The Markston Mansion had never been this tense. Servants walked quietly through the hallways, whispering to one another as if a single word could ignite another storm.

Ever since Alice’s arrest, the entire household had fallen into chaos.

The old patriarch was still unconscious in the hospital. The old Matriarch had refused to eat, her grief sharp as a blade. And Vincent — the one everyone looked to for direction — had grown colder, his expression blank as he sat at the head of the family meeting room.

The long mahogany table stretched endlessly. Around it sat uncles, cousins, and distant relatives — men and women whose faces bore opportunistic smiles even in tragedy.

Whispers turned into voices, voices into demands.

> “Vincent, this is affecting the family’s reputation!”

>

> “The company’s stocks are dipping. We can’t let this continue.”

>

> “You should publicly distance yourself from that woman. Divorce her before it’s too late!”

>At least Alice won't face any problem,since the public doesn't know she is your wife.

Their words were sharp and venomous, each syllable dripping with greed. They weren’t worried about the family name — only about how much power and shares they could seize in the confusion.

Vincent sat there, his jaw tight, his knuckles pressing against the table as he tried to hold back the frustration bubbling inside him. His face was pale from sleepless nights. The faint stubble on his jaw shadowed his usual sharp features.

Across from him sat Lilian, her head slightly lowered, feigning sadness. Her delicate fingers were folded neatly over her lap, her lips trembling just enough to draw attention — an act she had perfected.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle, almost concerned.

“Brother Vincent,” she began softly, “why don’t you consider what they’re saying?”

Her words sliced through the murmurs like silk through air.

Vincent’s gaze shifted to her — slow and weary. “What do you mean, Lilian?” he asked, his tone heavy with exhaustion.

She leaned closer to him, her perfume faint but deliberate, her eyes glinting faintly as she whispered, “These old men… they’re scheming, Vincent. They’re planning to take some of the KNT shares if you keep clinging to Alice. They think you can’t divorce her. They’re testing your strength.”

Her lips curved slightly as she watched the subtle twitch of his jaw. Inside, her thoughts churned with triumph.

“Yes, Vincent. Be angry. Be pressured. Let her go so I can finally take her place beside you.”

But before she could speak further, a sharp sound echoed across the room — the slam of a cane against the marble floor.

Everyone turned.

At the doorway stood the old Matriarch, supported by the butler. Though her body was frail, her presence commanded the entire room. Her sharp eyes glared directly at Lilian.

> “If you dare divorce Alice,”

> “I’ll make sure you lose everything you have.”

The room fell silent. The Matriarch’s words were calm, but each one carried the weight of thunder.

Even the scheming uncles looked away, pretending to study their nails or the ceiling.

Vincent straightened in his chair, his tone steady but respectful. “Grandmother, this isn’t about that—”

“Don’t you dare speak to me about what it’s about, Vincent Markston,” the old Matriarch snapped. “You think I don’t see what’s going on here? The moment that girl was accused, these vultures began circling like it was feeding time.”

Lilian’s face stiffened, but she quickly composed herself, forcing a weak smile. “Grandmother, I think you’re misunderstanding me. I was only worried about the family’s future—”

“Oh, shut up, you vile girl,” the old Matriarch cut her off sharply, her voice trembling with fury. “You call Alice your sister, yet you act like a snake at every opportunity. You think I don’t see the poison dripping from your tongue?”

Lilian’s lips trembled, but her eyes flashed with resentment. Her nails dug into her palm beneath the tablecloth, drawing faint crescent marks in her skin. *Old witch,* she cursed silently. *If only it were you who fell down those stairs instead of grandfather.*

The old Matriarch turned back to Vincent. “Alice may not be perfect, but she’s not a murderer. That girl has been through enough humiliation in this family, and now you all stand here ready to crucify her just because it’s convenient.”

Vincent pressed a hand to his temple, frustration warring with guilt inside him.

He didn’t want to admit it — but he missed Alice.

Her quiet voice, her warm presence, the way she’d once smiled at him even when he’d ignored her.

But the evidence…

The witness…

Everything pointed at her.

“Grandmother,” he said after a long pause, “what do you even know about Alice? You’ve been away from the mansion for almost a year. You weren’t even around to see the way things changed.”

The Matriarch glared at him, her cane thumping against the marble again.

“And yet I seem to see more than you, Vincent. You, who are supposed to be her husband!”

Her voice rose with emotion, shaking with both anger and heartbreak. “When did you become so blind? Has wealth made you forget the meaning of trust?”

Vincent’s lips parted, but no words came out. He simply looked down at his hands — the same hands that had once held Alice’s trembling ones as they promised each other to always stand together.

Lilian saw the hesitation in his eyes and quickly leaned forward again, trying to regain control of the moment. Her tone was gentle, coaxing.

“Grandmother, please don’t misunderstand. I only wanted what’s best for brother Vincent. You know his workload has been immense since grandfather’s incident. Alice’s scandal… it’s hurting him deeply.”

The Matriarch turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. “And what’s best for him, Lilian? To stand alone, surrounded by greedy fools like you?”

Lilian’s throat tightened. “I–I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve heard enough!” the Matriarch snapped, slamming her cane one last time before signaling the butler to assist her. She rose slowly, her back straight despite her frailty. “Vincent, if you have even a shred of decency left, you will find the truth before condemning your wife.”

Her voice softened slightly, her expression filled with pain. “Because once you lose a good woman… you’ll never find peace again.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, the butler supporting her as she disappeared down the hall.

Silence hung in the air.

Vincent remained seated, his eyes fixed on the spot where his grandmother had stood. For the first time, the weight of his decisions pressed against his chest like a heavy stone.

Lilian slowly exhaled, forcing her trembling hands to steady. The anger burning behind her calm expression was fierce enough to sear through stone.

She forced a small, pitiful sigh.

“Brother Vincent… Please don’t be upset. Grandmother is just emotional. You know how close she is to grandfather and how she likes Alice. Maybe when she calms down—”

“Enough, Lilian.” Vincent’s voice was low, tired. “Not a word more.”

Lilian blinked, startled by the authority in his tone. She lowered her eyes, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

“I’m not divorcing Alice,” he said finally, his voice detached but firm. “At least not until the truth is out.”

Her chest tightened.

“But… but Vincent—”

“That’s final,” he said, standing up. His tall figure loomed over her as he adjusted his cufflinks. “And for the record, Alice’s matters don’t concern you.”

Lilian clenched her fists, the sound of her nails scraping against her palms the only thing stopping her from screaming.

Vincent turned toward the door, already signaling for his driver. His tone was clipped and cold. “Have the doctor check on Grandmother. And Lilian—” He paused, his gaze cutting back to her with icy precision.

“You’re sick. Frail, even. You should be resting, not meddling.”

Her breath caught. The way he said it — flat, distant, like he couldn’t care less — made her want to tear something apart. But all she could do was nod weakly, her eyes glistening as she forced a small, pitiful smile.

“Yes, Brother Vincent… I understand.”

Without another glance, Vincent turned and left the room. His polished shoes clicked against the marble as he disappeared down the hallway.

The remaining family members sat awkwardly in silence. Some exchanged nervous glances; others quietly slipped out, unwilling to face the Matriarch’s wrath if word got back that they had supported Lilian.

Lilian sat still for a long moment, her fingers trembling before curling into tight fists.

Her heart pounded furiously, her eyes glimmering with restrained rage.

> “You’ll regret this, Vincent,”

> she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

> “And when you do… I’ll be right there to take everything you’ve lost.”

Outside, the rain had begun to fall — soft at first, then heavier, drumming against the mansion’s high windows. The sound filled the silence that had settled after the storm of words.

The butler returned quietly, glancing toward Lilian. “Miss Lilian, shall I prepare some tea for you?”

She looked up slowly, masking her expression with a weak smile. “No need,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”

But the moment the butler turned away, her smile fell. She reached for the edge of the table, her nails digging into the polished surface as she whispered again, her voice low and venomous.

> “Alice… even if you get out of that cell, you won’t have anywhere to return to.”

And with that, Lilian stood, brushing her dress smooth before gliding elegantly toward the staircase — her face calm, her heart burning.