I will be the perfect wife this time

Chapter 210: Whispers of a Bitter Truce

Kyle shifted his gaze from Matthias, his eyes heavy with deep disappointment and unvoiced betrayal, before looking down at his shattered sister.

Matthias offered no answer, no defense. Instead, with a tense, calculated silence, he pulled his guard’s cloak tightly around himself, blending back into the anonymity of the uniform, terrified that another soul might walk down the corridor and see his face.

​Kyle looked back at Olivia. She was a devastating storm of profound exhaustion and simmering, lethal fury. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle, protective kiss against her forehead, his voice dropping into a comforting murmur.

​"Olivia... it is incredibly late, and nothing about this situation is right. You will stay here for the night, and I promise you—I truly promise you—I will send you back to your castle at dawn. Agreed?"

​Olivia let out a long, heavy sigh, the wild panic in her chest finally settling into a cold, eerie calm.

​"I suppose... I was being foolishly emotional for a moment," she murmured, her tone turning clipped and sharp as she rebuilt her armor. "It is fine. I will return after His Majesty is treated first, and then..."

​She cast a fleeting, razor-sharp look over her shoulder toward the cloaked figure of her husband.

​"...well, it doesn’t matter now. I need to rest. I am going to sleep, Kyle."

​"Of course," Kyle replied softly, his heart aching for her. "In your condition, rest is exactly what you need."

​Turning sharply toward one of the nearby maids, his voice snapped back to its authoritative command. "You! Take her to the guest chambers immediately, and ensure she has everything she needs for her absolute comfort."

​Olivia turned and walked away. This time, she didn’t look back. She didn’t flinch, nor did she grant him even a fraction of a glance.

​Matthias stood entirely frozen in the shadows, disguised as a mere guard, condemned to do nothing but watch her retreating figure until she completely vanished into the darkness of the corridor.

​Kyle turned and walked away, his steps heavy with a suffocating gravity. "Follow me," he commanded, his voice a low, lethal vibration.

​"Fine," Matthias answered with a chilling, unbothered coldness.

​He followed Kyle through the dimly lit corridors until they crossed the threshold of a secluded chamber. The moment the heavy oak door slammed shut, cutting them off from the rest of the palace, Matthias adjusted his cloak.

​"What is it, Kyle? Why the secrecy..."

​Before he could finish his sentence, a brutal, bone-shattering punch struck him square across the jaw. The force of the blow threw his head back, the metallic taste of blood immediately bursting in his mouth.

​"You bastard!" Kyle roared, his chest heaving as his eyes blazed with a manic fury. "How dare you?! How dare you?!"

​Matthias rolled his shoulder, slowly wiping a smear of crimson from his lip. A dark, cynical smirk played on his features. "Is this how you welcome back a friend who just returned from the dead?"

​Kyle didn’t answer with words. Another vicious punch followed, and then another, driven by weeks of buried agony. Matthias, refusing to be a mere punching bag, swiftly intercepted the next blow, his iron grip locking around both of Kyle’s wrists.

​"Alright. That is enough," Matthias growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous warning.

​Kyle violently wrenched his hands back, his breathing ragged.

​"That is my welcome!" Kyle spat, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and unshed tears. "I was tearing myself apart with guilt! I believed I was the sole reason you died, that I was the one who made my own sister a widow! And now, you simply appear out of thin air as if nothing ever happened!"

​"Why carry a guilt that was never yours to bear?" Matthias replied, his expression hardening. "You did nothing to cause my fall."

​Kyle’s vision went red. He lashed out, kicking a heavy wooden desk with enough violence to crack the wood.

​"Do you actually have the audacity to say that to my face?! Do you?!" Kyle took a predatory step forward, poking his finger sharply into Matthias’s chest. "Forget about me. What about Olivia? Didn’t you claim to love her? Weren’t your final words on that battlefield her damn name?! Why did you do this to her? Do you have any idea what happened in your absence? My sister... she was driven to the absolute brink of madness! She was going to commit suicide because of you, you ruthless piece of trash!"

​The word hit Matthias like a physical blade. The smirk vanished from his face, his eyes widening as a sudden, paralyzing panic gripped him.

​"What? Hold on... wait a minute. What did you just say?"

​Kyle lunged forward, grabbing Matthias by the collar of his uniform and violently shaking his broad shoulders. "Yes! She tried to end her life! Not once, but twice! All for a worthless wretch like you! Tell me, why couldn’t you at least tell her that you were still breathing?!"

​Matthias’s gaze drifted into the empty corner of the room, his entire body going entirely numb. It felt as though a cold, unseen hand had reached into his chest and was systematically tearing his heart into bloody shreds.

​"Suicide..." he muttered, his voice fracturing, the words turning to ash on his tongue. "But... but Layla told me she was fine. She assured me Olivia remained unaffected. I don’t understand... how... what on earth happened while I was gone?"

​Kyle’s screaming abruptly stopped. The deafening rage in the room died down, replaced by a terrifying, suffocating silence. When Kyle spoke again, his voice was no longer loud; it was drop-dead quiet, laced with a venomous realization.

​"Layla?" Kyle whispered, his eyes narrowing as the puzzle pieces violently locked into place. "Layla knew you were alive... My God. She knew all along."

​"Kyle, calm down—" Matthias tried to step forward, but Kyle backed away, letting out a dark, breathless laugh of sheer disbelief.

​"How can I be calm?!" Kyle’s voice cracked, a chilling smile of betrayal touching his lips. "Were Olivia and I just a twisted game to the twins? What is wrong with the two of you?! You faked your death and hid in the shadows, while your sister watched me shatter from guilt, letting me nearly lose my goddamn mind without saying a word!"

​Kyle shook his head, looking at Matthias with absolute revulsion.

​"I finally understand it now. I understand why they say that no matter how different twins appear on the outside, they share the exact same blood. You are both copies of the same sick, twisted mind. Tell me, Matthias... did you both thoroughly enjoy watching us suffer?"

​"It was your father’s idea," Matthias tightly countered, his jaw clenched. "So do not lay all the blame on us."

​"Oh?" Kyle let out a hollow, mocking laugh, his eyes flashing with dangerous sarcasm. "So my father is complicit in this too? Fascinating. Are we living in a sanctuary of lunatics who simply crave tragic theater? Go on, Matthias, keep going. Who else is in on the secret? Who else knew?"

​"Kyle, this is not the damn point!" Matthias snapped, his own patience wearing thin as the guilt and panic clawed at his chest. "Please, you need to listen to me and understand—"

​"Understand what, man? That you are a wretched piece of trash?" Kyle cut him off ruthlessly, his tone dripping with venom. "No, thank you. The message has been delivered beautifully."

​Damn it, Matthias cursed silently to himself. He blames me and Layla, yet he and Olivia share the exact same razor-sharp tongue.

​"Kyle, listen to me and stop this madness for a second!" Matthias commanded, his towering frame stepping into the light.

​"What?" Kyle spat.

​"I couldn’t return. It wasn’t just because of His Majesty," Matthias confessed, his voice fracturing as a raw, ugly truth bled into the room. "I cannot come back right now. And if it weren’t for your mother’s reckless, foolish actions, I would never have shown my face tonight. Do you honestly think this is easy for me? To stay away from the only woman I have ever worshiped in my entire life? It is killing me from the inside out, Kyle. But I can’t. Not yet."

​Kyle blinked, the suffocating rage in his chest cooling into a tense, wary confusion. "What do you mean? And what on earth does my mother have to do with this?"

​"Never mind that madwoman for now; she simply dispatched the Emperor’s physician to tend to her," Matthias brushed it off impatiently, before his gaze dropped to the floor, heavy with a dark, terrifying gravity. "What matters is this... if I stay near Olivia right now, I will end up killing her."

​Kyle stared at him, his eyes widening as the words hung like lead in the silence.

​"I don’t understand," Kyle whispered, his hand freezing over his sword.

​"I am cursed, Kyle," Matthias murmured, his voice dropping into a hollow, defeated whisper that chilled the very air of the room. "I simply cannot be near her."

​Kyle stared at him, his fingers slowly loosening their grip on his sword hilt. The fierce, burning rage in his eyes shifted into a cold, hollow bewilderment.

​"Cursed?" Kyle breathed the word out, looking at Matthias as if he were looking at a complete stranger. "What kind of sick riddle is this, Matthias? What happened to you on that battlefield?"

​Matthias pulled back his sleeve, exposing a fraction of his forearm. Beneath the skin, dark, obsidian-like veins pulsed with an unnatural, suffocating light—a lingering remnant of the dark magic that had nearly claimed his life, now permanently bound to his soul.

​"It triggers whenever she is near," Matthias whispered, his fearsome pride completely dissolving into pure, unadulterated agony. "My love for her, my longing... it awakens the corruption in my blood. If I hold her, Kyle, the curse will drain the very life from her lungs. I am a walking executioner to the only woman I worship. So tell me... how do I return to her like this?"

​A heavy, suffocating silence dropped between the two men. Kyle looked from the blackened veins back to Matthias’s tormented face. The urge to strike him vanished, replaced by a ruthless, protective clarity.

​"Then you stay dead," Kyle spoke, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy vow. "You will stay hidden in the shadows, and you will never let her see your face again. I will help you look for a cure, Matthias—but until then, if you dare to step into her light and break her soul a third time... I will kill you myself, curse or no curse."

​Matthias let out a soft, tired sigh, the shadows under his eyes deepening. "I knew that no matter how much you yelled, you would eventually understand my position. I only wish... I wish Olivia could do the same."

​"She knows about the curse, then?" Kyle asked, searching his face.

​Matthias merely shifted his gaze, a heavy, telling silence passing between them. Kyle’s eyes narrowed as the final realization struck him like a physical blow.

​"Another secret you are keeping from her," Kyle muttered, shaking his head in absolute revulsion. "Ha... then you truly have no hope of ever earning her forgiveness. My silence now does not mean I approve of your sick games, Matthias. But for her safety... I will accept this truce."

​Instead of a warm welcome, Kyle’s hand came down on Matthias’s shoulder with a heavy, grounding force—not in celebration of friendship, but as a grim, chilling warning.

​"Don’t make me regret letting you breathe, my old friend."

​Far away from the suffocating walls of the palace, the atmosphere was drowned in a desolate, chilling quiet. Roland stood entirely still beneath the weeping willow trees, facing Elphira’s freshly dug grave.

The bitter night air carried the thick, acrid smoke of his cigarette as he stared down at the cold stone. His daughter—the only soul he truly cherished in this wretched world—was gone. Even now, with the ash falling from his fingers, his mind refused to accept the finality of her death.

​"I knew I would find you here."

​Roland didn’t flinch at the sound of the approaching footsteps. He slowly turned his head, his cold eyes locking onto Cedric, who emerged from the heavy mist clinging to the cemetery grounds.

​"What brings you here, Cedric?" Roland asked, his voice dead and hollow.

​"I came to see if you had abandoned your ambitions the moment your daughter drew her last breath," Cedric replied, stepping closer with a sharp, testing gaze. "Has the agony of loss made you weak, Roland? Are you no longer capable of even a meager act of vengeance? Have you truly given up on everything we built?"

​A slow, arrogant smile curled onto Roland’s lips, devoid of any genuine warmth.

​"Give up?" Roland repeated, his voice dropping into a venomous hiss. "No. Her death has only given me a reason to burn this entire Empire to ashes over the heads of those bastards."

​Cedric’s expression shifted, a dark gleam of satisfaction crossing his eyes. "That is the spirit we need. Then, speaking of the Empire... I have heard rumors that the Emperor is gravely ill and fading fast." Cedric took a calculated step forward, lowering his voice. "Did you have a hand in this, Roland?"

​"It doesn’t matter whether my hand drew the blood or not," Roland replied coldly, throwing the remnant of his cigarette onto the damp earth and crushing it beneath his boot. "What matters now is that I must eliminate the final piece of evidence that incriminates me."

​Cedric’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

​Roland lifted his gaze, his eyes burning with a lethal, unadulterated malice. "I mean... I must slaughter that wretched Empress."