Why The Hell is Fate Trying to Kill Me?

Chapter 65 From Romance to Leverage

"Pathetic," she repeated. The word didn't sound angry, but it sounded like a Queen reading a verdict to her vassal.

She set the teacup down on the saucer. There was no clatter, as her movements were perfect, like she had drilled them into her bones and muscles over years of etiquette lessons that I didn't remember.

I watched her hand retreat from the cup. It was a graceful but calculated movement, as it was the exact same way my mother placed her cup when she was displeased. The tilt of the chin, the narrowing of the eyes, and the terrifying calm, as if I was looking at a miniature or the smaller one of my mother.

"Sit," she said, her voice commanding and cold. "If we are to share this body, we must agree on how to use. Because right now? You are breaking it."

I pulled the chair out, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. I sat down, wiping the blood from my lip with the back of my hand.

I stared at her, the eyes... burned with a cold intensity I had never possessed. "Who... are you?" I whispered, my voice trembling...

She looked at me, tilting her head slightly.

"I am the one who should be sitting there," she said. "I am Aurelia Aurelius. Not this... weeping, shivering thing..."

She looked at the blood staining the napkin in my hand with utter disgust.

"Look at you. Crying over spilt wine. Is this how you use the name? Is this how you carry the weight of Aurelius House? Let the court see a single drop of blood?"

"I am sick," I countered. I held up the crimson-soaked napkin, shaking it at her. "My body is failing. The pain is unbearable. Tell me, if you were in my place... What would you do? Would you scream?"

She stared at me. Her expression did not flicker. There was no pity in her eyes, just a cold, hard will.

"If I were in pain?" she asked softly. "I would hold it."

She took a step closer, her presence looming over me like a shadow.

"And the blood?" She smiled, but it was the smile of a sharp knife. "I would swallow it. I would let it burn my throat. I would choke on my own life before I let a single drop fall where the court could see it."

She gestured to the napkin in my hand with a look of full disgust.

"That," she pointed, "is the difference between us. You bleed for the world to see. I bleed in the dark."

I gripped the back of the empty chair, like I was trying to steady myself against her words. How did such a fourteen-year-old girl say that with that composure and smile?

"I... I am trying to survive. I am trying to save us."

"Save us?" She let out a short and dry laugh. "Is that what you call this? You are coughing up blood in court. You are surrounded by enemies. You have alienated the Royals. Is that what you call saving us? Don't make me laugh! Let us see if your 'choices' hold up to scrutiny."

"The Orphanage," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You found a nest of rats. Traffickers. Criminals. Yet, you waited. You lingered. You tried to play the saviour, waiting for 'Mother and Father' to fix it because you lacked the stomach to do it yourself."

"I waited because I needed authority! I couldn't just storm in!"

"YOU ARE THE DUCHESS'S DAUGHTER, IMBECILE!" She slammed her hand on the table. Her voice rose, filled with frustration. "You are the authority! If I had seen that, I would not have waited for Father. I would have just sent Adel; it was enough. Or better yet," Suddenly, the mischievous smile showed on her lips. "Ignored it until it became politically useful to expose it..."