How To End This Marriage-Chapter 59: Confronting the Enigmatic Voice

As the heated exchange with the captive assassin in the dungeon continued, frustration welled up within me. His accusations and refusal to provide answers grated on my nerves.

"Do you have no sense? If you do, then tell me, how could I be supposed to bring your dead brother? And why would I, Duchess Bernice, be blamed for your brother’s death when he was sent to assassinate me but died while trying to kill me!" I exclaimed, my patience wearing thin as I sought clarity.

But the assassin remained resolute in his conviction. "No! He didn’t kill himself. He would never kill himself, I know that. You are the one who killed him. You are the reason behind his death, and now you’re trying to lie to me," he retorted, his anger blazing.

"Why would I lie? What benefit would there be for me in lying to you?" I questioned, my voice tinged with exasperation as I crossed my arms, my frustration evident.

"He told me you killed him," he declared, leaving me wide-eyed with shock at the revelation.

"Who? Who told you? Who told you that I killed your brother? Tell me! I want the name of the person who told you this!" I demanded, my voice resolute as I lifted his chin to force him to meet my gaze.

"He...he was a person in a black hoodie. He handed me his bloody clothes and gave me a bloody note in my brother’s handwriting, saying you tortured him for an entire day, and in the end, he died," he explained, his eyes darting around as he struggled to provide the information I sought.

"Who was the person in the black hoodie? Could you recognize their face? Did they reveal their name or title?" I pressed, my anxiety growing as I realized the gravity of the situation.

"No!" his response was curt and unhelpful, leaving me frustrated with the lack of details.

"If not, then how can you come here and accuse me of killing your brother? How do you even know that it was your brother’s letter? It could have been written by someone else. Anyone could impersonate him and lie to you," I argued, my desperation for answers growing.

Amidst our tense conversation, Alex stepped in with a suggestion. "Madam, I can handle this. You should go back upstairs." His voice held a note of concern for my well-being.

I hesitated for a moment, torn between my burning desire for the truth and the need to trust Alex to handle the situation. In the end, I conceded and returned to my chamber, but the screams and shouts from the ongoing confrontation in the dungeon haunted my thoughts.

Restlessly, I paced back and forth in my chamber, unable to shake the feeling of unease that had settled upon me. The cacophony of voices from below, filled with desperation and anger, seemed to echo the tumultuous emotions swirling within me.

"Duchess!" Vix’s voice suddenly pierced through my reverie, drawing my attention.

I turned to her, my expression softening as I acknowledged her presence. "Oh, yes, do you need something?"

Vix approached me with a warm smile, holding a glass of warm milk. "No, Duchess. I have brought warm milk for you, as the Duke ordered me to. I’m a little late, but I did as he said. I hope you like it."

My initial response carried a tinge of concern, fearing that Vix might misconstrue my earlier comments. "You didn’t have to bring the milk yourself. You could have sent someone else."

However, I quickly clarified, "It’s not what you think. I’m not angry, nor do I have any ill feelings toward you. I’m just suggesting that you should rest for a while after the long journey. It was your first ride, and you must be feeling aches all over your body."

Vix accepted my explanation graciously. "Yes, I do have some aches. I’ll consider your advice and rest."

As Vix departed, I couldn’t help but reflect on the impending changes that awaited her as the Crown Prince. The treacherous world of the palace, with its intrigues and secrets, lay ahead of her, and I couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that enveloped me.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a chilling whisper that seemed to emanate from the shadows, a voice filled with hatred and malice that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Bernice Balliol, stop coming in my way!" the voice hissed, its words laced with venom.

"Who’s speaking? Come in front of me! Stop speaking from the shadows!" I demanded, my voice tinged with frustration and unease as I scanned my surroundings, searching for the source of the eerie voice.

But the disembodied voice only continued its taunting, refusing to reveal itself. "Come in front of you? Are you even worth my presence, Bernice? I don’t think you are. You don’t have the power or authority to stand before me. Be grateful you can hear my voice."

My determination to unmask the speaker overcame my fear, and I countered with defiance. "Oh, is that so? If I’m not worthy of your presence, then why are you speaking to me like a coward? Is it because you feel compelled to talk to me? Or are you the one who’s too much of a coward to face me?"

"Bernice!" he called my name in anger, his voice resonating with frustration.

But I refused to yield, pushing further with my questions. "Didn’t you always envy me? Didn’t you constantly try to manipulate me into becoming what you wanted me to be? But look at what I’ve become. I’m not what you desired. I’m different. I’m completely different. I’m not what you wished for. Are you afraid of me? Do you despise this version of me, or have you come to like me once more?"

"Where did you go? Did you disappear? I always knew you were such a coward," I taunted, challenging the mysterious presence to reveal itself.

And with that, the voice fell silent, leaving me with a swirl of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions, its enigmatic nature only deepening the mystery that surrounded me.