The morning sun bled through the towering panes of the study, casting Mathias into a sharp, jagged silhouette.
Outside, the city stirred, its cobblestone arteries pulsing with the rot of fresh scandal—rumors that spread with the silent, predatory speed of a miasma.
Mathias did not turn. His jaw remained set, a hard line of tension against the pale light.
At last, his voice cut through the stillness, heavy with a cold, simmering accusation.
"Are you satisfied now?"
In the shadows of the far wall, Olivia stood like a statue carved from spite. She crossed her arms, her face a mask of porcelain indifference.
"You speak as if the leak flowed from my own lips," she countered, her tone brittle with irritation.
"You and I both know I am not the architect of this ruin."
Mathias finally turned. His dark eyes searched hers, glimmering with a volatile mixture of exhausted fury and hollow resignation.
