I will be the perfect wife this time

Chapter 201: The Bitter Taste of Triumph

His legs could no longer support the crushing weight of reality. Roland collapsed to his knees, the polished wooden floor slamming against him, but he felt nothing. Utter disbelief seized his mind, snapping the iron threads of his sanity.

With trembling, desperate arms, he reached into the crate and lifted the decaying, bloated corpse. He held her gently, with a terrifying tenderness, as if she were still made of living warmth and porcelain skin. He pulled her ruined form against his chest, cradling her as hot, searing tears streamed down his face, soaking into her stained dress.

"Oh, no... God, please, no..." he whimpered, the sound raw and entirely unrecognisable.

He pulled back slightly, his bloodshot eyes searching her rigid, blue-grey face.

"Shh... it’s alright, my darling," he whispered, a manic, fragile softness creeping into his voice. "You’ll be fine. I promise you. I promise. Papa is here... just open your eyes. Please, talk to me. Just say one word... Elvira, please..."

Turning his head abruptly, Roland looked up at the old head butler. The servant stood frozen, petrified by a sight he had never imagined in his worst nightmares—the cold, ruthless Duke, a man feared by the entire empire, reduced to a broken shell.

"She’s just sleeping, right?" Roland asked, his voice shaking with a childlike, desperate pleading. "Tell me she is. Tell me she’s just resting!"

The butler couldn’t form a word, his own tears blurring his vision as he looked away.

Roland, the predator who held the lives of thousands in his palm, now looked like a lost child who had watched his entire world evaporate. Slowly, with agonizing care, he laid her back into the wooden crate. He leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss onto her cold, decaying forehead.

When he stood up, his movements were vacant, hollowed out. His eyes darted frantically around the massive study, scanning the familiar stone walls as if he had completely forgotten where he was—as if he had lost the very concept of an exit.

Finally, his glazed eyes locked onto the heavy doors.

"You..." Roland point a trembling finger at the old butler. "Stay with her. Don’t leave her side. She might wake up while I am gone and be frightened. I... I will return shortly."

Without waiting for an answer, he stumbled past the servant, rushing out of the study while muttering to himself, completely lost in his delusion.

"Yes... Serene," he muttered frantically, his voice cracking as he hurried down the corridor. "Serene can save her. She is her mother... she must have a way. She has to..."

Serene sat motionless in the dim confines of the room, her legs bound by heavy shackles as always. Her mind remained detached, drifting in a hollow void as if she had abandoned the very concept of life long ago. She knew better than anyone that attempting to escape from Roland before her magical strength was fully restored would be nothing short of absolute suicide.

The suffocating stillness of her prison was violently shattered when Roland burst through the door. He was panting heavily, his eyes so bloodshot and wild that even Serene, despite her calculated coldness, felt a sudden jolt of shock. She had never, in all her years of knowing him, seen the iron Duke look so utterly unhinged.

Without uttering a single word, he rushed toward her, his trembling hands frantically unlocking and ripping the heavy shackles away from her ankles.

"What do you want now?" Serene asked, her voice dripping with ice-cold detachment.

Roland looked up at her, and the moment their eyes met, tears spilled uncontrollably from his bloodshot eyes. "It’s Elvira... our daughter. Our daughter, Serene... she... she isn’t well."

Serene’s brow furrowed. "What...?"

Before she could even process his words, Roland seized her shoulders with a desperate, crushing grip. "You can do it! She is your daughter! You are from the Imperial Bloodline—you have the power to bring her back, right? You can save her!"

He was staring at her with eyes consumed by pure, unadulterated madness.

"I don’t understand what you are talking about," Serene said, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to pull away from his frantic grasp. "What is wrong with Elvira?"

Unable to find the words to articulate the horror in his mind, Roland grabbed her hand and brutally dragged her out of the room. He pulled her down the long, silent corridors, driven by a manic speed, until they reached the threshold of his study.

The moment the doors flew open, that foul, sickening stench of decay hit them like a physical blow.

Serene stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight of the study, until they finally landed on the center of the room. There, resting inside the crude, open wooden crate, lay the unmistakable, decaying form of her daughter.

Serene’s hand flew to her mouth, a silent gasp dying in her throat as the sheer horror of the sight struck her soul. The shock was so profound, so devastating, that her legs instantly gave out beneath her. She slid helplessly down the wooden frame of the door, collapsing onto the cold floor, unable to draw enough strength to even stand, let alone step closer to confirm the nightmare before her eyes.

Roland scrambled toward her on his knees, clutching at her clothes desperately. "Serene... you can save her, right? Give her your blood! Do something, anything! Serene, she is our daughter... you have to save her!"

Tears spilled from Serene’s eyes, tracing burning paths down her pale, trembling cheeks. Yet, despite the devastating grief fracturing her soul, she forced her gaze to remain steady, locking her eyes onto his wild, unhinged stare.

"No..." she whispered, her voice cracking with absolute reality. "It’s too late, Roland. It’s too late. She’s gone... Elvira is gone."

Hearing the brutal truth spoken aloud shattered the final remnants of Roland’s composure. With a broken, animalistic cry, he threw his arms around Serene, pulling her into a crushing embrace. He wept violently, burying his face against her shoulder like a lost, terrified child, his entire frame racking with heavy, agonizing sobs.

"Serene... we lost our daughter," he choked out between his tears, his grip tightening as if trying to hold onto the only other person who shared his pain. "Serene... they killed her..."

Serene didn’t hug him back, nor did she push him away. She simply remained frozen on the floor, staring blankly at the crude wooden crate from afar. The tears continued to stream silently down her face as she gazed upon the decaying remains of her child.

Her daughter had left this world, and nothing would ever be the same again.

By the following morning, the official announcement of Lady Elvira’s sudden passing had rippled through the high society of the Empire, leaving a trail of stunned whispers in its wake.

The preparations for the funeral were executed with frantic urgency, yet no expense was spared. The Grand Ceremonial Hall was transformed into a monument of grief, cloaked in a heavy, suffocating atmosphere of tragedy. Outside, the heavens seemed to mirror the mood of the court; rain mixed with icy sleet poured relentlessly from a bleak, iron-grey sky.

Inside, the warmth of the roaring hearths did nothing to thaw the freezing tension. Noble attendees lined the velvet pews in their dark attire, stepping forward one by one to offer hollow, rehearsed condolences to the Duke and Duchess. Even the Emperor himself made a solemn, heavily guarded appearance, his mere presence commanding a tense, absolute silence over the room.

Everything proceeded with relative order—a carefully orchestrated mask of aristocratic mourning. But that fragile peace shattered the moment the grand entrance doors swung open.

A collective murmur passed through the crowd as Leon and Olivia stepped into the hall. They moved with a calm, unbothered grace, completely cutting through the heavy grief of the room as they walked down the central aisle to present their respects.

The moment Roland’s eyes locked onto Olivia’s figure, a feral, murderous impulse tore through his veins. The raw grief from the night before morphed instantly into a blinding, suffocating wrath. He wanted nothing more than to leap forward, to wrap his hands around their throats and rip their heads from their shoulders right in front of the entire court.

Beside him, Leon subtly shifted his stance, his hand resting casually near his sword hilt, ever watchful. With the Emperor’s piercing gaze fixed heavily upon him, Roland forced his fists into his coat pockets, clenching them until his nails drew blood, holding back his monstrous bloodlust with every ounce of his remaining sanity.

Olivia stepped forward alone, gliding past the whispering nobles until she stood directly before the trembling Duke. Bending slightly, she leaned into his personal space, her movements dripping with a calculated, sickening familiarity.

"My deepest condolences, my dear Father, on the tragic passing of my beloved sister," she whispered under her breath.

Her voice was a soft, venomous purr. It was entirely mocking, dripping with a dark, unadulterated sarcasm that only he could fully hear.

Roland slowly snapped his head up. His eyes, bloodshot, hollowed, and heavily swollen from a night of relentless weeping, stared directly into Olivia’s gaze beneath her black mourning veil. For Olivia, the sight was a sweet, intoxicating elixir. Seeing this untouchable tyrant—the man who had ruined her life and smiled at her misery—completely broken and driven to the brink of madness was a profound victory. It was a satisfaction that warmed her core; he was finally paying the price.

"I will see you very soon... my daughter," Roland rasped, his voice vibrating with a low, guttural promise of death.

In that single, frozen second, the heavy air of the hall transcended into a silent, lethal battlefield of unspoken threats.

Olivia merely offered a small, chilling smile, her eyes sparkling with malicious amusement behind the lace. She was deliberately poking the beast, provoking him with every tilt of her head.

"Anyway..." Olivia murmured, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her black sleeve. "I shall go and offer my condolences to my mother. Where is she? Oh, there she is. Goodbye, Father."

Turning on her heel, she walked away with effortless elegance, leaving Roland burning alive in his own skin.

She made her way toward the front row where Serene sat, pale, rigid, and completely isolated among the mourners. Standing directly in front of her mother, Olivia’s sharp demeanor softened, just a fraction, as she looked down at her.

"Serene... I—"

"Do not speak to me," Serene cut her off instantly. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cracked with a harsh, unyielding cruelty that Olivia had never heard from her before.

Olivia froze, the words dying in her throat as her breath caught. "What...? What happened?"

Serene slowly raised her head, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Olivia with absolute, freezing bitterness. "Olivia... have you still not realised, or did you simply choose to forget? Elvira was *my* daughter too, not just Roland’s."

Olivia’s blue eyes widened beneath her veil, a sudden, cold dread piercing through her triumphant mood.

Serene continued, her voice trembling with grief but sharp as a poisoned dagger. "I do not need anyone to guide my thoughts to know the truth. I know it was *you* who killed her. So please, Olivia... get out of my sight. Right now. I cannot even bear to look into your eyes."

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What are your thoughts on Serene’s confrontation? Was she too harsh on Olivia, or completely justified? Let me know in the comments! Thank you for reading and supporting! 🙏