Eira stood beside Emma, her dark coat buttoned to the collar, her gloves still faintly damp from the cold drizzle. Isabella lingered at the grave, her eyes fixed on the freshly turned soil as if trying to memorize the shape of it, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
Eira's chest tightened. She had seen many people grieve, but there was something in Isabella's stillness that was far more dangerous than tears.
She stepped forward, her fingers brushing lightly against Emma's arm.
"Let's take her with us," Eira murmured, low enough for only Emma to hear. "I don't want her to be alone tonight. It's the third time we've found her here, standing like a statue… crying."
Emma's gaze followed Isabella for a moment, then she gave a small, decisive nod.
They approached together.
"Aunt," Eira said gently, "come with us to the White Manor in Paris. You shouldn't be here by yourself."
For a moment, Isabella didn't move. Then, with slow, deliberate precision, she turned her head to meet Eira's eyes.
"Fine," she said softly. "I don't want to be here with that bastard anyway. The only thing that still tied me to this cursed family is gone… and now, there's nothing left for me here."
Eira didn't argue with her about a certain Bastard. She simply slipped a hand around her aunt's elbow, steering her toward the waiting carriage. Emma trailed after them in silence, her expression unreadable, though Eira knew her mind was already working several moves ahead.
************
The ride through Paris was a muted one. Outside the window, the city slid past in a blur of pale stone and snow-dusted rooftops, the flakes swirling in the air before melting against the glass. None of them spoke. Eira sat opposite Isabella, her gaze drifting now and then to the shadowed face beneath the brim of her black hat. The hard line of her jaw told Eira enough—this wasn't the silence of surrender. It was the quiet of someone honing a blade in their mind.
When they arrived, the White Manor's iron gates swung open without a word from the coachman. The Parisian Mansion loomed in its familiar grandeur, the warm light from the entrance spilling into the cobbled drive.
Inside, Emma dismissed the house elf , ordering tea and brandy to be brought to the small sitting room near the fire. Eira unbuttoned her coat but kept it on her shoulders, settling into a chair opposite Isabella.
The older woman had removed her gloves with deliberate slowness, placing them neatly on the armrest. Her eyes, a pale and cutting blue, lifted to meet theirs.
"It was the Trévér family," she said at last. "We all know it. And we all know who gave the order."
Emma leaned back, crossing her legs. "Alina Trévér," she said without hesitation. "This was her doing. She's been waiting for an opportunity to strike at the Voclain bloodline—this was convenient for her."
Isabella's lips curved into something that was not a smile. "Convenient for her. Fatal for us."
Eira folded her hands in her lap. "What will you do?"
"What will I do?" Isabella's voice had steel in it now, low and deliberate. "I will not let this pass. Alina thinks she's untouchable, that her name and her wealth shield her from consequence. She is wrong."
Emma tilted her head. "Revenge?"
"Not just revenge," Isabella said, leaning forward, her eyes burning with a feverish light in the fire's glow. "I want her to feel what I felt today. I want her to lose everything—family, power, legacy. But I'm not waiting for the slow turn of politics or the cautious pace of alliances. I will finish her quickly. I will kill Alina Trévér before the week is out, and I don't care what it costs me to see her destroyed."
The room went still, the fire snapping softly in the silence.
Eira's expression didn't change, but her mind was already mapping the danger. "If you rush in blindly, she will crush you before you get close. She thrives on enemies who reveal themselves too soon."
"I won't give her the chance," Isabella said, her voice sharpening like steel. "She won't even see me coming. I'll make her bleed before she knows where the cut came from—and when she realizes, it will already be over."
Emma's eyes slid briefly to Eira, the faintest flicker of understanding passing between them. They both knew this was no empty threat. Isabella meant to strike fast, and she meant every word