The ballroom erupted in gasps. Some nobles froze, others exchanged shocked glances. Count Erickson stood rigid, his face draining of color, then flushing red with fury.
"What?" he barked. "Do you even understand what you're saying, Andrey?! You're disgracing this family!"
Andrey didn't look up. His silence spoke louder than any protest.Julian leaned back lazily in his chair, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
"Excellent. A true gentleman—at least, that's what it looks like," he said, his voice dripping with irony.
Liv watched them coldly. She could see it—the rot beneath the facade. That kind of submission wasn't guilt; it was calculation.
Count Erickson clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. Yet before the Emperor, he could do nothing but grit his teeth.Meanwhile, Lira—calm, composed, the picture of grace—hid a thin, triumphant smile. Her plan was unfolding exactly as she wished.
And so, what was meant to be a joyous celebration of the Crown Prince's birthday had become a theater of politics—poisoned, dazzling, and deadly.
The Emperor's decree was finally issued—and like divine law, none dared to defy it.Crown Prince Julian looked utterly pleased; while the nobles still whispered among themselves, he turned to Jay and said casually,
"Quite the show. Thank you, Zhareth."
Jay merely nodded, and Liv, who overheard the remark, finally believed what Jay had told her before: Julian truly loved performances—especially the kind played out by living people in front of an audience hungry for scandal.
When the banquet ended, the grand chandeliers dimmed one by one, and Liv left the imperial palace with Jay by her side.They sat together in the sleek black car, gliding smoothly over the cobblestone road back toward the Duke's estate. Several escort cars followed close behind, their headlights cutting through the foggy night.
The inside of the car was quiet—only the low hum of the engine and the soft rhythm of their breathing.After a while, Jay spoke, his tone calm yet commanding.
"From now on," he said, "you're not allowed to go out without my permission. Whatever you need—let the servants handle it."
Liv turned to him, a faint, teasing smile curving her lips.
"And what if I still decide to go out?" she asked softly, her voice a whisper laced with challenge.
Jay glanced her way, the corner of his mouth lifting in an unreadable smile—half irritation, half admiration.
"If you go out," he said quietly, "then your reason had better be worth it... or I'll come and fetch you myself."
The air inside the car suddenly felt warmer—too warm for such a quiet night.
Liv finally nodded.No more words followed.
The car glided through the quiet night, the glow of the city fading into the shadowed trees that lined the outskirts of the capital. The soft purr of the engine was the only sound that filled the silence.
Jay leaned back in his seat, eyes half closed—lost in thought, or perhaps in restraint.Liv turned to the window, watching her reflection blur against the passing lights, and for a fleeting moment, she wasn't sure if the face she saw there still felt like her own.
The night air carried the scent of damp leaves, cool and still.No words, no glances—only silence.Yet beneath that quiet, something lingered. Something unspoken, steady and alive.
The next morning, the entire Empire was in an uproar.News of the marriage between Count Erickson's second son and a common woman named Isabel filled every newspaper front page.
To the common people, it sounded like a fairytale—a servant girl marrying a nobleman from one of the wealthiest families.They called it a dream wedding, a love story that defied class, a miracle of the Empire.
But in her room, Liv only smiled faintly as she folded the paper.
"A dream, is it?" she murmured.They didn't know. For Isabel, that wedding was no dream—it was a gilded prison, a hell wrapped in lace and gold.
She set the paper aside and turned to the mirror, where her wedding gown hung waiting.With Annie and a few maids helping, she slipped into the soft white fabric, while Marchioness Albrecht and Leon sat watching from the couch nearby.
When Liv finally stepped out from behind the curtain, Leon's jaw nearly dropped.
"By the gods… Liv, are you telling me this is just a fitting?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Marchioness chuckled behind her fan."If you look this beautiful just for a fitting, I can't imagine how radiant you'll be on the real day," she teased warmly.
Liv blushed, lowering her gaze.
"Mother, please…"
"But truly, darling," the Marchioness smiled, "it's less than two weeks now, isn't it?"
Leon grinned. "Less than that, actually. And I'm certain every man in the Empire will regret that you belong to Duke Zhareth alone."
"Leon!" Liv protested, her cheeks turning scarlet.
Laughter filled the room—soft and warm, a rare moment of peace.For a brief while, Liv felt like an ordinary girl again.Yet deep inside, she knew… two weeks wasn't long before the next storm arrived.
Leon hadn't stopped teasing his sister, who still stood in front of the mirror wearing her wedding gown.
"So," he began, arms crossed and a mischievous smile playing on his lips, "have you learned how to please your future husband yet?"
"Leon!" the Marchioness snapped, but Liv's face was already crimson. She quickly lowered her head, pretending to adjust the lace on her gown.
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a blush I see? You're embarrassed, aren't you?"
The Marchioness sighed deeply. "If she wasn't blushing, then I'd be worried. Liv isn't the kind of girl who'd ever do something indecent."
The mood shifted when Leon's teasing faded. His expression grew serious.
"Liv… I need to ask you something. You and Andrey—was there ever anything between you?"
Liv slowly lifted her gaze. Her eyes were calm, though a faint shadow crossed them—something between pain and pride.
"Do you really want to know, Leon?"
He nodded, though his throat tightened.
"Leon, that's enough," the Marchioness scolded softly.
But Leon shook his head. "I have to, Mother. If Liv… if she's no longer pure, the marriage could end badly. It's the Zelthar bloodline. Their tradition says they can feel it."
Silence fell.The soft breeze stirred the curtains as Liv finally spoke, her voice quiet yet firm.
"If I were no longer pure, the Duke wouldn't have chosen me," she said gently. "The Zelthar blood is old—ancient. They can sense whether their bride is untouched. If she isn't, the bond between them breaks instantly. The marriage becomes void."
Leon froze, unable to speak.The Marchioness stood and gently brushed Liv's hair back from her face.
"I believe you, my dear," she whispered. "And if that bloodline truly holds such power… then you have nothing to fear."
Liv smiled faintly, gazing at her own reflection.
"I'm not afraid, Mother. I just wonder…" she paused, her voice soft, "what happens if love isn't the reason that bond was formed?"
The room fell into stillness once more—only the ticking clock remained, marking the approach of a day that would change everything.
"A curse,"