Transferred to another life

*Chapter Forty-One: The Brewing Storm**

*

Olivia stood at the threshold of the grand hall, watching as the servants rushed to assist with Matthew. They carried him upstairs, his once-confident form now limp and lifeless. The rest of the family trailed behind, their worried whispers filling the air.

But Olivia felt nothing but the growing chill in her heart.

*They want to accuse me? Fine. Let them. But I'm not backing down.*

As the door to Matthew's room closed, Charles turned sharply on his heel and faced Olivia. His eyes were cold, searching for any crack in her composure. Clara and Aunt Beatrice lingered nearby, their expressions equally hard, the air thick with judgment.

"Olivia," Charles began, his voice filled with that stern fatherly authority she had grown to loathe, "I think we need to have a conversation."

Olivia crossed her arms, her face perfectly neutral. She had spent her whole life perfecting the art of appearing calm, even when the world around her was falling apart. And now, it was no different.

"About what?" she asked, her tone even, as if the tension in the room hadn't already answered her question.

Charles took a step toward her, his brow furrowed. "You're hiding something. I don't know what it is, but your behavior has been erratic, suspicious even. Matthew was fine before, and now—" He gestured vaguely in the direction of Matthew's room. "This happens. It's too coincidental."

Clara chimed in, her voice dripping with contempt. "You've been distant for months, Olivia. It's not just Matthew. You barely talk to any of us. Always lurking around the manor, sneaking away. How do we know you're not involved in whatever's happening to him?"

Olivia clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to stay calm. She had to play her part well. Let them accuse her; it was almost amusing to watch them scramble for an explanation that would satisfy their self-righteous paranoia.

"I've been dealing with a lot, Clara," Olivia said softly, adopting the same tone she had used to manipulate Matthew. "And yes, I've kept to myself, but that's because none of you ever cared enough to ask what was wrong. Now suddenly, when Matthew falls ill, it's convenient for you to blame me?"

"Convenient?" Aunt Beatrice repeated, her voice incredulous. "Olivia, your own brother is lying upstairs, delirious with some unknown sickness, and you think this is about convenience?"

Charles raised a hand to silence Beatrice. His gaze never left Olivia. "Enough, Beatrice. This is about more than just suspicion." He turned back to Olivia, his eyes narrowing. "I don't want to believe my own daughter could harm her family, but I won't be blind either. Something is wrong here, Olivia. I don't know if you're involved in what happened to Matthew, but I intend to find out."

Olivia took a step closer to her father, her voice low but steady. "And how do you plan to do that, Father? Do you have evidence? Any proof that I've done anything wrong?"

Charles stared at her, but Olivia could see the doubt creeping into his expression. For all his authority, for all his suspicion, he had nothing concrete. Only his gut feeling, which wasn't enough to condemn her.

"I don't need evidence to know something isn't right," he said finally. "But if I find out you've had anything to do with this—anything at all—you'll regret it."

Olivia met his gaze without flinching. "I haven't done anything, Father. And I'll prove that to you."

There was a long silence. The family stood in a circle around her, but it was clear they were united in their distrust. And yet, Olivia felt nothing but cold determination. She had always been the outsider, the one who didn't fit neatly into their expectations. Now, it was time to use that to her advantage.

Charles turned away abruptly, his back rigid with tension. "We'll call for a physician to examine Matthew. In the meantime, Olivia, stay away from him. I don't want you anywhere near him until we get to the bottom of this."

Olivia didn't respond. She didn't need to. The message was clear: they were isolating her, cutting her off from the rest of the family. They were preparing to accuse her of something far darker than they could possibly understand.

As the others began to disperse, Clara lingered a moment longer, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You've always been trouble, Olivia," she muttered under her breath. "Maybe now Father will finally see it."

Olivia's lips curved into a tight smile. "We'll see who's really the troublemaker, won't we, Clara?"

Clara huffed and stormed off, leaving Olivia alone in the hallway. The tension in the air was palpable, but Olivia welcomed it. The family's accusations, their distrust—it only fueled her resolve.

### **A Dangerous Plan**

Once the hallways were clear, Olivia made her way back to her room. She had to think, had to regroup. They had placed her on the defensive, but she would not remain there. She needed to act swiftly before their suspicions led to something worse.

The alchemy set behind the fireplace still called to her, but she couldn't make the same mistake twice. Another attack on Matthew, or anyone else, would only draw more suspicion. No, this time, she needed something subtler. Something that would cast doubt not just on her, but on the entire family. Let them turn on one another, let them unravel under the weight of their own mistrust.

She sat at her desk, staring down at the small journal where she kept notes on her alchemical experiments. Pages filled with ingredients and formulas, some meant for healing, others for far more nefarious purposes. But it wasn't a poison she needed now.

It was a distraction.

Olivia flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for: a mixture that would cause hallucinations and confusion without leaving a trace. Harmless enough in small doses, but enough to plant the seeds of paranoia. Enough to make the family start questioning themselves.

*If they want to think I'm the villain, I'll show them how dangerous that assumption can be.*

The ingredients for the mixture were all easily accessible in the manor's storeroom. A few drops in the wine, perhaps, or the tea, and the family would soon find themselves seeing things that weren't there. Their fear and distrust would do the rest.

Olivia leaned back in her chair, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face.

*Let them accuse me. I'll give them reason to be afraid.*