The Duke never called Elira without a reason.
That was written clearly in the novel.
Christa walked through the corridor slowly, her footsteps echoing against polished marble floors. The mansion felt colder than usual, as if it already knew something had changed.
Her hand tightened slightly around the black feather hidden in her sleeve.
The study door stood open.
That was unusual.
The Duke preferred closed doors.
Private conversations.
Control.
She stepped inside.
The room smelled faintly of ink and old paper.
Tall windows lined one wall, letting in gray afternoon light. Shelves filled with documents and ledgers covered the others.
The Duke stood near his desk, reading a letter.
Lucien sat silently in a chair by the window.
Both looked up when she entered.
Christa immediately understood.
This wasn't a conversation.
It was an evaluation.
"Sit," the Duke said.
She obeyed.
Lucien's gaze followed her movements with quiet interest.
The Duke folded the letter carefully and placed it on the desk.
"You refused tea this morning."
Not a question.
A statement.
Christa kept her expression neutral.
"I wasn't thirsty."
Silence followed.
The Duke studied her face, searching for something beneath the answer.
Lucien spoke first.
"That's unusual," he said calmly. "You always drink tea."
His voice wasn't accusing.
It was observational.
Like recording evidence.
Christa met his eyes.
"People change."
Lucien didn't blink.
"Overnight?"
The Duke raised a hand slightly, ending the exchange.
"There has been an incident," he said.
Christa felt her pulse rise.
But she stayed still.
"One of the kitchen servants was found unconscious this morning," the Duke continued. "The physician believes poison was involved."
The room felt smaller.
Christa's stomach tightened.
The poison.
But not where it was supposed to go.
Lucien's voice was quiet.
"The servant prepared Lady Elira's tea yesterday."
The words landed heavily in the room.
Christa didn't react.
Couldn't.
Inside, her thoughts raced.
In the novel, that servant never survived long enough to be questioned.
Because Elira had died first.
The Duke watched her carefully.
"Do you know anything about this?"
"No," Christa said.
Truth.
But incomplete.
The Duke turned toward the window, thinking.
Lucien leaned forward slightly.
"You didn't drink the tea," he said.
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Christa said nothing.
Lucien's expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes sharpened.
Interest.
Confirmation.
The Duke finally spoke again.
"The servant will recover," he said. "But the matter will be handled quietly."
Quietly.
Of course.
Scandal was more dangerous than poison in noble society.
"You may leave," the Duke said.
Christa stood and walked toward the door.
Just before she reached it,
Lucien spoke again.
"Be careful, Elira."
She paused.
Not turning.
"That servant was lucky," he continued.
A small silence.
Then—
"You may not be next time."
Christa left the study without responding.
Hallway
Her breathing finally broke once the door closed behind her.
The story was shifting faster now.
The poison existed.
But the victim had changed.
Which meant someone was adjusting their plan.
Or making mistakes.
Neither possibility was comforting.
She walked toward her room, mind racing.
If the original attempt failed…
Would they try again tonight?
Tomorrow?
Soon?
A soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
"You're walking too fast."
Christa stopped.
The silver-haired boy leaned against a pillar at the end of the corridor.
Like he had always been there.
Like he belonged there.
He looked at her sleeve.
"At least you kept the feather," he said.
Christa's voice was steady.
"Who are you?"
He smiled faintly.
"Someone who also survived Chapter One."
Her heart skipped.
He pushed off the pillar and began walking past her.
Then he spoke quietly.
"The story corrects mistakes, you know."
He stopped beside her.
"Refusing the tea only delays things."
A pause.
Then:
"You should prepare for the second attempt."
He continued walking.
Christa turned.
"Wait."
He didn't stop.
"Tomorrow night," he said.
And disappeared down the staircase.
Christa stood alone in the hallway.
The mansion felt alive again.
Watching.
Waiting.
Adjusting.
She whispered to herself:
"Then I'll be ready."
But her hands were shaking.
Because now she knew one thing for certain.
The story hadn't given up on killing Elira.
[End of the chapter 4]