After He Killed My Kin, I Rejected Him

Chapter 4

Brando came to an abrupt stop, and the look in his eyes turned icy in an instant.

Solenne's whole body went rigid all at once.

The next second, Brando's frigid voice crashed against her ears like a clap of thunder.

"Stop putting on an act in front of me!"

It felt like an invisible hand had clamped down on her heart and squeezed it until it shattered. A dull, throbbing ache spread through her chest, thick and unrelenting, until she could barely breathe.

After a long, drawn-out moment, she blinked slowly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "I'm in the wrong. I'll listen to the Lord's reprimand."

Brando stepped right past her, and just as he was about to leave the living room, he tossed out a cold, dismissive order, "Hurry up and clean this mess. Don't let Olivia see it and get grossed out."

Solenne forced her wobbly, weak body up off the floor and trudged step by step to the sink in the castle's courtyard.

The mid-winter tap water was cold enough to bite straight to the bone. When it seeped into the cuts on her hands, the biting chill crawled up her fingertips and spread through her entire body, making her shiver violently, completely unable to hold it back.

She wrung out the cotton rag, dropped to her knees on the freezing marble floor, and scrubbed every last trace of blood off the ground bit by bit.

The second she finished wiping away the last spot of grime, a pair of sleek velvet dress shoes stopped right in front of her face.

Solenne froze mid-movement and lifted her head slowly. Olivia was staring down at her with a sharp, probing gaze.

Olivia smiled sweetly, her voice soft and harmless. "Oh, the Duchess has been working so hard, you've cleaned this spot perfectly. Get up, won't you? Make me a cup of tea."

Solenne's face went stiff. She stood up, grabbed the silver tea set, and steeped a hot cup of tea.

"Please enjoy your tea, Madam," she said quietly.

Olivia caught sight of the faint streak of blood left on the rim of the cup. She picked it up by the handle, pinching it through a lace handkerchief with a soft clink, and took a slow, deliberate sip.

Solenne stared at her in a daze. After a long stretch of silence, she finally couldn't hold back the question that had been weighing on her.

"Why did you leave here on your own all those years ago?"

Olivia paused mid-sip, then let out a soft, cold little laugh, her tone dripping with unhidden scheming. "Why would I stay? If I didn't leave, how would Brando remember forever that you were the one who forced me out?"

Solenne's eyes flew wide. The gentle, sweet Olivia she'd always known suddenly looked colder and more terrifying than the most venomous snake. A chill crept over her entire body, raising goosebumps all over her skin.

Raw jealousy and smug triumph tangled in Olivia's eyes, her expression eerie and unhinged.

"I'm only lower than you in birth... what else do I have that's worse than yours? But you're the Duchess, officially appointed by royal decree. Everyone in this castle respects me, calls me Madam, but on the royal nobility register? I'm nothing!

"Solenne, you've taken every position that was supposed to be mine!"

Solenne's whole body jolted violently. Her throat tightened up, and she couldn't get a single word of rebuttal out.

*****

Night had fallen completely by the time Solenne dragged her battered, aching body back to her private side tower quarters.

Jasmine, her personal maid, caught sight of her hands, raw, swollen, crisscrossed with cuts and oozing broken skin, and her eyes instantly flooded with tears.

Her voice trembled as she choked out, "My lady, I'll go fetch the physician right now!"

Solenne sank wearily into the soft velvet couch, her gaze locking on the nearly finished pair of knee guards laid out on the table.

She glanced down at her own mangled, scar-covered hands, and a bitter, twisted smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Lord Rivington's seventieth birthday banquet was fast approaching. She'd been stitching those knee guards by hand as a gift for her grandfather, but now? It looked like she'd never get the chance to give them to him.

It wasn't long before Jasmine led Evren into the tower room.

The second Evren stepped over the threshold, his feet froze mid-step.

Solenne sat hunched by the table, her frame thin and fragile, her face deathly pale without a single trace of color.

Those hands of hers, once delicate, exquisitely shaped, and praised by everyone who saw them? They were now a horrific, mangled mess covered in open cuts and old bruises.

A jumble of conflicting emotions churned in Evren's chest, heavy with quiet lament.

The Solenne he'd known was the dazzling, brilliant younger Lady Rivington of the hereditary House Rivington, blessed with unmatched talent and grace that turned heads wherever she went.

She wasn't supposed to be this broken, hollow shell trapped in this cold noble castle, her light fading a little more every single day until there was barely anything left.

After he finished taking her pulse, Evren lifted his eyes to meet hers, his voice thick with weight and worry. "My lady, you haven't been taking your herbal tonic on schedule lately, have you?"

Solenne's expression stayed flat and unreadable, her tone distant and cool. "The castle was swamped with trivial matters yesterday. I simply forgot."

A sharp, suppressed burst of anger flared up in Evren's chest immediately.

"What trivial matters could possibly matter more than your own life? You're a duchess personally appointed by the royal family, for heaven's sake! If word gets out that you've let yourself be reduced to this sorry state, the entire House Rivington will be utterly disgraced!

"You're suffering through hell every single day, and you still let that low-born woman walk all over you whenever she pleases. Why won't you just petition to end this arranged marriage contract?"

Solenne froze for a split second. A sharp, stinging ache bloomed in her chest, swelling until it felt like it was clogging her throat and she could barely breathe.

If even an outsider could see how miserable she was, there was no telling how many ugly, humiliating rumors were already swirling around the capital about her.

She'd fought so hard to hold everything in, but the grief and despair coiled in her chest finally boiled over, impossible to suppress any longer.

"You certainly have all the answers, Dr. Fenwick, but you seem to forget one thing. I'm just a noblewoman with no say over my own fate.

"If I were a man, if I had the power to end this marriage on my own terms, I'd risk my life a thousand times over before I let the House Rivington be backed into this humiliating corner! If I could go back and do it all over again, I would never have agreed to this royal-mandated marriage. I would never have married Brando!"

She forced down the raw, burning sting in her throat, every word thick with the gut-wrenching grief and resentment she'd choked down for years.

If Brando hadn't publicly torn up their private engagement all those years ago, kicking up such a fuss that everyone in the capital knew what had happened, would her grandfather have ever been desperate enough to beg the late king to issue a royal marriage decree, forcing this union into existence?

Her emotions roiling so violently she could barely breathe, Solenne was wracked by a sudden, violent fit of coughing. A gush of bright red blood instantly stained the lace handkerchief she clutched in her hand.

She lifted her head, her blood-soaked lips standing out like a raw, jagged wound against her deathly pale cheeks.

"If swallowing every insult and wearing myself down bit by bit can keep the entire Rivington family safe, I'll do it gladly. No complaints, no regrets."

Evren froze completely. Staring at this stubborn, heartbroken woman before him, he couldn't get a single word out.

"You should leave." Solenne pushed herself slowly to her feet, pointing toward the door, her voice heavy with exhaustion yet sharp with finality.

Just then, a loud, heavy thud echoed from the doorway.

Solenne turned to look on instinct, and her breath caught sharply in her throat.

Brando stood in the entrance, his face so dark with fury it looked like a roiling thunderstorm, rage practically rolling off him in waves.

In the blink of an eye, he stormed across the room, reared back his hand, and slammed his palm hard across her cheek!