“Your way?”
“I’m not your puppet. There’s a better way than blood, isn’t there? You’ll handle the rest, right?”
Alicia’s cold face instantly melted into the world’s most pitiful, frightened girl.
“Oh my God! This is the tea Lady Rebecca gave me just the other day, saying it smelled lovely!”
Tears welled in her wide eyes.
Her trembling shoulders looked heartbreaking enough to make anyone want to hug her.
Ha!
Octavio let out a hollow laugh.
If there were an acting award, Alicia would sweep it—flawless.
“Surely… you didn’t drink it too, my lady?”
Grace clutched Alicia’s shoulders in horror.
Alicia shook her head, face full of worry.
“Thankfully, no. I asked the doctor just in case—I’ve been sensitive to food lately.”
“Thank the gods.”
It truly was fortunate.
With Rebecca infertile, losing Alicia’s child too would drive Zeppelin mad.
“This is serious. Why would the lady drink such tea? It’s made from rare ingredients.”
Octavio eyed Alicia suspiciously.
She hesitated, then spoke.
“I believe… Lady Fabiola gave it to her…”
“What? Say that again.”
Drawn by the commotion, Zeppelin pushed through the crowd.
Alicia flinched, putting on her signature innocence.
“My lord…”
“Alicia, repeat it. What did Rebecca drink?”
Glancing at Octavio, she answered reluctantly.
“A tea that causes infertility. And I think your mother gifted it to her.”
She produced a note in Fabiola’s unmistakable handwriting.
Zeppelin stared blankly.
“Infertility…?”
He felt reality slipping.
It had to be a lie.
Rebecca unable to bear his child?
Clinging to consciousness, he roared.
“Bring that woman—my mother—here now!”
A faint smile flickered across Alicia’s lips.
Octavio, sensing her plan, narrowed his eyes.
She was expelling Rebecca and dragging Fabiola down with her.
He looked at the country girl he’d plucked.
The frightened gaze from yesterday was long gone.
He wasn’t thrilled, but it was a decent strategy.
He calculated quickly.
Zeppelin, panicking, began shouting.
“Rebecca! Rebecca! No! This can’t be!”
“Shh… my lord, eyes are watching.”
Octavio soothed the wailing Zeppelin expertly.
“Octavio… bring her. I need the truth. It must be a mistake—like always with that foolish woman.”
“Yes. I’ll fetch your mother. Calm yourself.”
Zeppelin collapsed into Octavio’s arms.
Alicia stared at Octavio’s hand patting his back.
Their eyes met in the air.
Octavio smiled first.
* * *
“Water… bring water.”
Fabiola clutched her pounding, hungover head and shouted.
Last night’s party had been ordinary, yet the hangover was brutal—age catching up.
Stumbling from bed, she sat at her vanity.
Wrinkled skin and dark circles greeted her.
The relentless march of time depressed her.
Once hailed as a beautiful countess, now she paid for compliments—and even those were insincere.
Her former glory now belonged to Rebecca.
At every party, Rebecca’s name echoed.
Though she rarely appeared in society, she commanded attention.
The title “beautiful Countess Devonshire” was now Rebecca’s, not Fabiola’s.
It drove her mad every night.
Raising weary, watery eyes, she reminded herself what remained: Zeppelin and the Devonshire fortune.
She’d never let go.
Some noblewomen found joy in grandchildren, but not her.
A grandchild was just another rival for Zeppelin’s affection and wealth.
She prayed Rebecca had shared the tea with Alicia.
Noise from downstairs—clearing party remnants—made her sigh and shout again.
“What are you doing? I said water!”
“Didn’t expect you still abed this late. Or is this your daily routine now?”
Through the pink door entered not a maid but a sharp-faced man.
Recognizing him, Fabiola shot up.
“Octavio!”
The door shut behind him.
Grinning, he scanned her openly.
His leering gaze made her scowl.
Screaming would be pointless—nothing here truly belonged to her.
She hastily donned and tied a robe.
Watching with amusement, Octavio said.
“No need for modesty between us.”
“We’re nothing.”
“How hurtful.”
Glaring, she turned her back, sitting at the vanity.
She didn’t want to see his face a second longer.
His polished footsteps approached.
“Caught, aren’t you?”
His steps paused.
Fabiola brushed her tangled hair, as if nothing happened.
Octavio watched, then resumed walking.
“My lady’s gotten sharper. But knowing that, why the reckless act?”
“Don’t call me that!”
She raised her brush to strike the now-close Octavio.
He caught her wrist.
“Going to hit me with that? Like your father? Poor farmer’s brat needs beating to learn—shout it.”
“You…”
The brush fell limply from her hand.
Octavio gently held her trembling fingers.
“Still so soft. Same as the first time I held your hand.”
“Let go.”
“If you’d run away with me, you wouldn’t suffer this humiliation.”
“You know I didn’t marry by choice. Aren’t you tired of this story?”
“No. It’s my favorite. Your face crumples so delightfully whenever I bring it up.”
“Shut up. What more do you want, tormenting me? Just kill me! Yes, the tea’s effects are discovered—hand me to my son. He’ll kill me for you, like he did his father!”
Her venomous voice struck his ears.
Her eyes looked both sad and furious.
Octavio’s brow furrowed briefly, then smoothed into his usual smile.
Caressing her face, he said.
“I can’t. I still love you.”
“Ha! Love? That word doesn’t suit you. You never loved me.”
“Fabiola, my sweet Fabi. Love has many forms. Did you know revenge is one?”
Octavio kissed her hand.
She stared in disgust, as if a bug crawled on her skin.
“Nonsense.”
“Your tongue’s gotten sharp, Countess. Good I separated you from Zeppelin—wouldn’t want him picking up bad habits.”
“I’ve told you—he’s not your son. Stop playing father.”
“Well, only the gods know. You’re not certain either.”
“Shut up! He’s a Devonshire, descendant of the great count!”
Fabiola lunged, nails raking his cheek.
Blood seeped, yet Octavio’s expression grew more delighted.
“Yes! Only you show me that face. I love the raw you.”
Overwhelmed by his ecstasy, Fabiola dropped her arms, glaring through tear-filled eyes.
“You’re insane.”
“You made me this way, my Fabiola.”
He wiped her tears and kissed her cheek lightly.
Her hands shook.
“We don’t have time for this. Your son’s lost his mind.”
“…”
“Did you plan this?”
“No. You know I don’t plan ahead.”
Octavio’s lips curved.
He sat her at the vanity, picking up the brush to finish her hair.
Her tangled locks turned silky under his hands.
“Then just listen to me. I’ll handle everything. It’ll all work out, Fabiola.”
