Olivia lay submerged in the warm waters of her bath, the surface shimmering faintly under the morning light. Her mind, however, was far from serene. It drifted back to the night before—a night unlike any she had ever known. Even for someone like her, bold and unflinching, the intensity of those kisses, those touches—unshielded by the haze of wine or the numbing veil of opiates—had unsettled her. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her skin, the weight of his gaze, the warmth that had lingered long after he left.
Just then, the door creaked open softly. Kira stepped in, holding a freshly folded towel. Her eyes averted respectfully, though her cheeks were tinged with the faintest blush.
"My lady," she said, approaching the tub, "I believe it would be best if you wore a gown with a high collar today."
Olivia blinked, accepting the towel with a raised brow. "A high collar?" she repeated, her voice curious. "Is there a special occasion?"
There was a beat of silence—awkward, telling. Kira hesitated, then cleared her throat, choosing her next words carefully.
"His Highness, the Crown Prince, awaits you in the drawing room."
The meaning behind the suggestion dawned on Olivia instantly. So that was it.
---
In the drawing room, Prince Kael had been waiting longer than etiquette required. He sat still, posture stiff, eyes trained on the door with a peculiar tension in his jaw. The room felt heavier than usual—perhaps it was the morning light slicing through the windows, illuminating the uncertainty between them.
At last, the door opened. Olivia entered, her chin held high, her gown—fittingly—with a modest collar. Kael rose instinctively, a gesture meant to show courtesy, or perhaps something more. But she halted a few steps inside, her eyes narrowing with quiet sarcasm.
"Well, well," she said coolly. "The same man who once mocked me now stands to greet me. How curious."
Her tone struck a nerve. Without a word, he slowly sank back into his seat, unwilling to fuel her fire. Olivia approached and sat across from him, her movements poised, unreadable.
The silence between them stretched, taut as a drawn bow. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Before the awkwardness could deepen, Olivia took the teapot from the tray and began to pour. The delicate sound of liquid filling porcelain cups offered a momentary escape from the tension.
She extended the teacup toward him, her fingers steady, her gaze unreadable. Kael blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the gesture. For all their distance, for all the tension simmering between them, this one act—small and unexpected—broke through the ice.
"Thank you," he said softly, taking the cup.
For the first time that morning, something unspoken passed between them—something far more fragile than truce, but perhaps stronger than pride.
"…Huh? Is this for me?" he asked, glancing down at the delicate porcelain cup she held out.
"If you don't want it," Olivia said with a faintly amused tilt of her head, "I'll just take it back."
But he reached for it quickly, a little too quickly. "No—I want it. Give it here."
He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, only to immediately stiffen. The bitterness of the tea hit him hard, his mouth instinctively twitching. He tried, with visible effort, not to spit it out.
She watched him in silence, then let a sardonic smile curl her lips. "I see you noticed," she said coolly. "I didn't put any sugar in it. On purpose, of course. And it's black tea—your least favorite."
Still trying to compose himself, he cleared his throat.
"Why did you ask to see me so early this morning?" she continued, her tone smooth and unhurried.
He exhaled slowly, as if the breath weighed on him. "Why did you do it?" he asked, eyes searching hers.
Olivia blinked, expression unreadable. "Do what?"
"The necklace," he said softly. "You gave it to Lily. I know what it means to you… You've treasured it since childhood. So why give it up so easily?"
Something flickered behind her gaze—perhaps a shadow of memory, perhaps a trace of pain—but it vanished just as quickly.
"Of course it's valuable," she said lightly, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "But I have more jewels here than I know what to do with. I could buy a dozen like it if I wished. Let's just say… its sentimental worth has expired. It's nothing more than an expensive trinket now."
Kael's gaze dimmed with quiet sadness. "Is it… because of my mother?" he asked. "Or… because of me?"
His voice dropped lower. "If it was because of what I said that day… if it was because I raised my hand against you—I swear, I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry, Olivia. I truly am. Please forgive me. Take the necklace back."
But she rose from her chair then, her steps measured and deliberate. She crossed the space between them, leaned down, and gently took his chin in her hand.
"I gave the necklace to Lily," she said softly, "not to you. So you don't get to decide what's done with it."
Her grip didn't tighten, but her gaze did.
"And since you brought up that day… I don't like carrying unresolved grudges. So how about we settle things now?"
Kael swallowed hard. "Alright… I accept. Name your price—I'll give anything you ask—"
But he never finished the sentence.
Smack.
The slap landed hard across his cheek, sharp and unrelenting.
"That," Olivia said icily, "was for raising your hand against me."
Smack. Another came from the other side.
"And that was for yelling in my face in front of your wife and accusing me of spreading your affairs."
Smack. A third blow. Her nails caught the corner of his cheek, leaving a sharp red line from which a drop of blood slowly trickled.
"And that… that was for forgetting I'm your sister—and dragging my dignity through the mud in front of my husband."
Kael remained frozen, stunned. His hand came up slowly to his face, fingers brushing against the blood. He blinked.
"…Ouch," he muttered finally, dazed. "You… you really hurt me."
Olivia had already turned away and resumed her seat, her movements graceful and composed.
She crossed one leg over the other and exhaled. "Now," she said calmly, "we're even."
A moment of silence passed before Kael let out a breathless laugh. He leaned back in his chair, his hand still to his cheek, eyes glinting with the beginnings of peace.
"Yes," he said at last, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Even."
"I do have… a request," Kael said cautiously, his voice hesitant.
Olivia tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable—but the subtle furrow in her brow revealed her suspicion. "A request?"
"Yes. If you could… take care of Anne for the next couple of days."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the space between them. Then her eyes narrowed, laced with disbelief.
"You want me," she said slowly, "to babysit?"
Kael shifted uncomfortably, choosing his words with care. "It's just that… with the wedding only two days away, the Emperor has summoned Lily to the palace for final preparations—her gown fitting, the floral arrangements, the banquet rehearsals... You know how it is."
"And the child," Olivia finished flatly, "gets in the way."
"She's just very young," Kael said quickly. "She needs constant attention, and the palace staff… well, we tried hiring a governess, but Anne rejected them all."
Olivia folded her arms across her chest. "And what made you think I'd be an exception? She refused trained caretakers, official nannies—and you expect her to accept me?"
"Because," he said, a touch of desperation in his voice, "Lily told me you held her once—when she was crying. And she stopped. No one else could soothe her that day. Not even me."
He looked at her, almost pleading now. "The first time you met her… she didn't cry at all. She just stared at you, calmly. Lily and I… we both noticed it. She doesn't just resemble you in appearance. It's something else—something in the way she looks at you."
But Olivia turned away, jaw tight. "I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else."
"Please—"
She raised a hand sharply, silencing him. "No means no. I'm not discussing it."
A cold pause settled in the air.
"Well then," Kael said finally, his voice low with resignation. "Forgive me for bothering you. I suppose… I'll see you at the wedding."
"Yes," she said simply. "Goodbye."
And with that, she turned on her heel and left.
---
Back in her study, Olivia buried herself in paperwork, as she always did when the weight of emotions threatened to pull her under. Reports, letters, documents—her fortress of ink and parchment. The hours bled into one another, the ticking clock a dull hum in the background.
Eventually, she retired to her room. The memories of the night before hovered at the edge of her mind—faded and unreal, like a half-remembered dream. She lay across her chaise lounge, staring absently at the ceiling, allowing her thoughts to drift.
Then, a sound pierced the quiet.
A child's cry.
She sat up immediately.
The sound wasn't far. In fact, it seemed to come from inside her room.
Her heart skipped. She rose and followed the soft, fragile whimpers. They led her to the far side of her bed—just behind the velvet curtain, tucked out of sight.
There, nestled in a blanket, lay Anne. Small, angelic, her cheeks flushed with tears. She looked utterly helpless, her sobs muffled, as if she were trying not to be heard. Olivia stared in stunned silence.
Whoever saw them at that moment might have mistaken them for mother and daughter.
Anne's tiny hands trembled as she cried, and her damp lashes clung to her skin.
Olivia knelt beside her, instinct overriding confusion. She reached out hesitantly and touched the child's back, rubbing gently.
Anne didn't flinch. Instead, she whimpered once and curled closer.
"Damn you, Kael," Olivia hissed under her breath. "I swear, I'll kill you. You reckless, shameless bastard."
Her voice was tight with fury, but not at the child—never at the child. "You just dumped her here and ran off? Like a coward? Like a filthy rat?"
She scooped Anne into her arms, holding her with practiced care, surprised at how natural it felt.
And though she wouldn't admit it aloud, not even to herself… something in her chest had already begun to soften.