I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 90: Burning Dreams

Olivia let out a sharp, jagged sigh of fury. Just as she felt the tide of her fate beginning to turn, this madwoman had crawled out of the shadows to drag her back under.

She watched as Elvira snatched a bottle of wine from a nearby table with predatory lightness, before her hand clamped onto Olivia’s wrist.

"Come along, my dearest sister," Elvira purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "We have much to discuss."

Olivia wrenched her arm away with a violent jerk. "Do not lay a finger on me!"

Elvira’s laughter was a discordant, mocking sound as she waved the bottle in the air. "Oh, why so sensitive all of a sudden? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your affection for your sweet little sister. Look, I’ve even brought a bottle of wine so we can amuse ourselves, just like old times."

"Enough with the theatrics," Olivia snapped, her eyes narrowing into slits of cold steel. "Tell me what you want, and let us end this here."

Elvira’s lips curled into a smile of absolute, terrifying confidence. "Of course. Simply follow me."

Olivia trailed behind her, her heart filled with a gnawing suspicion until they stood before the modest, newly decorated cottage of the newlyweds—the humble nest that had just witnessed Lillian’s simple dreams.

"What do you want from me?" Olivia asked, trying to grasp the gravity of the situation. "Why are you stalking me like a shadow?"

Elvira stared at her with an unreadable, ancient malice. "I want things to return to their natural order. Lately, I’ve felt the threads slipping from my fingers, and I need to tighten my grip before everything unravels completely."

"What are you talking about?" Olivia challenged, standing her ground despite the dread creeping into her soul.

Without a word of warning, Elvira struck. With a single, effortless display of brute strength, she shattered the lock on the wooden door as if it were made of paper. She stepped back and offered a mock-reverent bow.

"After you, darling... make yourself at home."

The sight of the splintered door sent a jolt of clarity through Olivia; she had momentarily forgotten the sheer, monstrous strength her sister possessed. She stepped across the threshold, a heavy, sickly feeling settling in her gut.

Elvira paced through the small home as if she owned every floorboard, uncorking the bottle and taking a long, casual swig before offering it to Olivia. "A little drink? It might help you relax."

Olivia shoved the bottle away. "No. Now tell me quickly—my absence will be noticed soon, and Matthias will not remain silent."

A cunning smirk stretched across Elvira’s face as she wiped her lips. "Oh, they will notice, certainly. They will come looking for you with great fervor... especially after what you are about to do."

"Me?" Olivia’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. "What are you saying?"

With a sudden, fluid motion, Elvira upended the bottle. The harsh, biting scent of alcohol filled the room as she poured the liquid in a wide, shimmering arc across the dry wooden floor—a silent, liquid omen of the catastrophe to come.

Elvira handed the glowing lantern to Olivia with chilling indifference, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Water must return to its natural course, sister. You are a monster, Olivia, and I will not allow these fools to be deceived by your alleged kindness. As a tax on your excessive generosity today, you will burn this house with your own hands."

"Burn it?" Olivia repeated, her voice a hollow echo of disbelief.

"Yes, of course you will," Elvira replied with a sickeningly sweet innocence. "Unless you would prefer to see that bride’s head mounted above the chimney of this house tomorrow? Choose wisely. Either live the delusion of being a wonderful, gentle soul, or embrace your truth as a beast. You cannot outrun your essence, my dear."

Elvira drifted toward the door with ghostly lightness, tossing one last bomb before she vanished into the night.

"You have five minutes to decide. And by the way... Mother has returned home. Your punishment for helping that girl will reach you later. See? I am a lovely sister—I never forget a single thing you do."

Then, Elvira was gone, leaving Olivia in the crushing silence of the doomed cottage.

Olivia did not panic; she did not even hesitate for long. She understood with cold clarity that fighting Elvira in this moment was a losing battle, and the price of "kindness" had become far too steep. She reasoned, with a detached numbness, that burning a house was a small price to pay compared to Lillian’s life. Perhaps, she thought, her mistake had been allowing her heart to soften in the first place.

Her fingers uncurled. The lantern hit the alcohol-soaked floor with a dull thud.

In an instant, the flames erupted, hungry tongues of orange licking at the dry timber. Olivia stepped outside and stood in a strange, statuesque stillness, watching the fire consume Lillian’s simple dreams.

"Fire! Fire!"

Screams shattered the peace of the night. Men rushed forward with buckets of water, and Matthias was among them, throwing his strength into subduing the inferno that had already claimed half the home.

Amidst the chaos and the billowing smoke, Olivia was the only point of stillness. She stood there, her features a blank canvas, contemplating the ruin she had wrought.

There was no need for questions; the scene spoke the truth. The bride and groom stood huddled together, tears stinging Lillian’s eyes as she watched her future turn to ash. Suddenly, one of the onlookers lunged forward, pointing a trembling finger at her.

"Her! She did it! She was just standing there, watching it burn without lifting a finger!"

The angry whispers rose like the heat of the fire itself.

"It’s true... she’s been here since the beginning!"

"I saw her too... My God, was her nobility just an act?"

Matthias stood there, his fine garments and face smeared with the soot and ash of the inferno, a towering bulwark between Olivia and the rising fury of the mob. His voice tore through the chaotic night like a thunderclap.

"Watch your tongues! What proof have you that my wife committed such an atrocity?"

"It’s vengeance!" a villager spat, his voice trembling with indignation. "Retribution for Joffrey’s perceived insolence! It could be no one else!"

These accusations were no mere accident; Elvira moved through the crowd like a viper in the tall grass, her whispers like venom, sowing seeds of suspicion in every ear.

Matthias turned toward Olivia, his hands clamping onto her shoulders. He shook her with a desperate strength, searching for a single flicker of denial. But Olivia’s gaze was locked—fixed upon the silhouette of Elvira vanishing into the shadows.

"Olivia! Answer me!" he cried, his voice laced with dread. "Tell them it wasn’t you!"

Olivia looked into his eyes, seeing the abyss of despair within them, and with a coldness that seemed to wither the very air, she pried his hands away. She crossed her arms, casting a look of chilling arrogance upon the gathered throng.

"Yes, it was I," she declared, her voice ringing with lethal poise. "And what of it? Who among you dares to stay my hand? Or would you all prefer a swift appointment with the executioner?"

A suffocating silence fell; her threat had turned their tongues to lead. Only Lillian moved, her steps heavy with the weight of a shattered heart. She knelt slowly, unlacing the shoes Olivia had gifted her and placing them at the Duchess’s feet. Then, she tore the earrings from her lobes and pressed them into Olivia’s palm.

"I truly loved you," Lillian whispered, her eyes brimming with a profound sense of betrayal. "I never imagined a soul could be this cruel."

For a fleeting second, Olivia’s mask faltered, the facade of the monster nearly crumbling. But she tightened her resolve; she had to cast Lillian out of Elvira’s predatory reach, no matter the cost to her own soul. She kicked the humble shoes away with practiced disdain and flung the earrings back at the girl.

"And I," Olivia sneered, "have no desire for trinkets worn by commoners."

"OLIVIA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Matthias’s roar echoed through the ruins, raw and broken.

She did not turn back. She walked with a steady, haunting grace through the path that opened for her out of sheer terror, leaving behind a wake of human and material wreckage. Only then did she catch a final glimpse of Elvira, retreating with a faint, triumphal smirk.

Matthias remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the sheer senselessness of it all. Could a motive so petty truly justify the destruction of such innocent joy? Lowering his head in a gesture of bitter humility he had never known, he looked at Joffrey and spoke in a choked, hollow voice.

"I am deeply sorry... for what my wife has done."

Joffrey stayed the Duke’s hand, his voice hushed and heavy with a bruised respect. "Do not offer apologies for a sin you did not commit, Your Grace."

But Matthias did not raise his head, which was bowed under the crushing weight of shame.

"Then... go to the southern estate on the main street," he urged, his voice thick with a sorrow he couldn’t hide. "Take it as your home. Please, accept it as a personal atonement for what my wife has done."

Joffrey attempted to refuse, but the sheer, broken insistence in Matthias’s eyes eventually compelled him to relent. Leaving the wreckage behind, Matthias hurried after Olivia. She had vanished without a single word, leaving a tale of inexplicable devastation in her wake.

Olivia walked in a daze, her bare feet treading the cold earth, though she felt nothing. Lillian’s look of shattered betrayal haunted her like a persistent ghost, but what truly tore at her soul was the way Matthias had looked at her—a look that whispered that every bridge of trust she had painfully rebuilt had turned to ash.

She was caught in a vice, trapped between Elvira’s calculated malice and a reality that seemed determined to break her. Suddenly, before she could even register the movement, a powerful hand reached out from the darkness and hauled her into the shadows.

Her fur shawl slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the ground as she was pulled into a feverish, unwelcome embrace. She looked up, her breath hitching in terror, to find herself staring into Cedric’s eyes.

"Oh, my dear Olivia," he began without preamble, his voice a silken caress of false comfort. "Do not be troubled by what has transpired. I am here, as I have always been, to console you..."

His hands slid across her bare back, a possessive and repulsive touch. Olivia shoved him away with every ounce of strength she possessed. "Hey! What are you doing? Get away from me!"

But Cedric didn’t flinch. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the path behind her, where Matthias stood like a statue of ice and fury.

He bent down slowly, his fingers closing around the discarded fur shawl, his eyes burning with a lethal combination of wrath and disbelief as he found her pinned within Cedric’s arms in the deepening gloom.