Chapter 54: Chapter 53. The Couple’s Hatred
Inside, Dietrich burned with angry. His chest heaved beneath the weight of his rage, though outwardly he forced himself to remain composed. His poison, supposedly strong enough to kill a demon, rare enough to empty a vault of gold, had vanished into nothing, as though it had never existed.
He tightened his grip on the armrest until his knuckles blanched white. The urge to leap forward, to shout, to demand answers, clawed at him like a beast. But the eyes of the empire are upon him. A single crack in his composure, a single slip of temper, and suspicion would be born.
So he laughed. The sound is sharp, hollow, too loud for the hall with filled with the slow music and nobles already start to get drunk. He rose to his feet, spreading his arms wide as though everything had been nothing more than theater.
"Behold!" he declared, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Such resilience, such strength! Truly, Lady Roxanne Borgia honors this empire with her fortitude. Congratulations on her marriage!" He said, but the veins on his face clearly showed that he was really angry.
The hall erupted in applause; nobles clapped politely, uncertain whether they had just witnessed a test, a jest, or something far darker. They don’t really understand the emperor’s words toward the Grand Duke of Borgia. But they know for certain that the night is still long.
Dietrich’s eyes burned holes into Roxanne as he forced his smile wider, every word scraping against the fury boiling inside him. Smile. Praise her. Turn this into a victory. If he faltered now, all his schemes would be for nothing.
From his spot just behind the throne, the Chancellor exhaled, long and heavy, relief softening the tight lines of his aged face. He had seen the gleam in Dietrich’s eyes when Roxanne first raised the glass. He had known what that meant. And for a moment, true fear had seized his heart, fear that if the poison worked, chaos would shatter the empire.
Now, with Dietrich’s forced praise, the Chancellor found his pulse steady again. He smoothed his robes, adjusted his spectacles, and gave the faintest nod of approval. Disaster had been avoided, for now. The empire would not fall into scandal tonight.
But beneath his calm composure, another thought lingered in the Chancellor’s mind. If Grand Duke Roxanne cannot be killed by poison meant for demons, then she has stepped beyond the realm of ordinary.. "Oh, she’s mixed blood. Stronger." He then muttered to himself, seemingly remembering the most important thing.
-
Meanwhile, Liselotte sat rigidly at Dietrich’s side, her hands resting on her lap, fingers entwined so tightly that her knuckles ached. She kept her chin high, her face schooled into calmness, the mask expected of the future empress. But inside, a storm churned.
She had thought herself prepared for this evening and had promised herself she would endure it with dignity. Yet when Roxanne and Vivianne stepped into the hall, all grace slipped from her heart.
It’s really unbearable, seeing everything unfolded before her eyes. Her alpha, the one who’s meant to be her mate, her future, didn’t look at her the whole night. Dietrich’s eyes followed only Vivianne.
His hunger is naked, almost desperate, the same hunger Liselotte remembered in her father’s gaze when he looked at Zara, Vivianne’s mother. That same obsession had destroyed her mother and had turned her life into bitterness. And now, Liselotte realized with a sharp pang, she’s to suffer the same fate.
Her lips pressed together as she watched Vivianne walk across the floor. That silver hair shimmered in the light of a thousand candles, her soft purple eyes luminous with a gentleness that seemed to draw every gaze. It’s truly infuriating. Vivianne carried herself as though she’s untouched by the world’s cruelty, while Liselotte, trained, poised, and beautiful in her own right, sat invisible beside the emperor himself.
But what cut deeper than anything is Roxanne. The Grand Duke stood tall, terrifying in her beauty, commanding the room with every breath, and how oppressive her alpha power is, more than the emperor himself. Those red eyes are enough to silence even the boldest noble.
Liselotte had always thought herself brave, but even she flinched when Roxanne’s gaze swept across the hall. And yet, when those same eyes fell on Vivianne, they changed. They softened. They grew warm, almost tender. That contrast struck Liselotte like a blade to the chest.
It isn’t only admiration, it’s a devotion. Love. Possession. Roxanne looked at Vivianne as if the rest of the world had no place, as though every soul in the hall were nothing but shadows, while Vivianne is the only light.
Liselotte’s breath caught, though she quickly masked it with a composed smile. Inside, however, she felt something darker than jealousy. She felt despair. Because she knew that she would never be looked at that way. Not by Dietrich, not by anyone.
Dietrich’s glances toward her were heavy and expectant but empty of the affection she longed for. To him, she’s a piece on the board, a prize to display, and a womb to carry his heirs. Vivianne, however, is his obsession. The forbidden fruit that would forever haunt his hunger.
And what made it worse—what turned Liselotte’s jealousy into misery—is seeing how Vivianne thrived under Roxanne’s love. The Grand Duke, terrifying to the world, became gentle with her. Liselotte watched as Roxanne bent her head, pressed the lightest of kisses to Vivianne’s hair, as though such tenderness came as naturally as breathing. Every small gesture screamed ownership, devotion, and protection.
The contrast clawed at Liselotte’s heart. Because she had grown up watching her mother’s beauty wilt under her father’s neglect, while Zara’s radiance only seemed to grow brighter with every stolen glance he gave her. Liselotte had sworn never to live such a life, never to be overshadowed. Yet here she is, repeating history.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. A thousand jealous thoughts filled her mind, yet she dared not speak them. Around her, nobles whispered of Vivianne’s divine beauty, of the Grand Duke’s terrifying allure. No one ever spoke of her. No one ever called her name with awe.
Her hands trembled in her lap, though she hid it beneath the folds of her gown. "Why her?" Liselotte asked herself. "Why always her?"
Vivianne had already taken the devotion of her father. Now she had captured the emperor’s obsession, and the undivided love of the Grand Duke. "What’s left for me?" Liselotte scream inside her head.
A crown, perhaps. A title. But not the thing she craved most. Not love.
Her gaze flicked to Vivianne again, and for a fleeting moment, hatred seared through her jealousy. She imagined pulling that silver hair down, imagined seeing those soft purple eyes dulled. The thought horrified her, but it also brought a cruel sort of relief. Because Vivianne, alive and radiant, made her own beauty feel like ash.
The music swelled, couples began to dance, and Liselotte’s chest tightened as she realized Dietrich still had not asked her to the floor. His eyes remained fixed, always, on Roxanne and Vivianne.
She sat taller, forced a smile, and clung to her mask. But beneath it, her heart screamed. For Liselotte, the ball is not a celebration. It is a mirror, showing her the life she would live: a crown on her head, but her heart forever in chains.
And every time Roxanne leaned down to press another soft kiss to Vivianne’s temple, Liselotte felt those chains tighten.