The sound of glass shattering echoed again.
Zhao Meilin stood in the center of her chamber, her breathing uneven.
"They're talking about her," she said.
Her voice low.
Unstable.
—
"Not me."
No one answered.
No one dared.
—
"They're praising her," she continued.
"After everything."
Her nails dug into her palm.
Hard enough to hurt.
—
"And him…" she whispered.
Her expression twisted.
"Even he—"
She stopped.
Because she couldn't say it.
Didn't want to.
—
"He looks at her."
The words felt like poison.
Slow.
Burning.
Unforgivable.
—
Silence filled the room.
Then—
Her expression changed.
Completely.
—
Cold.
Calculated.
Terrifying.
—
"…If she wants to rise," Meilin said softly,
"then I'll make sure she falls harder."
—
She turned slowly.
"Prepare the message."
—
The maid hesitated. "Miss… what message?"
Meilin smiled faintly.
But there was no warmth in it.
—
"Tell the court," she said,
"That I have someone who can confirm the princess's… secret meetings."
—
The air turned heavy.
Because this time—
She wasn't spreading rumors.
—
She was bringing a witness.
—