The Demon of The North-Chapter 135 - 134. How Desperation Work

Rothschild Estate,

Genevieve received the extra payment, money from the few remaining assets Valdemar had signed away as collateral for his gambling debts. And when she learned who had purchased the land and their vineyard, her blood boiled so fiercely it made her head hurt.

The royal palace had bought everything under the name of the Empress. They all knew too well what the Empress represented to their family. For Genevieve, having their legacy seized under her name felt like the sharpest humiliation imaginable, salt poured into a wound that had barely begun to scab. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Her late husband, the alpha who rejected her, was the root of every bitterness she carried. The alpha who chose Vivianne’s mother loved her openly and shamelessly and died with her as if that woman was the rightful partner of his life. He left behind their illegitimate child and expected Genevieve to raise her.

Vivianne was everything Genevieve hated her to be, sharp-minded, breathtakingly beautiful, and gifted in every way that mattered. Special. Chosen by fate. And worst of all, she carried the blood of the woman her husband had truly loved.

Her mother had been the obstacle Genevieve could never overcome. Despite being a commoner and lacking a noble title, she had taken Genevieve’s place in her husband’s heart without even trying.

They could never be together officially, not with the restrictions of status and lineage, but emotionally, intimately, entirely, he had already chosen her. And Genevieve had been forced to watch it happen.

Every glance he gave that woman, every softness in his voice, every moment he spent away from their marriage bed, it all turned into years of humiliation. When he died beside her, Genevieve realized she had never been a wife in his heart. Only a title. Only convenience. Only duty.

And now Vivianne existed as a living reminder of rejection, of betrayal, of everything Genevieve had failed to become.

Back to the present, after knowing the assets are now under the name of Vivianne de Borgia, it makes it harder for Genevieve. Valdemar, however, seemed utterly unbothered.

He was simply relieved that his debts were settled, eager to start over again, as if wiping the slate clean excused the disaster he had created. That was all he told Genevieve, shrugging off her fury with the same carelessness that had doomed their house.

As for the remaining assets, Genevieve had already moved them into a family trust, sealing them away where Valdemar’s recklessness could never reach again. He protested, saying he has the right as the Rothschild head.

He shouted, bargained, and tried to wield authority he no longer possessed. But the elders, long exhausted by his failures, sided with Genevieve without hesitation.

Valdemar’s inability to lead House Rothschild had finally caught up to him, and the family made it painfully clear: the decisions would belong to Genevieve from now on, even while Valdemar continued to technically hold the title of head of House Rothschild.

It was a humiliation he brought upon himself, years of negligence, impulsive spending, and the kind of arrogance that believed the family name would shield him forever. The elders had tolerated much, but even their patience had limits. Genevieve presented the records of his failures and the consequences they now faced, leading to a unanimous verdict.

From this point onward, Genevieve would control the estate’s finances, the lands, and every decision that ensured the Rothschild name survived. Valdemar remained the head in name only, a figurehead propped up by tradition, while the true reins of power slipped completely into her hands.

Not wanting to be cast aside so easily, Valdemar shifted tactics. Stripped of authority, burdened with Genevieve’s decisions, and humiliated by the loss of their vineyard to the imperial palace, he needed a win, something to prove he still mattered.

So he approached the elders again, this time armed not with excuses but with ambition. Word had already spread through the capital: foreign fleets had crossed the ocean. Two ships from different races carried a story so unbelievable that the nobles intertwined it with rumors of lost continents, vanished mana, and beings that needed Kaelindor’s shores to survive.

Valdemar seized upon the chaos like a drowning man finding driftwood.

He straightened his clothes, schooled his expression into seriousness, and announced, "If the emperor and empress are dealing with these foreigners, then someone should represent House Rothschild before the rest of the empire catches up."

Genevieve nearly dismissed him on the spot after sitting through countless of his impulsive ideas in the past. But he spoke with an eagerness that reminded her painfully of his father, the same recklessness, and hunger for recognition. Yet this time, she caught something else beneath it: desperation. He needed to be relevant again.

"The news about the new fleets is everywhere," he continued, circling the table as if he were lecturing a group of students instead of elders. "Most nobles don’t know the truth yet, and that’s our opportunity. We still have one coastal town under our control. We can be the first territory to welcome the visitors. If we open trade routes before anyone else, we’ll elevate our house back to the prominence it deserves."

One of the vassal lords frowned. "Are you certain it’s safe? The emperor hasn’t declared anything."

"And you think she would declare it to you?" Valdemar said, raising a brow. "Vivianne is the empress. Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t hear something through her? She’s still my half-sister."

Genevieve almost scoffed. Vivianne had never once confided in Valdemar, if anything, the girl avoided him out of polite discomfort. But the elders shifted, uncertain yet intrigued.

"It makes sense," one murmured.

And Genevieve felt a thread tighten inside her.

Her husband’s illegitimate daughter had taken everything now that she’s the empress. A place that’s supposed to be Liselotte’s place, while her own daughter is nowhere to be found.

She had tried, truly tried, to raise Vivianne as duty demanded, but every passing year had only made the girl look more like her mother. And every time Genevieve looked at Vivianne, she saw her husband’s betrayal carved into flesh. Make her hate Vivianne enough to despise her for the rest of her life.

Now that same girl wore the crown that her own daughter, the true empress, never had a chance to touch, the true empress. Not just an empress consort, married, mated, marked, and just giving birth to the empire’s heir.

Genevieve had swallowed humiliation after humiliation, the vineyard taken under the empress’s name, the palace holding her family’s debts in their palms, and Valdemar becoming little more than a shadow in his own house. She had fought tooth and nail to preserve Rothschild’s dignity, to prevent her husband’s failures from dragging them all into ruin.

But for once, this time she listened to her son’s words. Valdemar’s idea isn’t entirely foolish.

If foreign trade flourished on Rothschild land, their family would claw its way back to relevance, not because of Vivianne, not because of the palace, but because of them, because of House Rothschild’s initiative.

Because of Genevieve’s approval.

"And if something went wrong? What if these foreigners proved dangerous?" Genevieve made some thoughts, her territory was prepared; the emperor would intervene; and Valdemar would be the one responsible, not her.

Slowly, Genevieve leaned back in her chair, folding her hands. "You want to approach these foreigners before anyone else," she said. "To open trade routes, build connections, and raise our standing again."

Valdemar straightened with a hopeful expression. "Yes. If we move first, we gain the advantage. Everyone else will follow us."

The elders exchanged uncertain looks, waiting for Genevieve to decide. They all knew the truth: even with Valdemar still holding the title of head, House Rothschild now moved according to her word.

Genevieve closed her eyes for a moment. Her husband had abandoned her. Vivianne had surpassed her, Liselotte. The palace had humiliated her. But now she had a chance to reclaim something, to rebuild Rothschild in her image, not his.

"Very well," Genevieve said finally. "We will support the plan."

Valdemar brightened instantly, relief washing over him like water over a parched desert. "Thank you, Mother! I knew you would see—"

She raised a hand, silencing him. "But hear me clearly, Valdemar." Her eyes sharpened, cold as polished steel. "You will not go alone. You will not speak without care. You will not embarrass this family in front of the empire or people beyond it."

He swallowed. "Of course."

"And if you do," she added softly, "I will remove the last of your authority myself."

His face paled, but he nodded. "I understand."

Genevieve allowed herself a small, controlled breath. Let the foreigners come, let Valdemar grasp for relevance. And let Rothschild rise again, not because of a husband who abandoned her nor a girl who carried another woman’s face.

This time, it would rise because she allowed it.

"So," Genevieve said at last, folding her hands with the calm authority Valdemar never managed to wield, "what exactly is the plan?"

Valdemar straightened, eager now that she had given him an opening. "First, we’ll send an official delegation to the coast, under House Rothschild’s banner. That way, when the foreigners arrive, we will be the first faces they see. We offer hospitality, protection, and a proposal of mutual benefit." He glanced around, gaining confidence as several elders leaned in. "Once they realize our territory is the safest point of contact, they’ll have no choice but to choose us."