"My lord, the lady has taken no harmful draught. She is simply in a weakened state and requires strengthening tonics."

In an instant, every last one of Tyler’s doubts vanished. "Well?" he demanded, his voice sharp with anger. "What do you have to say for yourself now?"

"Barbara came only because she heard you were unwell. The medicine she brought was to help you recover. To me, it seems you and your maid conspired to entrap her. You will go and apologize to her immediately."

Melissa was stunned. The pain in her stomach sharpened—how could it be as the physician said?

"No. I won’t... She’s wicked. I refuse."

"And we are not sisters! Why does she keep calling me that? She is *your* cousin. Julia said she ought to address me properly, as 'sister-in-law'—"

***Slap!***

"Enough!"

Tyler was a trained martial artist. The force of his furious backhand left Melissa’s ears ringing, the world reduced to a muffled roar. Dazed, she watched him bark orders at the servants. Only when she saw Julia being seized and held did the reality of it all come crashing back.

Panic gripped her. Struggling to her feet, she threw herself onto her knees before Tyler. "Husband, I was wrong. Truly, I know I was wrong. Please, do not punish Julia..."

His face was stone, utterly indifferent to her pleading. With a dismissive wave of his hand, a servant raised a thick rod and brought it down heavily across Julia’s back.

Melissa scrambled forward, stumbling, trying to shield Julia with her own body. The servant could not check the blow in time. The rod struck Melissa squarely with a sickening thud. A sharp cry tore from her throat—then darkness swallowed her.

Three days later, Melissa awoke.

Tyler sighed in relief, then immediately scolded her. "A grown woman, with no sense of proportion."

She ignored him. Her first frantic thought was for Julia. "Where is Julia?"

He waved a hand. Two unfamiliar maids stepped forward. "Barbara selected them for you personally. They will attend you from now on."

Melissa shook her head vehemently. "No. I want only Julia. I don’t want anyone chosen by that woman."

His expression darkened. "It seems the lesson was not severe enough. Very well. Refuse them, and I will remove *all* the servants assigned to you."

The door slammed shut behind him. The room emptied swiftly, leaving only a deathly pale Melissa behind. She hugged herself tightly, weeping helplessly. She knew—Julia was never coming back.

Two days passed in a numb haze. On the third, she was hauled abruptly from her bed. Ignoring her feverish weakness, the new maids forcibly washed and dressed her. They dabbed rouge on her lips and powder on her cheeks, lending a faint, false color.

Lord Tyler and Barbara were waiting at the main gate. Taking in Melissa’s vacant expression, Tyler frowned. "Today is the Queen Mother’s birthday. Once we enter the palace, you will not disgrace us."

Barbara stepped forward warmly, linking her arm with Melissa’s. "Do not worry, cousin. I will look after my dear sister."

Tyler nodded, his gaze resting on Barbara with unmistakable admiration.

Melissa’s eyes darkened. She could not remember the last time her husband had looked at her that way. Somewhere along the line, his glances had become nothing but impatience and disdain.

Seeing Melissa’s ashen face, Barbara’s expression brimmed with smug satisfaction—a satisfaction that lasted right until the moment she, inside the palace, shattered the Queen Mother’s most prized possession: a potted **Ice-Blush Gentian**, a flower so rare it was said to be the only one in the entire capital.

Terror seized Barbara. Soil smeared the exquisite gown she had so carefully chosen. She scrubbed at it frantically, but the grime would not budge.

She glanced back at Melissa, who was following meekly. Seeing no one else nearby, a plan began to form in her mind.

Barbara snapped an order at her servants to strip Melissa of her gown and exchange it for her own. Melissa didn't understand what was happening, but she knew it was nothing good.

She struggled and cried out—a faint sound that, carried on the breeze, Tyler recognized at once as hers.

He followed the voice and found her. At the sight of him, Melissa’s eyes lit with hope.

“Husband, help me!”

Instantly, Barbara put on a pitiful expression. “Cousin, Sister accidentally broke the Empress Dowager’s favorite flower. I tried to shield her and ended up with my dress covered in soil.”

Tyler’s gaze dropped to the shattered remains of the Imperial Yellow Peony on the ground. In an instant, he concluded Melissa was at fault yet again.

“In that case, Melissa,” he said firmly, “give your dress to Barbara. She is about to compete in the Season’s Debutante Ball. She must become the Capital’s foremost talent. She cannot afford to be reprimanded by the Empress Dowager—not now, when so much is at stake.”

Melissa stared at him, disbelief widening her eyes. “And what about me? Is it acceptable for *me* to be reprimanded and lose all face?”

Avoiding her gaze, Tyler replied sternly, “You broke the flower, Melissa. You must take responsibility for your mistake.”

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t—” She kept pleading her innocence, but Tyler refused to listen. His face cold, he ordered the servants to force the exchange.

And so Melissa was compelled to appear before the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet in a soiled dress to offer her apology.

Tyler stood to one side, watching her kneel there—helpless, confused—with nothing but chilly indifference.

The Empress Dowager, already displeased and nursing a sour mood with no outlet, found in Melissa the perfect target. She immediately signaled her attendants to slap the girl hard across the face.

Terrified, Melissa rushed to explain. “No, Your Majesty, this isn’t my dress! I didn’t break the flower! She did!”

For a moment, every eye followed her pointing finger to Barbara.

Panicked, Barbara dropped to her knees, denying everything.

The Empress Dowager glanced at Tyler, who showed no intention of speaking up for his wife. “General Tyler,” she asked, “whom do you believe I should trust?”

Tyler answered with righteous conviction, like some impartial judge. “Your Majesty, my wife is not in her right mind. She often stirs up trouble. I cannot shield her at the expense of wronging an innocent person.”

With a nod, the Empress Dowager motioned for the palace attendants to take Melissa away.

“No! I didn’t do it! Tyler, how can you say it was me?” Burning with fever and weak, Melissa had little strength left to struggle as they dragged her off.

After several blows, her face swelled instantly. Soon the pain grew numb; both cheeks were left grotesquely puffed and bruised. By the journey’s end, she was barely conscious.

In the carriage, Tyler asked Barbara whether the day’s events had frightened her. As for Melissa, who sat turned away in silence, he assumed she was merely sulking. He made no move to comfort her, intent on teaching her a lesson.

Passing the Five Blessings Pavilion, Tyler mentioned he wanted to buy some pastries for Barbara.

When they returned from the shop, Melissa was gone.

Stumbling from the carriage earlier, Melissa had glimpsed—through her haze and the fluttering curtain—someone from Jeffrey’s Manor. The sight jolted her awake. Seizing the moment the carriage paused, she had slipped away unnoticed.

As it happened, a servant from Jeffrey’s Manor had been on his way to Tyler’s estate to find her. “My master was overjoyed to receive your reply, madam,” he said quietly. “He vows to travel day and night to return. He should be back within five days.”

Hearing this, Melissa felt a flicker of joy. Soon. She wouldn’t have to play the fool much longer.