Chapter 56: Chapter 55. The In-laws
Genevieve de Rothschild and Valdemar de Rothschild, the current Rothschild head, returned to the capital under heavy strain. Their estate lay in disarray after a robbery that had stripped away nearly half of the family’s fortune.
For weeks they had been buried in chaos, patching losses, calming frightened servants, and restoring what little stability remained. By the time they returned, the grand ball had already passed. Now, the city buzzed with anticipation for the emperor’s wedding.
They arrived a night before the ceremony, weary but determined to show their presence for Lisellote’s wedding. Whatever trouble brewed in their territory, they could not be absent from such an important imperial event. There’s nothing more important than showing their face as the royal’s in-law.
Even when they arrived at the capital and had time to see Vivianne, knowing that Vivianne was already in the capital. They don’t want to see her, for Liselotte seeing Vivianne up close hurt her ego and made her sad. As for Genevieve, she hated Vivianne with all her life.
To her, Vivianne is more than an old wound; she’s a mirror Genevieve despised looking into. Seeing her is like reliving her own failed marriage, a life that had crumbled piece by piece until it left only bitterness. Genevieve had sworn never to forgive Vivianne, blaming her for shadows of the past that wouldn’t let her rest.
And then came the wedding day. When Genevieve saw Vivianne, even when just months apart, something inside her snapped. Vivianne glowed with a radiance Genevieve had never seen before.
She walked with confidence, her silver hair gleaming under the light of the chandeliers, her soft purple eyes captivating everyone who dared to meet them. The hall seemed to brighten around her, and the nobles whispered with awe. It made Genevieve furious.
She clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms, forcing herself to keep a composed smile. But inside, jealousy and hatred churned. She had never wanted Vivianne to be happy. Not after everything. She had imagined her broken, suffering both in body and spirit. She had prayed the Grand Duke would despise her, torment her, and make her life a slow ruin.
But that vision shattered before her eyes. Roxanne de Borgia stood beside Vivianne like a shield, terrifying and regal in her beauty. Yet every time Roxanne looked at her wife, the fierce red of her eyes softened, becoming warm and tender. She touched Vivianne with reverence and guided her with care, as though she were something precious and untouchable. And Vivianne thrived under it.
Her beauty, once fragile, now soared. She’s radiant in a way Genevieve could not bear, a way that made her own reflection feel dull and lifeless. To see her admired by all, cherished so openly, while Genevieve’s own heart lay bitter and empty, is something unbearable.
Genevieve forced herself to breathe, forced her smile to hold as nobles exchanged whispers around her. Tell her that she’s truly hit the jackpot by having both daughters marrying into power. One with the emperor and one with the grand duke, two powerful alphas in the empire with a huge influence. She smiles, but deep inside, anger festers.
Because nothing she had wished for had come to pass. "I’m going to greet Vivianne," Valdemar said to Genevieve, lowering his voice as the music swelled around them. "You should too, Mother. It’s good for our politics."
Genevieve’s fingers tightened around her goblet. She glanced at the emperor and empress consort seated on the twin thrones above the hall. Dietrich is laughing too loudly, his hand resting possessively on Liselotte’s. Yet anyone with eyes could see where his gaze drifted when he thought no one noticed. It’s always the same, Vivianne, radiant in her gown, standing quietly at Roxanne’s side.
The Grand Duke and her omega wife drew attention wherever they stood. Roxanne looked amazingly dangerous and enthralling. Vivianne beside her is softer, glowing, and divine, like moonlight against fire. Together they made the rest of the hall fade into something less.
Genevieve set her goblet down, her rings clinking against the stem. "Politics," she repeated, her tone thoughtful. Valdemar is right. It would be foolish to let the moment pass, even if it burned her pride.
The ballroom is alive with celebration. The orchestra swelled, strings and flutes weaving together into a triumphant melody as couples cleared the floor. Servants hurried to the edges of the marble hall, and all eyes turned toward the emperor and his new bride.
Dietrich stood tall, his smile carved into something dazzling but hollow. He gripped Liselotte’s hand as if it were a prop in his performance, not a symbol of a bond between hearts. The empress consort’s gown shimmered under the chandeliers, golden silk cascading like sunlight, but no matter how radiant she appeared, she felt like a painted figure in a play she had never wanted to perform.
He leaned close as they stepped into the first movements of the waltz, his voice low and sharp against her ear. "Don’t expect me to love you."
The words cut more deeply than she had prepared for, though she had always known them to be true. Liselotte’s teeth ground together as she forced her lips into a smile, her eyes trained on the crowd that applauded and sighed in admiration. Her body moved gracefully with his, every turn perfect, every dip flawless, because she couldn’t afford to stumble.
The nobles clapped in rhythm, marveling at their emperor’s elegance, but Liselotte could feel the ice behind his every step. His hand at her waist is firm but distant, like he were steering a horse, not holding his bride.
The music swirled faster. Dietrich twirled her outward and back again, his grip tightening when her eyes flickered toward Roxanne. He noticed. His lips bent into a smirk, though his eyes remained cold. "Envy doesn’t suit you," he murmured. Liselotte swallowed down the retort burning on her tongue. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Around them, the courtiers cheered as the emperor spun his bride flawlessly. From the balconies, petals rained down, shimmering against the golden chandeliers. To the world, it looked like a fairytale. To Liselotte, it’s a cage lined in silk.
The final chord of the orchestra rang out, sharp and resounding, and Dietrich drew her into a dramatic final pose. The hall erupted in applause. Nobles raised their glasses, calling blessings upon the emperor and empress consort.
Liselotte smiled, bowing her head, but her hands trembled within her gloves. Her heart ached—not because of what Dietrich had said, but because across the hall she had seen Roxanne bend down, pressing a light kiss to Vivianne’s forehead, so tender, so unguarded. The crowd adored it, whispering, smiling, admiring. And Liselotte hated that she envied them both.
The orchestra began again, inviting others to join the floor. Dietrich released her hand with the air of a man discarding a duty. "Smile wider," he ordered under his breath, already turning toward a cluster of nobles eager to flatter him. Liselotte did as told. Her lips curved into perfection while her heart cracked a little deeper.
Silk skirts swirled as couples danced beneath chandeliers heavy with crystal. Servants wove through the crowd with trays of wine and sugared fruit. Laughter and music filled the air, but underneath it all there is a tension, like a taut string. Everyone is watching the Borgia couple and waiting to see how they will move.
Genevieve rose from her seat, her son falling into step beside her. Together they made their way through the crowd, nobles bowing as they passed, whispers trailing after them.
Closer now, she could see them more clearly. Roxanne is speaking with a cluster of Wyndham knights, her smile sharp, her eyes alert. Yet even in the middle of conversation, her hand remained linked with Vivianne’s. It’s a subtle claim, and Vivianne isn’t the shy and helpless little Rothschild girl Genevieve remembered. She stood tall, her silver hair gleaming like spun light, her purple eyes carrying a calm strength. She’s untouchable.
"Grand Duke. Grand Duchess." Valdemar bowed with grace, his voice steady but his eyes betraying awe. He had seen countless omegas at court, but he has to agree that his little sister is truly painting the new era of omega. Liselotte is a beauty, but Vivianne is a new deal. "It is an honor to see you both in the capital again."
Vivianne smiled politely, her beauty soft but dazzling, like sunlight warming cold marble. "The honor is ours, my lord," she said gently, not wanting to call him brother.
Roxanne’s gaze flicked over Valdemar, measuring and weighing, and then she gave a short nod. "Likewise," she said, her tone unreadable.
Valdemar straightened, unsure if it was praise or warning, but his smile did not falter. "You’re talking like I’m not your brother." He smiles at Vivianne.
"It’s a polite thing to call a count by their title." Vivianne just smiles, not wanting to give Valdemar what he wants.
Genevieve stepped forward, lowering her head just enough to show respect, though her pride screamed against it. "Grand Duchess Vivianne," she said, her voice smooth and practiced. "It is good to see you well. The court has spoken endlessly of your beauty, but I see now their words were not enough."
Vivianne’s expression softened, though her fingers tightened ever so slightly on Roxanne’s hand, as if to steady herself. "You are too kind, madam Rothschild."
Behind them, Dietrich shifted on his throne. His eyes had locked on the exchange, his jaw tense, his hand tightening around Liselotte’s until she winced. The music swelled again, and dancers spun across the marble floor, but many heads turned toward the quiet circle forming around Borgia. Whispers rippled, fanning the tension higher.