FVN Chapter 200: The Crate
Chapter 200: The Crate
Lucius quietly lowered his gaze, his golden eyes fixing on the shattered porcelain and the amber liquid pooling between them. A cold, mocking glint flickered in his eyes.
"Hmm..." he murmured, his voice dripping with smooth, dangerous amusement. "It seems you are about to start lying."
Alisha’s breath caught. "What...?"
"You have a rather foolish habit, Alisha," Lucius said, finally looking up to lock his eyes onto her draining face. "Whenever you begin fabricating a lie to patch up a hole, your hands lose their strength, and you drop whatever you are holding. So... let us see what kind of web you are about to weave this time."
Alisha stiffened, her jaw tightening as she forced her spine into a rigid line. "I am not lying."
Ignoring her defense, Lucius calmly reached out, picked up his own teacup, and took a slow, deliberate sip. Across from him, the last lingering shred of anxiety in Alisha’s eyes vanished completely. It was replaced by a cold, hardened stare that dripped with sudden defiance.
"Very well," Lucius set his cup down with a hollow click. "Then tell me who her real father is. Because it is physically impossible for it to be Roland. Not after what happened."
"And what exactly happened?" Alisha countered, a sharp, humorless smile cutting across her pale lips. "All I heard from the North is that her annoying husband finally died."
Her smile widened into something grotesque, filled with pure, unadulterated malice. "He truly deserved that death. Honestly, I only wish she would hurry up and follow him to the grave."
Lucius’s expression darkened, a heavy wave of disgust rolling off his frame. "She is your daughter, Alisha. For God’s sake, show at least a fraction of compassion."
"My daughter?" Alisha laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and grating in the quiet room. "Please. What would I ever do with a girl? Kayle is more than enough for me. And since you are asking about her father—even though it is entirely obvious you have already figured it out yourself..."
She stopped. Their eyes collided in a heavy, suffocating silence. The air in the room grew so tight it felt impossible to breathe as they stared at each other for a long, unyielding moment.
Lucius didn’t need her to utter the name. He didn’t need another single question. The devastating truth was written entirely in the cold depths of her eyes.
It was him. Olivia was his.
"Why...?" Lucius choked out, his voice suddenly sounding raw, fractured by a mixture of profound shock and rising horror. "Why did you do this, Alisha? Why?"
Alisha shrugged her shoulders, her demeanor turning entirely indifferent, as if they were discussing the weather rather than a discarded life.
"I didn’t even know I was pregnant at first," she replied carelessly, leaning back into her chair. "And frankly, I didn’t care enough to find out who the father of that illegitimate child was. To me, she is nothing but a sin. A mistake."
His eyes carried the crushing weight of the entire world’s disappointment. The deeper Lucius dug into his wife’s past, the more it shattered him, stripping away the remaining illusions of the woman he thought he knew. Standing before him now was no longer the Empress he had once loved, but a heartless, unfeeling monster.
"So..." Lucius spoke, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a mixture of disbelief and pure disgust. "You simply decided she was inconvenient, and that it was perfectly fine to cast her away like trash."
"Yes," Alisha replied, her response coming so easily, so brutally casual. "It is that simple, Lucius. That is how the world works. I am not foolish enough to ruin my own standing and destroy my life for the sake of someone like her."
Lucius swallowed hard, a suffocating, bitter lump lodging itself in his throat.
"Enough," he rasped, his golden eyes hardening into chips of ice. "I cannot bear to listen to another word from your mouth."
He turned on his heel, he made his way toward the exit. But before he could reach the threshold, Alisha’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with calculated malice.
"Have you gotten your answer now, my dear?" she asked, a soft, venomous purr under her breath. "By the way... did you enjoy the tea?"
Lucius stopped at the door, but he didn’t look back at her. He didn’t want to stain his vision with her face any longer.
"Yes, I received my answer completely," he said, his voice flat, hollow, and absolute. "And every single day, you prove to me that loving you was the greatest mistake of my entire life. Mark my words, Alisha... you will never sit on the Empress’s throne again as long as I draw breath."
With those final, freezing words, Lucius strode out of the chambers. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him with a violent, echoing crash that vibrated through the quiet palace walls.
Left alone in the sudden stillness of the candlelit room, Alisha didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, terrifying smile stretched across her pale lips.
"That is fine," she whispered into the empty, hollow room, her voice barely a breath as she stared at the closed doors. "I can always be the Empress... after you die."
Lucius walked out into the frigid night air, each step heavy as if he were dragging the weight of an entire mountain range upon his shoulders. The crushing guilt pressed down on his chest so violently it felt physical, suffocating, tearing his Imperial pride into bloody shreds.
Suddenly, a hollow, broken laugh escaped his trembling lips—a sound filled with such raw, agonizing despair that even the nearby guards froze in unspoken terror.
"This is... truly painful," Lucius whispered into the dark, his laughter fading into a choked breath. "It hurts so damn much..."
He raised a shaking hand to his face, his golden eyes burning with t regret.
"Why did you do this with such cruelty, Alisha? Why?" he yelled out inwardly, his mind screaming against the horrific reality. "Why did you rob me of my own daughter? Why did you make me treat her like the spawn of my worst enemy for all these years? Why..."
He stumbled slightly, the grand stone pillars of his own palace suddenly feeling like the walls of a torturous prison.
"Why did you leave me to send her husband to his execution...?" The words left his throat like a shard of glass. The realization that he was the monster who had shattered Olivia’s happiness, the one who had stained his hands with the blood of the man she loved, was a sin he knew he could never wash away.
"I cannot even look at her face from this day onward," Lucius choked out, a wave of profound self-loathing drowning his soul. "My cruelty toward her... surpassed all human limits."
"He was barely alive..." Lucius muttered to the cold night air, his breath trembling. "But I cannot deny it... I wanted his death. I wanted him gone to silence the rebellion. Oh, God... what have I done to my child?"
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Meanwhile, Roland Throne was burning alive inside his own study.
The mysterious disappearance of Elvira, coupled with the humiliating defeat he had suffered at the hands of Olivia in front of Emperor, was far more than his fragile pride could bear. He sat rigidly behind his massive desk, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a frantic, losing battle against his mounting impatience.
The doors clicked open, and the head butler stepped inside, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Your Grace," the butler said, his voice laced with a tense tremor. "A special package has just arrived for you."
Roland’s tapping hand froze. He snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot. "A package?.....What kind of package? Who is the sender?"
"The sender is anonymous, my Lord," the butler swallowed hard, adjusting his stance nervously. "The men who delivered it appeared to be highly skilled, dangerous mercenaries. They dropped it at the main gates and vanished into the blizzard before our guards could even question them.. Shall we bring it in, Sire?"
"Yes," Roland growled, his jaw tightening as a dark, foul instinct began to claw at his gut. "Bring it in. Now."
The heavy doors pushed open completely, and two burly guards staggered into the room, their muscles straining under the immense, awkward weight of the long, wrapped crate they were carrying.
They exhaled in unison, sweat dripping down their temples despite the freezing cold, as they carefully set the heavy box down directly in front of Roland’s desk.
Roland rose from his chair. He stepped out from behind his desk and stood directly in front of it, his eyes scanning every inch of the rough material.
"Hmm..." he muttered, his voice cold and analytical. "It is completely sealed from all sides. No traces of volatile mana or hidden traps."
He extended a hand toward the trembling servant beside him. "A knife. Now."
One of the attendants hurriedly handed him a silver dagger. Roland took it and sliced through the thick external wrapping with a single, practiced motion, revealing a crude, unpolished wooden surface underneath.
The moment the fabric was torn, a faint, sickening odor of decay began to seep into the warm air of the study. Roland immediately covered his nose with the heavy velvet sleeve of his coat, his brow furrowing in deep disgust.
"Remove these nails. Immediately," he commanded.
The two burly guards set to work without delay, their tools metal-clanking against the wood. Within minutes, the heavy iron nails were pried free.
"Now, leave us," Roland ordered, his voice shifting into a dangerous register. "All of you, get out."
The servants and guards bowed frantically and retreated, leaving only Roland and his trusted head butler inside the suffocating silence of the room.
Roland exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the crate. He extended a trembling hand, gripped the edge of the wooden lid, and slowly, deliberately, slid it open.
The sight that greeted his eyes shattered his sanity in an instant.
Despite the horrific bloating of the flesh, the stiff rigor mortis that had locked the limbs, and the sickening blue-grey tint of the decaying skin—there was no mistaking it. He could still recognize that long, pitch-black hair, and those rigid, familiar facial features.
It was Elvira. His precious, golden daughter.
Roland’s entire body began to violently tremble. The cold, ruthless Duke vanished, replaced by a broken old man. Uncaring of the putrid smell, completely oblivious to the horrific state of the corpse, he reached his shaking fingers down into the crate, touching her cold, stiff cheek.
His lips parted in utter disbelief, his jaw twitching as a single, searing tear spilled from his bloodshot eyes and splashed onto the dead flesh beneath him.
"M....My...beloved angel..." he choked out, his voice a fractured, agonizing whisper. "My child..."
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We’ve Hit Chapter 200!
Reaching this milestone feels surreal. I want to express my deepest gratitude to everyone who has supported this journey in any way, big or small. Your comments, votes, and endless motivation are the fuel behind every Chapter I write.
Thank you for breathing life into these characters along with me. Love you guys 🌹♥️