talk," she said finally. "You’re assuming she hasn’t already decided how this ends."

Atlas exhaled, a muscle twitching at the corner of his jaw. "I know Isabella. She doesn’t act without leverage. If she wanted me dead, she would’ve done it long ago." A pause. "She drinks too much when she’s nervous. And when she gets drunk..."

"She talks," Claire finished, a note of grim recognition in her voice.

He nodded. "And she’s nervous. She’s always nervous before a big move."

Claire’s voice dropped to a hush, a thread of silk pulled taut. "And what exactly did she say?"

Atlas hesitated.

It was half a second—maybe less—but Claire saw it. She always did.

He looked away. Out the window. Toward the faint glow of the capital skyline.

"She said the war wouldn’t even start if she finished what she was building."

Claire tilted her head, the glint in her eye more blade than jewel. "That’s vague as hell."

"I know," Atlas murmured. "But vague is all we have right now."

He turned slightly toward the figure in the mirror —Aiden. The man looked up, face mostly unreadable beneath the glamour enchantment. Hair yellow, eyes tinted golden yellow with the mechanical lenses Claire had given him. He wore the mask well.

Atlas continued, his tone flattening into something more analytical. "We need me, we need Aiden. We need what he knows. And if Isabella has something that can end this before it begins? I’m not walking away from that."

Claire studied Atlas, the candlelight casting long shadows across her collarbone and down her folded hands. There was something ancient in her stare—older than either of them had any right to claim. Maybe it was wisdom. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe, it was the weight of someone who had already outlived too many versions of herself.

"So you’re going in blind."

"I always go in blind."

"No." Her voice was calm, surgical. "You pretend to go in blind. You read people better than anyone I’ve ever met. You find cracks. Slip inside. Break them from within."

Her fingers tapped once on the side of her chair. A small sound, almost lost in the hush of the room.

"But Isabella isn’t Henry. She’s not me, she’s not like the nobles we’ve broken before. She’s... unpredictable."

"She’s worse than that," Atlas agreed softly. "She’s wounded. And a wounded predator is twice as dangerous."

Claire leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes never leaving his. "Then why are you walking into her den?"

"Because she might have the key to stopping this war before it becomes a massacre."

She inhaled sharply through her nose, her expression unreadable. Then—almost reluctantly—she offered a nod.

"Fine. Go. Talk to your stepmother. Try not to die. Or betray half the kingdom while you’re at it."

Atlas offered a ghost of a smile.

Claire didn’t return it. Instead, she reached out, fingers weaving through his colored hair and ruffling it slightly. It was affectionate—but there was iron in the gesture. A warning. A claim.

"Just remember," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "you don’t owe her anything. She will make you feel, you owe her the world like she deserves it...but she doesn’t, nobody does."

Atlas didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

Because deep down, he wasn’t sure that was true. Because he didn’t saw what Claire saw.

Chains weren’t always forged of steel. Some were wrapped in blood and wrapped tighter with every favor unspoken.

In his mind, he saw Isabella again—drunk, laughing, small, unseen tears wet on her cheeks and blood still fresh on her hands. He remembered the night she stood at the balcony, staring at the stars, and whispered into the dark, "...so lonely...."

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The door’s hush broke the stillness as Daisy entered, footsteps stolen by silk.

"Your Highness," came the quiet bow.

Isabella’s gaze seared. "...Oh, you’re here."

Daisy froze, voice trembling. "I—I was told the blueprints needed—"

"Put them on the table," Isabella interrupted lightly. "Here.."

Daisy’s hands shook as they held trembling scrolls. She looked down; heat flared in her cheeks. Isabella closed the gap in two precise steps and plucked the paper without protest.

Her voice low, velvet with edge: "So tell me, darling...what’s it like, being in love?"

Daisy froze, confusion and guilt flickering through her eyes.

"Do you know who he is? That man you dream about?"

Daisy’s breath caught. Silence.

Of course she didn’t know. Her guarded answer hovered, but Isabella answered for her: "He’s good. Good as he always was. Almost as good as me."

Isabella leaned close, lips brushing Daisy’s ear, breath warm. "But...Don’t worry. You’ll learn. How much your affections are worth."

Daisy didn’t move.

Isabella stepped back, retrieved a scroll sealed with dark wax that glowed faintly. ’Mage identifications’ She muted that thought. "Give this to him after . Not before. Tell him it’s a gift—from me."

Daisy caught it, hands unsteady. She didn’t ask what was inside, and that pleased Isabella.

She dismissed her with a calm nod: "Now go. Then come to the lab later—closely. I want everything double checked."

Daisy fled like the traitor she was becoming.

Seconds later, walking down the stairs—at the warded threshold. Daisy’s eyes brightened.

The marble staircase swallowed her silent descent. She passed relic cases and mana-pipes throbbing with soft blue glow. The air grew cooler—metallic with arcane energy—as she neared.

He was waiting: pale gold blond under enchantment, black cloak swirling around one figure. Atlas as Aiden sat upright, yellow -eyed and poised, as if summoned by her will.

"Viscount Aiden," she purred, voice silk and steel. "What a surprise to see you in this time."

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Her Highness insisted I greet you—deliver the document personally." She held the scroll carefully, the lantern light refracting in the wax.

His smile was slow. "Of course. Delicate info?"

She nodded. "Indeed....The shipment is delicate."

His answer—half-smile—came easily. "....You’re not looking your best."

She tilted her head, expression cool. "No... but I will be. If my lord would have some Tea with me after this... arrangement?" She voiced, softly, a bit nervous.

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