Everyone froze until Dorothy stepped forward, a placating smile on her lips.

“That insolent maid spoke out of turn to her mistress. A slap was all she deserved. But your wife”—she gestured toward Andrea—“has no sense of priority, defying her own mother-in-law over a mere servant.”

“Madam, please don’t blame them. It’s my fault.”

Sandra leaned weakly against William’s chest, dabbing the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.

“I fell ill yesterday—I had to let Andrea endure that cut. She must hold a grudge.”

Then she turned a reproachful gaze on Andrea. “But Andrea, I’d get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness if you asked. You shouldn’t take your anger out on Madam.”

Any trace of guilt William had felt toward Andrea evaporated.

“She should be the one kneeling! Begging for your forgiveness! This is what she owes you!”

Too distracted to stay angry, Ariana hurried forward and took Sandra’s hand, her eyes soft with pity.

“Your health comes first. Someone like her isn’t worth your concern.”

Her tone hardened as she glared at Andrea. “Taking her temper out on me is one thing. But if she ever dares direct it at you, I’ll have her locked in the chapel to transcribe scriptures—using her own blood for ink!”

“Exactly, Sandra! Your health is all that matters. Her only value in this house is her usefulness to you.”

Dorothy shot Andrea a sidelong glance.

Andrea let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. Three years of dutiful service, and this was her reward—venomous words.

Cold from her chest wound shot through her, a vise tightening around her heart.

“You’ve all misunderstood. I’m sure Andrea meant no harm.”

Offering a helpless smile, Sandra pulled away from William and walked toward Andrea.

William followed protectively behind, his eyes fixed on Sandra, blind to Andrea whose face had long since lost all color.

The sight stabbed at Andrea’s eyes. She clenched her teeth, biting hard into her lower lip.

“Andrea, it’s all my fault for being so frail. But it’s not something I can control. Ever since three years ago…”

Sandra’s voice hitched. Andrea didn’t miss how William’s hands clenched at that moment, nor the guilt and heartache in his eyes as he looked at Sandra. It made her own three years here feel like a cruel joke.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered. I resisted at first, but the pain was unbearable. And it just so happens… only your blood can ease it.”

Sandra stepped closer. Gently, she took Andrea’s hand, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“I was the one who drugged him three years ago. Everything was arranged perfectly, but you slipped through and took what was mine. You should have died.”

A pause, then softer, colder: “Oh, and the blood-letting cure? I invented it. I loved watching you tremble in fear.”

Andrea’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You—”

“Ah!”

Sandra let out a sharp cry and collapsed to the ground, looking up at Andrea with wounded eyes.

“Andrea, I know you resent me. It’s alright—I deserve it. I only wanted to thank you…”

William’s expression darkened instantly. He carefully helped Sandra up, handed her off to Ariana, then turned a glacial stare on Andrea.

“Andrea! Do you have a death wish?”

Still reeling, Andrea felt William’s hand close around her throat. The grip was so brutal her pale face flushed crimson in an instant.

“I… didn’t…”

“William! What are you doing? Let her go!”

Sandra beat at his arm, urgent tears welling.

“Sandra, you’re always too kind, always thinking of others. But she doesn’t just reject your kindness—she dares to hurt you!”

“Don’t worry. I’m only teaching her a lesson. I won’t injure her and delay the next treatment.”

William shoved Andrea away and pulled Sandra into his arms.

“Know your place. Don’t covet what was never meant to be yours.”

Andrea fell to the ground, coughing violently, her face paler than ever.

“What was never meant to be mine? You?”

She looked at them and laughed coldly.

“Then I don’t want it!”

William frowned deeply, staring at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“A divorce. To free you, and to free me.”

“Impossible! You’ll leave this family feet first, or not at all.”

Ariana was the first to react, trembling with rage.

“I will not let you disgrace this family. You’ll die under this roof if that’s what it takes! This is your own doing—you’re the one who shamelessly climbed into my son’s bed!”

Her hand waved sharply. “You will kneel here until you understand your place!”

The matrons behind her stepped forward and forced Andrea to her knees.

She couldn’t resist. They manhandled her, and fresh blood seeped through the bandages on her chest.

“Miss!”

Layla tried to rush forward, but other maids pinned her down.

William merely watched, his indifference cold and complete.

"Andrea, is this another one of your games? Can’t you ever be sensible and stay quiet? Must you shame this family before the entire Capital?"

"William, don't speak to her that way! She is your wife. I am the outsider here—it isn’t worth it."

Sandra moved as if to help Andrea up, but William pulled her firmly back against him.

"Don’t talk nonsense. You know who has my heart."

Andrea gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh. She had nothing left to say.

"Sandra will be staying at the estate to recuperate. Behave yourself, unless you want more than just kneeling."

"Guards! Watch the young mistress. She does not rise until she has reflected on her actions."

With one last indifferent glance, William turned and led Sandra away.

The Dowager, Ariana, snorted in contempt. "Once you’re done kneeling, go to the family shrine and copy the scriptures!"

Then she and Dorothy followed them out.

Andrea watched their retreating figures until they vanished. Slowly, she tried to stand. Her weakened body swayed; a wave of dizziness washed over her, darkening her vision.

Before she could steady herself, two matrons stepped from the shadows. Seizing her arms, they forced her back down onto her knees.

"Young Mistress, the young master’s orders are clear. You are not to rise."

Too weak to resist, Andrea was pressed down until she was nearly prostrate on the cold ground. Nearby, Layla—also forced to kneel—struggled to rise in protest, only to be shoved back down brutally.

"How dare you! My lady is still the Young Mistress of this house! Who gave you the right?" Layla cried.

The two matrons sneered.

"Still has the face to call herself Young Mistress?"

"Everyone knows your ‘lady’ is nothing but a scheming whore who climbed into his bed. Do you see any place for her here?"

"Had plenty of energy seducing her way in, didn’t she? Now she plays the frail flower? Kneel properly!"

Their cruel words washed over Andrea, leaving her trembling.

She had once believed that if she lived quietly beside William, the rumors would eventually fade.

But his indifference, his blatant favoritism toward Sandra—it only etched those slanders deeper into her skin.

The incident from three years ago… he could have uncovered the truth with a single investigation. She had been a victim, too!

Was it simply because she loved him that she deserved to bear this shame, to be trampled into the dirt?

In that moment, a tidal wave of regret, hatred, and agony crashed over her.

Grief wrenched through her chest. She coughed violently—a spray of crimson staining the ground—and then darkness took her.

***

"Beat her! Harder! Don’t stop until she talks!"

William’s furious roar pierced the fog in Andrea’s mind. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Disoriented, confused—then a hand closed around her throat.

Her gaze met his. His eyes were bloodshot, blazing with murderous intent.

"Why!"

His grip tightened, cutting off her air. She clawed at his hand, struggling, but his fingers only dug deeper. Black spots danced before her eyes; a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth.

The warm blood dripped onto his hand. He flinched, loosening his hold abruptly, and let her go.

Andrea collapsed into ragged, painful coughs. William stood frozen, staring at his own trembling hands as if they belonged to a stranger.

From outside the room, Layla’s agonized scream tore through the air. Andrea’s head snapped toward the sound. She lunged forward, grabbing fistfuls of William’s robe.

"What have you done to Layla?" Her voice was a raw, shredded whisper. She tried to push past him, but his hands clamped down on her shoulders, holding her in place. A sharp glance from him toward the door—and the sounds of struggle outside ceased, replaced by fading footsteps as Layla was dragged away.

Then his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Why… did you get rid of the child?"

Andrea went completely still.

"Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this child? What right did you have to decide alone?"

He paused, his next words a venomous, icy whisper.

"Or is it like they say? You couldn’t stand the neglect, so you found another man’s bed? Was it a bastard you were carrying?"

Andrea’s head jerked up. She stared at him, disbelief etched across her pale face.

Seeing the cold conviction in his eyes, her own welled with hot, unshed tears. Her voice trembled. "William… you monster."

His eyes were red-rimmed, blazing with fury. "Then tell me why!"

A strange, hollow laugh bubbled from her throat, as if she’d just remembered something absurd.

"Why? Have you forgotten your own glorious deed? Have you forgotten two years ago?"

"Did you really think, after you ran me through with your sword that day, that any child could have survived?"

"Congratulations, William. You killed your own child… again."