The silence Alaric left behind was heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and iron. I slumped against the velvet, my fingers ghosting over the shallow cut on my neck. The stinging was a grounding reminder: this wasn't a dream. This was a death trap.
[Warning: Health at 88%. Bleeding Status: Minor.]
[Would you like to open the 'Villainess Survival Shop'?]
Yes, I shouted in my head. God, yes.
A shimmering gold menu replaced the blue quest log. It looked like a high-end boutique interface, but the prices were soul-crushingly high.
* Skill: Master of Poison (Passive) — 5,000 SP
* Item: Instant Healing Salve — 500 SP
* Item: Truth-Seeker's Looking Glass — 1,200 SP
[Current Soul Points (SP): 1,000 (New Soul Bonus)]
I didn't hesitate. I bought the Instant Healing Salve for 500 SP and a Basic Deduction Skill for the remaining 500.
A small, ornate porcelain jar materialized in my lap. I unscrewed it, the scent of crushed lilies filling the air. As I dabbed the cool cream onto my throat, the skin knit together instantly. No scar. No pain.
"Now," I whispered, eyes narrowing at the cold tea service on the mahogany table. "Who actually tried to kill the Duke?"
The original Evelyn was many things—cruel, petty, and obsessively in love—but she wasn't stupid enough to poison the man she worshipped in his own study. Someone had used her reputation as a shield to commit the perfect murder.
I stood up, my legs finally steady, and walked over to the tea tray.
[Skill Activated: Basic Deduction (LV. 1)]
[Observation: The porcelain cup has a faint white residue on the rim. Analysis: Arsenic. But wait... look at the sugar bowl.]
I leaned in. The sugar cubes were dusted with a slightly blueish powder. My heart skipped. Winter-Night Shade. It wasn't just arsenic; it was a dual-acting toxin. Arsenic to blame Evelyn, and the Shade to actually finish the job.
The heavy doors creaked open. I didn't turn around, assuming it was the Duke's secretary.
"The papers are ready, Your Grace," a voice said—but it wasn't the Duke. It was a young man with chestnut hair and glasses, his face pulled into a mask of pure loathing. This was Julian, the Duke's right hand. In the novel, Evelyn had once had him whipped for "looking at her wrong."
"Put them on the desk, Julian," I said, my voice cool.
Julian froze. He expected a scream, a vase thrown at his head, or a demand for a foot rub. He didn't expect the Duchess to know his name without a sneer.
"The Duke expects them signed in blood, as per your 'dramatic request' earlier," Julian spat, stepping into the light. He held out a thick parchment.
I turned slowly, smoothing the wrinkles of my silk nightgown. "The Duke can have his signature. But first, tell me—who prepared the tea tonight?"
Julian's eyes flickered to the tray, then back to me, his lip curling. "Don't play the victim now, Evelyn. We all saw you bring the tray in yourself. You dismissed the maids. You wanted 'private time' with your husband."
"I did," I said, walking toward him. Every step felt like a gamble. "But I didn't add the Winter-Night Shade to the sugar. I'm many things, Julian, but I'm not a suicidal amateur."
The name of the rare poison made Julian blanch. "How do you know about—?"
"Because I'm the one who's going to be executed if Alaric dies," I interrupted, leaning into his space. The [Poker Face] skill was doing heavy lifting; I looked like a queen, even though my heart was doing a drum solo. "Take a sample of that sugar to the Royal Alchemist. Tell him it's a gift from the Duchess. If I'm lying, you can have my head tonight. If I'm right..."
I leaned closer, whispering in his ear. "Then there is a rat in this castle, and they're using me as the trap."
[System Notification: Julian's Hatred has decreased by 5%.]
[Julian's Suspicion: +20%.]
"You... you're different," Julian muttered, backing away. He grabbed a sugar cube with a silk handkerchief, his movements frantic. "If this is another trick—"
"Sign the papers first," a voice boomed from the doorway.
Alaric was back. He had changed into a fresh shirt, but his aura was even darker than before. He looked at me, then at Julian, then at the tea tray. His eyes narrowed to lethal slits.
"Julian, leave us," the Duke commanded.
"But My Lord, she claims the sugar—"
"Out."
The door shut with a snap. Alaric walked toward me, his presence so suffocating I felt the urge to curtsy or run. He picked up the divorce papers from the desk and slammed them down in front of me.
"Sign it," he growled. "You wanted this. You said you were 'upgrading.' Prove it."
I picked up the quill, the feather soft against my hand. My fingers hovered over the line. If I signed this, I lost the protection of the Duchy. I would be an outcast. But if I stayed, I was a target.
I looked up at him. "If I sign this, I leave tonight. No dowry. No carriage. Just me and the clothes on my back."
"That was the deal you made three years ago," Alaric reminded me, his voice a low vibration. "The 'Obsessed Duchess' would rather die than leave her King. Are you finally admitting you've lost?"
I smiled. It wasn't the manic, desperate smile of the old Evelyn. It was sharp. Dangerous.
"No, Alaric," I said, scratching my signature across the parchment in bold, elegant strokes. I dropped the quill, the ink splashing like a final period. "I'm admitting that I'm finally bored of you."
I turned to walk toward the wardrobe to pack, but a large, warm hand clamped around my wrist, spinning me back. Alaric pinned me against the desk, his body a wall of heat and muscle.
His eyes were searching mine, frantic and confused.
"Bored?" he echoed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You've spent every waking second of the last thousand days trying to trap me. And now... you're bored?"
[Warning: The Male Lead's 'Obsession' meter is spiking!]
[Current Level: 25% (Fascinated/Disturbed)]
"I'm a woman of many surprises, Duke," I breathed, my face inches from his. "Now, unhand me. I have a new life to start."
He didn't let go. Instead, his grip tightened, and for the first time, I didn't see hatred in his eyes. I saw a spark of something much more terrifying.
"The divorce papers require the Duke's seal to be official," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed my ear. "And suddenly... I find I've misplaced the stamp."