Upon returning to his estate, Quinn was seething with anger. He stormed toward Izabelle's door, his fist raised to knock, but Mia's scornful words echoed in his mind. Gritting his teeth, he hesitated, then let his hand fall. Confronting Izabelle directly, if Mia's accusations were true, would be the wrong move. He needed a better approach.
Clenching his fists, he stepped back and mind-linked his most trusted companion. 'Quietly round up Izabelle's underlings and bring them to the dungeon. Make sure no one notices.' His voice was low, commanding.
The urgency burned within him. If he delayed, his patience might snap, and he would be forced to take drastic action against his foster mother. If everything Mia had revealed turned out to be true, no one involved in the betrayal would escape his wrath, not even his foster mother. Looking back now, the entire situation had been far too convenient, as though someone had orchestrated every piece of it to fall neatly into place.
Why had he been so blind? How had he allowed the cruelty of his biological mother to cloud his judgment and shape his insecurities?
A sharp call broke his thoughts. "Your Grace," Ray, his closest companion, greeted him at the dungeon entrance, pushing open the door to reveal Izabelle's trembling subordinates.
Quinn entered silently, his sharp gaze sweeping over the terrified servants. He took a seat opposite them, his expression unreadable. The quiet intensity in his eyes was more terrifying than any raised voice. Each one of them sat chained, their heads bowed in fear, unable to meet his gaze.
"Stall Izabelle," Quinn commanded curtly. Ray nodded and signaled some of his men to leave, keeping only a handful behind for assistance.
Leaning forward slightly, Quinn's voice was calm yet chilling. "I don't have time to waste. You will tell me everything about the misunderstandings between me and Belle, and leave nothing out."
The room fell into uneasy silence. The subordinates exchanged nervous glances, unwilling to speak. Quinn's patience thinned, and with a snap of his fingers, the guards began whipping them. Cries of pain filled the prison room, echoing off the cold stone walls.
"Wait! Please, Your Grace! I will confess!" One of the maids cried out, her voice cracking as she raised a trembling hand. She was a familiar figure to him, often seen by Izabelle's side. She had to be her personal maid.
"Speak," Quinn said, his tone unyielding.
The maid, trembling and desperate, stammered out her confession. "The former Duchess… she never cheated on you with Marcel. He was her childhood friend, nothing more. Every piece of evidence you saw was fabricated by your foster mother."
Quinn's face remained impassive, betraying no reaction. He had anticipated as much, but confirming it was a bitter blow. It wasn't anger that rooted him to his seat, it was the heavy realization that his foster mother, the woman who had once embraced him as her own, had betrayed him.
It seemed fate had a cruel sense of irony, repeating the same cycles of treachery and heartbreak. Another family member, another betrayal. And once again, he would have to decide what justice demanded.
"Why?" Quinn demanded, his voice sharp and unyielding, but the underlings hesitated, exchanging nervous glances.
"It is best you do not know, Your Grace," the maid ventured cautiously, earning murmurs of approval from the others.
"I said why?!" Quinn's roar filled the prison room as he abruptly rose to his feet, kicking the chair violently aside. The sound of his rage reverberated through the prison walls, causing the underlings to tremble in terror. One of them even wet himself, unable to contain his fear.
"She... she was supposed to marry your father," a male servant stammered, his voice shaking, "but your mother framed her family, which led to the marriage proposal being refused."
Quinn scoffed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Why then did she allow her best friend to marry my father if she already knew this?"
"Because she didn't know the truth at first. It was only after you were born that she overheard your parents arguing about it. She was holding you in her arms that night… she could have killed you but she couldn't bring herself to do it," the man explained, his words revealing a dark, bitter history.
The pieces began to fall into place for Quinn. It all made sense now. The coldness he had felt from her during his childhood, the fleeting moments of affection that had seemed out of character. She had been consumed by a hatred he wasn't aware of.
"Did Belle ever send me a letter while she was pregnant?" He asked, his voice quieter but no less intense.
"Yes, Your Grace. We intercepted them. Izabelle wanted you to feel the same loss she experienced when her own love was taken from her," the man admitted, lowering his head in shame.
Quinn's fists clenched tightly as a wave of rage and regret coursed through him. He had thought she never once cared about him and only wanted to be reunited with her childhood lover. He had refused to show her compassion after the miscarriage, believing the child was Marcel's.
*What have I done?*
Without hesitation, Quinn drew a sword from one of the guards and, with a swift motion, struck down the man who had spoken.
"Ahh!" The screams of the remaining prisoners echoed through the dungeon as Quinn's wrath consumed him. One by one, he executed the underlings, their pleas falling on deaf ears. The guards recoiled, stepping back in fear as they watched their Duke unravel before them, the man they had known now a shadow of himself.
Finally, only the maid, the personal servant of Izabelle, remained. Quinn paused, his chest heaving, and pointed the bloodied sword at her.
"Your Grace! Please! Spare me!" She begged, falling to her knees. "I only followed Izabelle's orders. My family's life was at stake. I will do anything to make amends…" But Her words were cut short as Quinn's blade silenced her forever.
The guards stood frozen, their faces pale, as Quinn turned to them, his gaze cold and unrecognizable. This was not the Duke they served. This was a man consumed by fury, grief, and regret. A man who had lost control. Without a word, the guards instinctively stepped further back, knowing better than to risk being in his path.
"I see you have finally learned the truth." Izabelle's arrogant voice echoed from behind him, pulling Quinn's attention as he turned to face her.
"Was it worth it?" He asked coldly, his expression devoid of emotion.
"My goal was simple; to make you feel the agony your mother caused me. To watch your lover slip away from your grasp. And who would have thought the king would play right into my hands by claiming her? Now you will feel both loss and anguish as you watch your mate be taken by another man!" Her laughter was sharp and filled with malice, her gaze alight with hatred.
"You make me suffer for the sins of a mother who never even loved me?" Quinn took a step closer, his tone low and dangerous.
Izabelle's laughter only deepened, reveling in his pain. "Blame your cursed fate for being born to such a mother. It isn't my fault. Besides, isn't it only fitting for a son to bear the burden of his mother's sins? It makes you a truly filial son."
Quinn's hand shot out, gripping her jaw with brutal force, making her wince. "You can kill me now," she said through a twisted smile. "My mission is already complete. My life became meaningless the moment your mother married the man I loved."
For a moment, Quinn felt a flicker of understanding. He knew the cruelty of his biological mother, but why had the weight of her sins fallen squarely on him? "She ruined your life, not me. Why must I carry her cross? Why didn't you take your revenge on her?" He questioned.
Izabelle's eerie grin grew wider. "Oh, I did. That vile woman you call a mother? I killed her. Even after marrying my man, she couldn't stop whoring herself out. She should have been a prostitute, not a mother. Why do you think she died from a mere fever?"
Quinn's chest tightened as the implications sank in. But then, Izabelle's laughter resumed, sharp and mocking.
"You have always been as gullible as your father," she sneered. "Blind to the truth, easily manipulated, and eager to believe any lie thrown your way."
Something clicked in Quinn's mind. "You killed my father too, didn't you?"
Izabelle's laughter was confirmation enough. "He deserved it," she spat. "He used me for his pleasure, over and over again. But when I became pregnant, he sent me away, out of sight and out of mind because he was too afraid of your mother. Tell me, does a man like that deserve to live?"
Quinn felt a storm of emotions rise within him as he saw the depth of Izabelle's hatred for his parents. "Father once proposed that we leave together," he admitted, his voice steady but pained. "I never took him seriously. But now I realize it was around the time you disappeared that he began persuading me to leave with him. He didn't betray you, Izabelle. He didn't visit you because of me. He wanted me to come along. He never wanted to leave me behind."
Izabelle's face shifted, her confident sneer giving way to something like doubt. "Don't try to feed me lies. Your father never loved me," she muttered, though her voice had lost some of its edge.
Quinn leaned closer, his tone soft yet cutting. "My mother would have killed your unborn child if he hadn't sent you away. Everything he did, he did to protect you. Even if he was too much of a coward to stand against his family, he never stopped considering you. He never stopped caring."
Izabelle's hands fell limply to her sides, her expression clouded with disbelief. The weight of Quinn's words began to sink in, and guilt crept into her heart.