Chapter 49: Chapter 48. The Most Beautiful
Vivianne’s stomach churned the moment her gaze met his. There he is, the alpha who had made her life a living hell in her past life. Just the sight of him brought a sour taste to her mouth, a memory she wished she could erase but could never truly forget.
His eyes are still the same as before, sharp and hungry, filled with that same dark greed she remembered all too well. He stared at her as though she’s something to be possessed, something to be claimed, and the weight of it made her skin crawl.
She remembered that gaze clearly. It’s the exact look he had given her when she had been in Liselotte’s place, standing in the empire’s court as a prize rather than a person. Back then, she had been powerless beneath it, unable to resist or turn away, trapped by the fate. Now, even though her circumstances are different, the memory of that helplessness twisted deep inside her, stirring an old hatred that burned as fiercely as the day it was born.
Yet Vivianne didn’t allow any of it to show. She wouldn’t give Dietrich the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled. Her expression remained calm, serene even, her features soft and untouchable like a figure carved from light. The only sign of her inner turmoil is the way she tightened her hold on Roxanne’s hand. Her fingers pressed firmly, clinging to the one anchor that reminded her she’s no longer alone, no longer without protection.
Roxanne could feel it—the storm swirling in her wife’s heart. Vivianne’s hatred toward Dietrich ran deeper than her own. For Roxanne, his presence is an irritation that has hardened into hatred over the days of attempted assassinations and endless schemes.
But for Vivianne, it’s something far darker, an unsettled loathing that seems to rise from the marrow of her bones. Roxanne didn’t need words to understand it. She could feel it through their bond, the sharp edge of Vivianne’s discomfort pressing against her own chest.
Without hesitation, Roxanne turned her head and leaned down, brushing her lips gently against Vivianne’s. The kiss is soft, deliberate, and yet full of claim. It’s not simply an act of affection but a declaration, one meant to strike at the heart of the man watching them. She felt Vivianne’s breath hitch for a moment before relaxing into her, steadying in the comfort of her presence.
Roxanne didn’t need to look at Dietrich to know the effect it had on him. She had already seen the way his gaze devoured Vivianne the instant she stepped out of the carriage. His eyes had widened in shock, then burned with hunger and longing that made Roxanne’s skin crawl. He wanted her—he had always wanted her. However, she doesn’t want him to have it.
And Roxanne loved nothing more than reminding him of that. Vivianne is hers. Her mate. Her wife. Her luna. Bound not only by vows but by soul, tied together in a way no crown, no emperor, no power in the empire could undo. The bitter twist of Dietrich’s face, the way his lips thinned in anger as he watched them kiss, is a victory sweeter than any blade could deliver.
When Roxanne pulled back, her smirk is cold and satisfied. She turned her sharp gaze toward him. "My wife is a bit shy," she said smoothly, as though speaking of something trivial. "So, cousin, how is life as the emperor?" The title dripped from her tongue like a taunt, each word meant to remind him that his crown did not impress her.
Dietrich’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as he forced a smile. "Very good," he replied, his voice strained under the weight of his own dominance that crumbled before hers. "You’re here, aren’t you?" His words cut back at her, throwing into the air the thing he knew she despised most: the empire’s rules, the chains of politics and bloodlines.
Roxanne only tilted her head, unbothered. Her crimson eyes glimmered with amusement as though his jab had been nothing more than the squeak of a rat. "Of course," she said, her tone smooth as steel. "I wouldn’t want to miss my only cousin’s wedding." She then put her arms on Vivianne’s waist.
-
The chancellor wasted no time. He leaned close to Liselotte and urged her to return to her palace at once. His voice is low but urgent, for he knew all too well what will be coming after this.
The emperor would not take kindly to what had just happened. Being taunted by the only person he always feels insecure around, showing that the omega he spent more gold for is not his to claim. A tantrum is certain, and the chancellor had no desire for Liselotte to be caught in the middle of it.
Liselotte did not need to be told twice. She rose quickly, gathering her skirts, and was already halfway out the door before the chancellor even finished speaking. Her steps were hurried, almost desperate, as if she feared that simply remaining in the same room as the emperor might drag her into his rage.
Even as she walked away, Liselotte’s mind is far from calm. The sound of her own hurried footsteps echoed against the stone, but her thoughts were elsewhere, locked on the image that refused to leave her: Vivianne.
Vivianne had always been beautiful. Not in the ordinary sense, but with a kind of brilliance that could not be ignored. All eyes turned to her when she entered a room. It was as though her presence carried its own light, leaving others squinting, blinded, as if they were staring into the sun.
That very light is the reason Liselotte and her mother had been drowning in bitterness for years. They remembered Zara—Vivianne’s mother. An omega so beautiful that Liselotte’s own father had devoted his heart and soul to her. To them, Vivianne’s’s birth had stolen everything: affection, freedom, and power. They spent years scheming to shatter that beauty, to smother it. They wanted Vivianne desperate, begging for scraps of freedom, broken until nothing of her glow remained.
But Vivianne is her mother’s daughter. That same radiance had passed down, untamed and unbroken. And now, after being claimed as the wife of Roxanne de Borgia, the Grand Duke of the North, Vivianne’s beauty had only grown.
It’s no longer just the beauty of a woman, an omega, it’s the beauty of someone cherished, protected, and elevated. She seemed untouchable now, wrapped in a glow that felt almost divine. Standing beside Roxanne, she wasn’t just admired; she was worshipped. Liselotte felt it, a stab deep in her chest. She knew it, and so did the emperor. Vivianne is beyond them both, shining brighter than ever, and nothing they did could dim that light.
Yet here Liselotte is, trapped in her own fate, counting down the days until she would be taken by the emperor. He would make her his consort, but never his true mate. He had no intention of marking her, not while Vivianne still lived. Liselotte had heard the whispers, the rumors spoken even in hushed tones: that in his private moments, the emperor still called Vivianne by her maiden name—Vivianne de Rothschild.
It was a sign, clear and cruel. The emperor lived in a delusion, clinging to a dream that Vivianne might still be his. And Liselotte, no matter what she did, would always be nothing more than his second choice.