The delicate porcelain of the teacup felt cool beneath Vivian's fingers.
She drew a quiet, steadying breath, forcing the tension from her shoulders and
moulding her features into a mask of submissive grace. With practiced steps,
she approached the woman who had once been her closest friend, her rival, and
was now her stepmother-in-law.
Bowing her head, she presented the cup, her voice a silken whisper.
"Stepmother, please accept this tea. Henceforth, I shall serve you and
Father diligently alongside Julian. I will strive to be a worthy wife to him
and a devoted mother to his children."
But beneath her lowered lashes, a storm of hatred raged. This is just a
temporary humiliation. Small grievances must not disrupt greater plans. The
head I bow today will be raised again. I took Julian from her once. I will make
her suffer unbearably once more.
Dressed in a classic ivory gown with razor-sharp tailoring, her
voluminous waves artfully gathered into a low bun, Vivian was the picture of a
timeless bride. Yet, the pristine silk seemed to cling to her like a shroud,
the pure hue unable to mask the faint aura of resentment that shimmered around
her. To Elara, she looked less like a blushing bride and more like a marble
effigy—a ghost from her past come to haunt her present.
Elara's cool, almond-shaped eyes remained fixed on Vivian for a long,
tense moment, watching, waiting. The silence stretched, thick and
uncomfortable, until Vivian could no longer bear it. She lifted her gaze, a
flicker of manufactured hurt in her eyes.
Their stares collided—a silent, crackling war of wills.
Unsurprisingly, Elara glimpsed the venom hidden deep within Vivian's
carefully constructed facade. A faint, mocking smile touched the corner of her
lips.
"How… profoundly dutiful," Elara said, her voice as smooth and
cold as polished stone. She finally reached out and accepted the teacup, only
to immediately hand it to Silas beside him without letting the liquid touch her
lips. Then, she reached into her bag and retrieved a slightly worn, blue-bound
booklet.
"Since you are so eager to serve, you'll find this instructive. As
you are new to our household, you are undoubtedly… unacquainted with the Thorne
family's particular customs." Elara's tone was deceptively light, each
word chosen with surgical precision. "To properly fulfil your role as
Julian's wife and the mother of his children, you must commit these household
rules to memory. Learn them thoroughly. When you are ready, you will recite
them to me and Julian's father."
Recite the family rules?
Vivian's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated disbelief, fixed on the
tattered booklet as if it were a venomous snake. Is she serious? In this day
and age? This was a blatant, calculated power play—Elara was using her newfound
status to torment her, pure and simple.
A ripple of shock went through the room. Even Julian and Old Lady Thorne
were taken aback. The Thorne family did, in fact, have such an antiquated set
of rules, a relic known only to the elder generation. All eyes flicked to
Silas, who sat impassively, idly twirling the untouched teacup in his fingers.
His stoic expression was a clear message: he had not only anticipated this move
but fully condoned it.
Elara raised a delicate eyebrow, her gaze unwavering. "What's the
matter, Vivian? Does our gift not please you?"
Vivian's hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides, her knuckles
white.
"Vivian." Julian's voice was a low, urgent command. He stepped
closer, his arm encircling her shoulders in a grip that was meant to be
supportive but felt more like a restraint. "This is a gesture of welcome
from Dad and Stepmother. Do not be ungrateful. Take it."
Biting her lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood, Vivian
forced her hand to rise. Her eyes glistened with unshed, furious tears as she
took the booklet, making her resentment as visible as possible. She was
determined to make everyone see Elara for the petty tyrant she was.
Watching the performance, Elara's internal scoff was almost audible.
With acting skills like that, it's a wonder she didn't pursue a career on the
stage. She'd have an Oscar by now.
Just as the tension threatened to suffocate the room, Old Lady Thorne's
voice cut through, sharp and clear. "Vivian, come here. I, too, have a
gift for you."
Vivian's heart stuttered. What fresh torment is this? She feared the old
matriarch was about to follow Elara's cruel example.
"Go on," Julian murmured softly, his expression gentling as he
guided her toward his great-grandmother. "See what Great-Grandmother has
for you. It will be from the heart."
Grandmother Thorne smiled, a picture of benign satisfaction, and nodded
to the steward standing beside her. He opened the ornate jewellery box in his
hands, presenting its contents to the assembled guests.
Elara's breath caught. It was a Georgian stomacher brooch, a cascade of
rose-cut diamonds and silver. Though no expert, she could see the piece was
ancient—the silver slightly tarnished, the diamonds catching the light with a
soft, ghostly fire, and radiating a timeless, regal elegance. This was no
simple trinket; this was a family heirloom that had witnessed centuries of
balls and intrigues.
"Come, child, sit beside me," the old lady commanded, her
voice dripping with saccharine warmth. She reminded Elara of a wolf, patiently
luring its prey closer.
Suppressing a smirk, Elara watched as Vivian cautiously took her seat.
The old lady then lifted the brooch from its velvet bed. She leaned
forward and, after a slight, almost imperceptible struggle against Vivian's
uncooperative posture, pinned the heavy, cold weight of diamonds and silver
onto the bodice of Vivian's dress.
"This piece has been passed down through the Thorne women for
generations," the matriarch declared, her voice resonating with pointed
significance. "It is always bestowed upon the rightful daughter-in-law
upon her entry into the family. With Silas's mother gone, it has remained in my
care. Julian is my most cherished young man. Now that he has chosen you, you
must look after him." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a
confidential, yet carrying, tone. "Bring this child into the world safely,
and the Thorne family will ensure you are well… compensated."
She paused, her piercing gaze deliberately sweeping over Elara, as if
testing the sharpness of a blade. "I also have a villa in Pansy Garden,
fully furnished. It was always meant to be Julian's marital home. Consider it
yours. In recognition of you carrying our heir, I will have the deed
transferred into your name."
The message was crystal clear. While Elara offered rules and
restrictions, the old money of the family offered property and priceless
heirlooms. The battle lines for the soul of the Thorne family—and for Vivian's
loyalty—had been drawn not with words, but with gifts. The gauntlet had been
thrown, and the long, cold war for the Thorne legacy was now officially
declared.