I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 84: Glacial Walls

Matthias sat at his desk, a tempest of agitation radiating from his every movement. His leg bounced with a frantic, rhythmic intensity—a physical manifestation of the storm raging beneath his skin. He looked toward Leon, who remained a silent, watchful sentinel in the corner of the room.

"Imagine," Matthias hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and wounded pride. "She arrives with him, in his personal carriage, and he has the audacity to kiss her hand right before my very eyes..."

Leon offered a slow, measured nod. "Hmm. Yes. I saw."

Suddenly, Matthias surged to his feet. In a violent blur of motion, he swept his hand across the desk, sending the inkwell flying. It shattered, a dark tide of ink hemorrhaging across the pristine white documents—a perfect reflection of his ruined composure.

"As if it weren’t enough that she spent the night in his palace!" he continued, his voice rising with every word. "Did you see her attire? She looked as though she had slipped away under the shroud of secrecy. Were her past transgressions not enough? Now she courts another scandal, and with a man like him?"

Leon stepped forward, his voice a calm anchor in the chaos. "Peace, Matthias. Perhaps the rumors are hollow. You must ask her..."

"Ask her?" Matthias barked a hollow, bitter laugh. "Ask her what, man? Should I ask what business she had in another man’s estate until the dawn broke? Or should I ask why she severed a lock of her own hair and handed it to him while I stood right there?"

Leon’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment. "She... she actually did that?"

"Yes! She surrendered it to him while he showered her with ’my sweet’ and other filth. She didn’t even flinch; she didn’t bother to repel him. In that moment, I felt like the interloper—as if I were the lover and he was the husband. I felt like a colossal fool."

He stopped, his shoulders heaving. "I truly believed she was changing. That she was becoming... better. But here she is, striking me down for the thousandth time. She hasn’t just wounded me, Leon; she has dragged the Luceron name through the mire."

Leon narrowed his eyes, studying his brother’s tormented expression. "Do you truly believe she is unfaithful to you?"

"I don’t know, It just is her behavior," Matthias snapped, his eyes flashing. "She knows no boundaries. She sets no limits with that Alistair wretch, and he exploits her lack of restraint with surgical precision. She is reckless, Leon, and she doesn’t care who gets burned by her fire."

A sharp rap at the door splintered the heavy silence. Leon, his voice laced with trepidation, called out, "Who is it?"

The door swung open, and Olivia stepped into the fray. She ignored the wreckage on the desk, her gaze sweeping toward Leon with a practiced poise that belied the chaos of the night.

"Lord Leon," she said, her tone steady but firm, "if you wouldn’t mind granting us a moment? I wish to speak with Matthias privately."

Leon began to rise, sensing the desperate need for a resolution, but Matthias’s voice cut through the air like a winter frost. He remained leaning back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the shadows of the room rather than her face.

"There is no need," Matthias interrupted, his hand rising in a sharp gesture of dismissal. "Stay where you are, Leon."

In an instant, the tempestuous rage that had consumed him moments before vanished, replaced by a terrifying, glacial calm. He finally turned his gaze toward her, but his eyes were empty—void of the warmth that had briefly begun to spark between them in recent weeks.

"You may leave, Duchess," he said, his voice a flat, clinical drone. "Lord Leon and I are in the middle of a vital discussion. We shall have to postpone this visit for another time."

The weight of the title—"Duchess"—struck Olivia with the force of a physical blow. It was a formal cage, a sudden wall erected where their names used to live. Leon felt the temperature in the room plummet; the shift from "Olivia" to a cold aristocratic label was an unmistakable declaration of war.

"What?" Olivia whispered, her brow arching in sheer disbelief. Her mouth opened to fire back a retort, to demand an explanation for his insolence, but her pride—that ancient, unyielding shield—snapped into place.

"As you wish," she replied, her voice dripping with a matching venom. "I shall return later... Duke."

She emphasized the title with the same clinical coldness he had used against her. Leon stood between them, feeling like a traveler caught between a dormant volcano and a shifting glacier. One spark, one slip, and everything would shatter.

Without another word, Olivia turned and vanished into the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut, Leon turned on his brother with exasperation. "For God’s sake, Matthias! Why did you cast her out like that?"

Matthias tightened his grip on his own arms, his jaw set in stone. "If she refuses to place boundaries between herself and other men, then I shall be the one to erect them between us. Let us simply say that things have returned to their natural state. We were never ’lovebirds,’ Leon. At least this way, I won’t lose my mind trying to make sense of her

Behaviors."

Leon turned toward the door, shaking his head in disgust. "The two of you are utterly mad. Do not involve me in your self-inflicted tragedies."

The second the door closed behind Leon, the mask of the "Ice Duke" disintegrated. Matthias lunged forward, his fist crashing into the desk with a violent thud.

"Damn it! Damn it all!" he roared into the empty room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You... you drive me to the very brink of insanity, Olivia!"

-----------

A full week had bled away... The atmosphere within the palace remained as stagnant and frigid as a winter tomb. Olivia sat in the solar, the steam from her tea rising in thin, mocking swirls. Beside her, Isabella leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a curiosity she made no effort to hide.

"Olivia!..." Isabella began, her voice trailing off provocatively.

"Go on then," Olivia muttered, not lifting her gaze from the amber liquid. "Dazzle me with your endless string of questions."

"Have you and Matthias... reconciled?"

"And were we even fighting to begin with?"

"It certainly appears that way," Isabella noted, her tone light but pointed. "I’ve heard whispers that you two haven’t been on the best of terms lately."

The teacup clattered against its saucer. "First," Olivia hissed, her voice a low, dangerous vibration, "stop playing the fool. You know exactly what happened. Second, wipe that wretched smirk off your face before I carve it off myself."

Isabella held up her hands in mock surrender. "Peace! I am merely asking. I’m telling you what the house sees. Matthias has looked as though he’s ready to execute the entire court since that day. His scowl is practically permanent."

"And is that my burden to carry?" Olivia countered with a bitter scoff.

"I have no idea what madness has possessed him. You were the one who insisted I justify myself to him. Well, I tried! I went to him twice, and twice he refused to even grant me a word. He has avoided me for seven days. If he prefers to choke on those rumors, let him. To hell with him—let him believe what he wishes."

Isabella set her cup down with a deliberate, slow click, her expression shifting to one of faint derision.

"Twice? You went twice and you call that a struggle? For pity’s sake, Olivia, any man would be livid after what you did. Matthias is simply the only one with enough restraint to keep his sword in its sheath."

Olivia broke into a sharp, mocking applause. "Brava, Lady Isabella! I had no idea you moonlighted as the patron saint of troubled marriages. Spare me your nonsense."

"As you wish," Isabella replied, rising from her seat with a rustle of silk. "It’s not as if I was the one who claimed she wanted to become a ’better wife.’"

The words struck Olivia like a physical blow. She fell silent, the barb sinking deep into her pride.

The silence Isabella left behind was louder than the conversation. Those final words rang in Olivia’s ears throughout the long evening. Damn her, Olivia thought, her frustration mounting.

Finally, she stood abruptly. "Keira! Come and help me change."

The heavy day silks were shed for a long, flowing nightgown that trailed behind her like a silver mist. She let her hair fall in loose, shimmering waves over her shoulders. Standing before the mirror, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Oh, Lord, be with me," she whispered to her reflection. "This is the final attempt. If he turns me away tonight, I’m killing Isabella first."

She crossed the threshold with a steady, calculated stride, only to find the room bathed in a heavy silence. It was empty. To kill the burgeoning boredom, she began to drift through his sanctuary, her eyes eventually catching the glint of glass from his wine cabinet. Her affinity for fine vintage was nothing short of a catastrophe.

She knelt before the cabinet, the silk of her nightgown pooling around her like spilled moonlight. She carefully retrieved two crystal goblets and a bottle of aged wine. Behind her, the heavy door creaked. Matthias stood there, his frame silhouetted by the hallway light.

"Ahem. Forgive me, but what exactly are you doing there?"

The sound didn’t startle her. She turned slowly, her face composed into a mask of sharp, mocking elegance.

"As you can see, my dear," she purred, her eyes challenging his coldness. "I’m preparing a little something for us to enjoy while we tear each other apart tonight. It wouldn’t do for our throats to go dry while we scream, would it?"

----------------------

Meanwhile, worlds away, a pair of legs stumbled through the suffocating snow of a dark forest. Serine’s breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. Her feet, raw and bloodied, left a gruesome trail across the pristine white expanse.

Driven by a primal terror, she dove behind a skeletal bush. She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth, trying to stifle the sob rising in her chest.

"Serine... my darling, where are you hiding? Are we playing a game of hide-and-seek?"

Roland’s voice echoed through the trees, drenched in a playful, terrifying sarcasm. She remained frozen, listening as the crunch of his boots grew louder, then suddenly ceased.

"He’s gone... he must have gone..." she breathed.

"Who’s gone?"

The blood turned to ice in her veins. The voice hadn’t come from the distance—it was a hot, jagged whisper right against the shell of her ear. She spun around only to find him looming directly behind her.

"Hello, dearest," he said, his smile a jagged rift of pure, unadulterated horror.