Isla lowered herself into the seat beside Leonard with a deliberate air of elegance. At least, that was her intention. Yet, no matter how poised she attempted to appear, the reality of the situation made it impossible for her to look anything but desperate.
Her once flawless reputation had taken a severe hit in not only the Duke's household but all over the empire, and the humiliation she had suffered over yesterday night and this morning had left her both seething and desperate for redemption.
Her heart burned with hatred, hatred for Vivian, the woman who now seemed to hold everything she desired. She clenched her fists beneath the table, her manicured nails digging into the delicate skin of her palm. If given the opportunity, she would kill Vivian right here and now. No hesitation. No regrets.
The mere sight of her, sitting there with her infuriating composure and elegance, eating as though nothing in the world troubled her, only fueled Isla's fury further.
But Isla wasn't a fool. She knew her limits, and more than anything, she knew that revenge was best served cold. That was precisely why she had chosen to sit beside Leonard, not out of any genuine affection, but purely to incite jealousy in Vivian.
She wanted to see her flinch, to see that perfect mask of serenity slip, even if only for a moment. However, she was destined for disappointment.
No sooner had she settled in than Leonard's voice rang out, smooth but firm, his words cutting through the tense air like a sharpened blade.
"Lady Isla, I believe, according to etiquette, that you are meant to sit beside the hostess, not me. We are not close enough for you to sit at my side. I'm sorry, but only my wife has that right. Kindly move elsewhere."
Silence fell over the table.
For a moment, Isla sat frozen, her mind struggling to process the sheer humiliation of being publicly rejected, no, discarded, like she was nothing. A deep crimson flush spread across her cheeks as gasps and barely concealed laughter rippled around the dining hall.
The maids, ordinary commoners whom she had always dismissed as insignificant, did not bother to hide their smirks. Anna, Vivian's lady-in-waiting, was particularly delighted by her misfortune, her eyes glinting with open amusement.
The quiet murmurs of enjoyment from the servants and household members cut into Isla's pride like tiny, merciless blades. She had once been admired, respected, even feared but now, even the ordinary maids in the Duke's household had the audacity to make jest of her. Had she truly fallen so low?
Humiliation clawed at her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Without a word, she forced herself to rise, her movements stiff with shame, and relocated to a seat farther away from Leonard but not close enough to be within Vivian's direct view.
She refused to suffer the added indignity of facing Anna's triumphant smirk.
Yet, even as she sat down elsewhere, Isla's anger did not subside. If anything, it only festered.
She turned her gaze toward Vivian, who remained perfectly composed, eating calmly as though nothing of significance had just transpired.
Isla's teeth ground together. How dare she sit there so unaffected? Did she truly feel nothing? Did she not take pleasure in Isla's shame? Isla was convinced she did—how could she not? No woman in her position would simply ignore such a spectacle.
No. This had to be an act.
Vivian was pretending, playing the part of the ever-gracious Duchess and archduke's daughter as always, as though she were above petty emotions like jealousy or triumph.
But Isla refused to believe it. Deep down, she was certain that Vivian was savoring every second of her disgrace.
And worst of all, this was not an isolated incident. Since yesterday, everything in the Duke's household and the empire had turned against her. The maids neglected her, and refused to prepare her bath, or serve her meals.
She was left to fend for herself in a house where she had once been thought that she would be pampered. Isla knew Vivian had orchestrated all of it—there was no other explanation. She had weaponized the servants against her, reduced her standing, and was now basking in her suffering.
Even Vivian's choice of attire this morning had been intentional because the duchess that everyone knows is not the type to dress up so glamorous even at the fanciest ball and yet she is all dressed up this morning.
Isla had heard the whispers from the servants, how the Duke had spent an unusually long time in Vivian's chambers last night before eventually retreating to a guest room. That, in itself, was suspicious.
The Duke had never been known to show much interest in his wife before. And now, he was humiliating Isla personally? Defending Vivian publicly? The pieces were falling into place.
He had seemed drawn to Isla before, as if enchanted by her… but now? Now, he treated her like she was nothing. Isla's fists clenched tighter. How dare he turn on her so suddenly? Did he think he was above her just because she wasn't a high-ranking noblewoman?
She had been so close—so close to fully ensnaring him. If only her powers were strong enough to enchant him permanently, none of this would be happening. If only her magic could make him see her as the only woman worthy of his attention, she wouldn't have to endure this humiliation.
Let them laugh for now. Let them act as if she was beneath them.
A time would come when all the powerful men of the empire would bow before her and fully fall under her control. When her magic reached its full potential, when her plans fell into place, she would rise above them all.
No longer would she settle for the role of a mere Duchess. No. Her sights were set far beyond that. She would be the Empress. The most powerful, honored woman in the empire.
And then, she would make them all pay.
Leonard, with his arrogance, his condescending attitude, and his rejection, he would be the first to kneel at her feet, spellbound by her power. And Vivian… oh, Vivian. The ever-gracious, ever-perfect Duchess.
Isla would take everything from her—her wealth, her title, her husband, her powerful family background. She would force her to crawl, to beg, to suffer the same disgrace Isla had endured.
But for now, Isla needed patience.
As she slowly calmed herself, her expression smoothed, masking the rage simmering beneath the surface. If she had learned anything from the nobility, it was that battles were not always fought with swords, nor were victories always immediate.
She adjusted herself in her seat, offering a small, practiced smile to those still observing her. Let them think she had accepted her place. Let them think she had given up.
But they would soon learn.
They would all learn.