“I don't see that stalker who usually shadows your every move.”
The Dowager Duchess’s voice was as elegant as it was sharp. Eric looked at his mother across the breakfast table, his expression unreadable.
“She wasn't feeling well this morning,” he replied, his voice carried a weight he couldn't quite name.
The Dowager’s lip curled in a slight, haughty frown. “She’s always finding some new way to draw attention. No doubt she’s only 'sick' because she couldn't control her temper.”
Eric’s gaze flickered, a strange light dancing in his eyes for a moment. But his mother continued, oblivious to her son’s shifting mood.
“It’s a relief not to have her looming over us for once. I hope she continues this new habit of dining alone.”
Eric’s hand stilled as he reached for his tea, but the Dowager didn't notice. She simply gestured toward the platter on the table. “These oysters are exceptionally tender today, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn't know,” Eric said, his tone clipped.
The Dowager’s brow arched at his bluntness. “Eric, what has gotten into you?”
Before she could press him further, the doors opened, and the woman in question entered the room.
“Oh... are you still here?” Cornelia asked, her voice carrying a clear note of disappointment.
The Dowager’s composed facade practically crumbled at the sight of her daughter-in-law. I stepped into the room, noting the way my mother-in-law seemed to lean into her son’s presence like a shield. I knew I should have waited a few more minutes, but I was already here.
“I was told you were unwell, yet you look far better than I expected,” the Dowager remarked, her voice dripping with its usual sarcasm.
I wondered if she had any idea I was pregnant. Probably not.
“Good morning, Cornelia,” Eric said suddenly. He was staring at me with those fierce blue eyes of his.
*He’s trying to make me stay silent,* I thought.
Given how little he trusted me, I was sure he intended to hide the pregnancy from his mother and the rest of the world for as long as possible. He probably feared the Dowager would have a heart attack if she learned her son’s wife was carrying a child that—according to me—wasn't his.
In reality, the Dowager was far too spiteful to faint over something like that. She’d be more likely to use it as a reason to drag me out by my hair.
I considered my options. I didn't have to follow his lead. In my first life, the Dowager hadn't exactly welcomed the news of my pregnancy, though she had certainly enjoyed the chance to micromanage my every move once she realized an heir was on the way.
*If she thinks the child isn't her grandson, she'll be screaming for a divorce within the hour.*
The thought of using my mother-in-law’s hatred to speed up my escape made me want to laugh.
“Why aren’t you answering me? Did the illness steal your tongue?” the Dowager demanded.
I pushed back the urge to snap at her. My priority was the pregnancy announcement, but as I opened my mouth to speak, a server placed a fresh plate of food before me.
“Well? Can you not even offer a proper greeting?”
The Dowager’s voice was a persistent buzz in my ear, but I couldn't answer. The heavy, metallic scent of the raw oysters on the table hit me like a physical blow. It was far more nauseating than I remembered.
*Morning sickness. It’s starting.*
In my past life, I had suffered terribly from nausea, especially when it came to shellfish. Back then, the Dowager had forced me to eat them anyway, telling me not to be "picky" and that I should be grateful for the nourishment. Because I was desperate to win her favor, I had endured it, choking down the food even as my stomach revolted.
But I had no reason to endure it now.
“I’m leaving,” I said, standing up. “The smell of shellfish is frankly disgusting.”
The Dowager, a woman who prided herself on being the pinnacle of noble strictness, wasn't about to let such a slight go.
"What? Are you blaming me because I’m eating something you happen to dislike?"
“Mother, please. That’s enough,” Eric interrupted.
I didn't stay to hear the rest. The Dowager’s voice rose in an indignant shriek as she turned her anger on her son. “Enough? Is that how you speak to your mother? I was only—”
“Mother!”
“It’s because you coddle her that she acts like such a ghost!”
I turned my back on their bickering and walked out. They weren't my family. They never had been. I didn't care what they thought of me anymore.
***
From the beginning, the Dowager Duchess had loathed Cornelia. She saw her as a "black-haired freak" who had tarnished her son’s reputation just by existing. The only reason she hadn't kicked her out sooner was Cornelia’s immense personal wealth and her status as an imperial princess.
But now, seeing Cornelia walk out without a word of apology was a bridge too far.
“Why did you protect her?” she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
“Do you really think I was defending her?” Eric replied, his voice weary. “I was only thinking of your reputation, Mother. You're the one who always tells me to keep our private matters within these walls.”
The Dowager let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “There is no protecting her reputation. It was ruined the day you married her.”
Since the wedding, Eric had never been close to Cornelia. Even the Dowager had eventually advised him to at least maintain the *appearance* of a functioning marriage for the sake of his standing.
But her eyes turned cold as she leaned in to whisper to her son.
“Don’t you dare complain about the oysters again, Eric. That isn't like you at all.” She gripped his arm, her voice a low hiss. “Don’t forget your duty.”
She rose and swept out of the room, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface.
Eric remained in the dining room for a long moment, the silence of the room weighing on him. He found himself thinking of Cornelia—not as the "stalker" he had known for years, but as the woman who had just walked out with such cold indifference. He suddenly realized she hadn't eaten anything.
“Randon,” he called out. “Tell the chef to prepare a new meal for the Duchess. No shellfish or seafood of any kind.”
He hesitated for a second, then added, “And ensure there are peaches for dessert.”
The butler bowed and headed for the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later, he kept his head low.
“Your Excellency, the Duchess had already ordered a simple meal for herself. It has already been delivered to her room.”
Eric’s brow furrowed with an unfamiliar sense of dissatisfaction. “And the peaches?”
“I couldn’t source fresh peaches on such short notice, but I’ve sent up a peach syrup dessert instead.”
Eric’s expression softened ever so slightly. “I see. That will suffice.”
As he headed toward his office, Eric realized something jarring. The fishy scent that had bothered him moments ago, the unpleasant tension with his mother—it had all faded the moment he started thinking about Cornelia’s comfort.
*No. I was only...*
A bird landed on the windowsill of his office, carrying a message from Haight.
*[We have completed the investigation. There is no man named Damian currently associated with the Duchess.]*
Eric felt a wave of relief, followed by a strange, lingering doubt. *Was it all a lie?*
He wanted to believe it was just another one of her desperate ploys for attention, but the way she had whispered that name in her sleep... it had sounded like mourning.
*It’s too early to call it a lie.*
He remembered the way her purple eyes used to follow him, always longing for a scrap of affection. But now, she didn't even look at him. It was as if he had become invisible to her.
*No. That’s impossible.*
Despite his denial, a sharp spike of frustration flared in his chest. He clenched his fists, his eyes burning with a new resolve.
*I’ll find out the truth myself.*
***
Back in my room, far away from the nauseating smell of oysters, I sat down to a simple meal of bread and hot soup. The highlight was the dessert—a sweet dish made with peach syrup.
I couldn't even look at peaches in my first life because of my mother-in-law’s severe allergy. Seeing them on my tray now was a small, delicious victory.
But it raised a lot of questions. Why would the chef prepare this? The Dowager would never have allowed it.
I let out a small smirk as I remembered the look on her face in the dining room. She had looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and I had enjoyed every second of it.
But my thoughts soon drifted back to the man who had been staring at me throughout the meal.
*If I’m going to make this "affair" believable, I need a partner.*
The problem was that choosing a noble was too risky. It wouldn't be enough to just name someone; they would have to be willing to play the part of the child's father, which meant a complex exchange of favors or even marriage. And since my wedding, I had avoided every banquet and social gathering in the capital. My social circle was non-existent.
I would have to find someone else. Someone Eric would never suspect—or perhaps, someone he would suspect all too easily.