As they stood silently at a distance, the air between them tense with unspoken words, Leila moved forward with measured, deliberate steps toward the figure lying motionless before her. Her gaze, fierce yet composed, rested on the girl's pale face. Kneeling beside her, Leila's hands began to work with an almost mystical precision, moving as if channeling some ancient, hidden energy.
The silence was broken by Mathias, his voice sharp with worry.
"What are you doing? We should wait for the doctor!"
Leila turned her head abruptly, her expression a mix of exhaustion and simmering anger. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.
"I am a doctor, am I not? Or have you forgotten? None of this would have happened if not for your recklessness. She needs rest now—so both of you, stay back."
Kyle placed a calming hand on Mathias's shoulder, his voice a gentle murmur in an attempt to ease the tension.
"I've never seen Leila this upset before. Maybe we should give her some space."
But Mathias wasn't one to back down easily. He turned toward Kyle, his tone dripping with sarcasm and irritation.
"You? You've known her for barely a month and a half, and now you think you understand her mood?"
Leila ignored the exchange entirely, her focus unwavering as she continued examining the girl. After a moment of silence, her voice cut through the room, steady and composed:
"She's exhausted and slightly anemic. Has she been eating properly?"
Her gaze shifted upward to meet Mathias's bewildered expression.
"Why are you asking me? Ask her maid!"
Leila's eyes narrowed, her stare piercing him like an unspoken accusation.
"You're her husband. Shouldn't you know if she's eating well or not? Did you not notice that she's been starving herself for months?"
The weight of her words plunged the room into an uncomfortable silence. Kyle coughed lightly, desperate to diffuse the tension.
"Leila, are you done treating her? When will she wake up? Maybe you and I should step outside for a moment and let Mathias stay with his wife."
But Leila shook off his suggestion with an abrupt motion, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"I don't understand any of you! My brother doesn't treat his wife with kindness, she doesn't seem to care about anything, and you stand there like none of it concerns you. Honestly, are you even a family?"
The room grew heavy with silence once more, the weight of her words too sharp to ignore. No one dared to respond. Finally, Kyle grabbed Leila's arm and guided her out of the room, his movements brisk as if trying to end the confrontation before it spiraled further.
Out in the dimly lit corridor, Leila turned to him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and confusion. She spoke, her tone edged with defiance.
"What did you mean in there? What is this supposed to be?"
Kyle met her gaze briefly but then averted his eyes, his voice low and measured.
"It's nothing. Just... watch your words. This castle holds more secrets than you could ever imagine."
Inside, Matheus stood beside the bedpost, his gaze fixed on his wife, who lay seemingly at ease, as though unaware of the world around her. His voice, calm yet tinged with the sharpness that had always defined him, broke the silence.
"So, how long do you plan to pretend you're asleep, my dear wife?"
The words prompted her to lazily open her eyes, as if waiting for the right moment. She sat up on the bed and fixed her gaze upon him.
"Hmm, looks like you knew I was awake."
He smiled slyly and took a step closer.
"Your tricks don't fool me, remember? So, what do you want? And why all this drama in front of everyone?"
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, her gaze wandered for a moment before she spoke in a tone laced with regret.
"I guess I'm just not good at convincing people to stop fighting."
Matheus chuckled bitterly, his laugh laced with sarcasm.
"Ha! As if you ever intended to do that! Then why pretend to faint?"
Her expression shifted suddenly, becoming serious in a way that unsettled him. Her eyes were filled with a mixed emotion—part sorrow, part pleading.
"Matheus, you have to find a solution. Don't let things come to divorce."
Matheus's eyes widened in disbelief for a moment. He stared at her, not understanding.
"What?"
She continued, her voice pleading now.
"Please, find another way. Don't deny them their happiness. I pretended to faint because I knew you would tell them about your harsh decision. My brother loves her deeply, and he's proven it. He's willing to sacrifice his happiness for hers—he let her go to another man just to see her smile. As for your sister, she won't refuse you, no matter what, because you mean so much to her. If I hadn't intervened, you would have forced them to make the worst decision of their lives."
Her words were filled with sincere sorrow, and Matheus could feel it. He wasn't accustomed to being asked for something directly. Everything had always gone through Isabella, his loyal assistant. But now, he saw something different in her eyes—something that troubled him because he knew she was right.
He sighed heavily, turning toward the door with slow, deliberate steps before speaking in a low but firm voice:
"Fine, Olivia. I'll find a solution."
He paused at the door, glancing back at her with a faint smile, one that held a hint of challenge.
"By the way, from now on, you'll be dining with me."
Olivia watched him leave, her eyes following him with a sad yet warm smile. She whispered, barely audible:
"I know we're not on the best of terms, but he's a man who keeps his promises. The smile I saw on Kyle's face today deserves me setting aside my pride and asking Matheus... just for them."
The days in the palace passed with the same monotony Olivia had grown accustomed to, yet one thing had changed: meals were now taken with Matheus, a new commitment he had imposed upon her without discussion. She didn't mind much, but there was a weight to these shared moments, where the silence between them was always like a cold knife.
One night, as the hours grew late, a sense of unease crept upon her regarding the matter of Kyle and Lila. She decided to confront Matheus to learn what he had done about it. She walked toward his room with quiet steps, knocked softly on the door, then pushed it open and entered without waiting for permission.
What she saw inside was far from what she had expected. The air in the room was thick with a strange yet familiar scent, a heavy metallic odor... the smell of blood. There, in the center of the room, stood Matheus, still and silent, covered in blood on his chest and face. His cold eyes reflected no emotion.
She stepped forward with confident strides, her eyes watching him with an icy detachment as if trying to decode this bizarre scene. She extended her hand and lightly touched his blood-soaked chest. He remained as still as a rock, not moving nor uttering a word.
She spoke calmly as she withdrew her hand:
"Ah, so... it's not your blood. I expected that."
There was no trace of worry or fear on her face. If it were anyone else in her place, perhaps panic would have overtaken them, but Olivia remained as cold as ice, as if this scene were nothing new to her.
Matheus glared at her, his voice dripping with sarcasm:
"Yes, it's not mine. Would you have preferred it to be my blood?"
She did not respond. She simply fell silent, her eyes studying his features with precision.
He grinned slyly, his eyes narrowing slowly:
"Well, well... you're truly your father's daughter. What could be better than seeing the blood of your enemy, right?"
She crossed her arms firmly over her chest and answered in a dry tone:
"If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead, wouldn't you, darling?"
He smiled a cold smile and replied with calmness:
"It would be an honor for me to die at the hands of my wife."
She sighed and rolled her eyes before asking him directly:
"Alright then, whose blood is this?"
He tilted his head slightly, as though contemplating her question, then replied coldly:
"I think I just got rid of a rat that was in my way. But you know, rats are filthy creatures, and dirt is inevitable."
She took another step toward him, her gaze growing sharper as she spoke in a low voice that still carried an undercurrent of fury:
"You killed him, didn't you?"
Matheus smirked with feigned ignorance, responding as though pretending not to understand:
"Killed him? Who?"
Her eyes narrowed in clear anger, her brows furrowing as she retorted sharply:
"Don't play dumb, Matheus. You know who I mean. David."
A heavy silence hung between them for a few moments before a dark smile curled on his lips, as though her words had sparked some twisted delight in him, yet he remained silent.