Chapter 11

Ever since Isabella had reincarnated into this strange new world, she had done everything in her power to avoid her two half-sisters and even her twin sister.

She kept her head down, minded her own business, and tried to stay out of the Windsor household’s endless drama.

But unfortunately, it seemed she would not be granted that privilege for much longer.

Unlike the real October, Isabella was not timid, nor was she the sort to accept nonsense from anyone.

When the maids and staff began to bully her—glaring, sneering, whispering, and "accidentally" spilling water near her shoes—Isabella had had enough.

She decided she would not suffer silently.

And so, one afternoon, she made her way determinedly toward her father's study.

Well, October’s father, to be precise.

Lord Theodore .

The door to the study was slightly ajar, and she hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just shy of knocking. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed it open.

Inside, Lord Theodore was seated at a broad, dark desk littered with parchments and ledgers.

He wore a simple yet finely cut dark vest and shirt, his silver hair tousled slightly as though he had run his fingers through it many times in frustration.

Despite his somewhat homely attire, he still managed to exude an air of sharp authority.

October swallowed hard.

"Damn... this man could very well be my type," Isabella thought wickedly to herself, carefully observing him.

Too bad he fathered me—or at least, this body. Gross.

She shook the thought away.

Gathering her courage, she stepped forward.

"Father, may I have a bit of your time, if you're not too busy?" she asked politely, keeping her voice soft and deferential.

Lord Theodore looked up, his steel-gray eyes sharp but not entirely unkind.

"Well, yes," he replied, setting down his quill. "I’ve just finished a bit of work."

There was a chill to his tone, but Isabella caught something else beneath it—something tired, worn, almost lonely.

She shivered despite herself.

This man could command armies with a glance... she mused internally, hiding a smirk.

"Father," October began again, clasping her hands demurely in front of her, "there is a matter I would like to discuss with you. It concerns the household staff."

He gestured for her to continue.

Isabella smiled internally.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

She launched into her carefully prepared speech, describing in heartbreaking detail how poorly she had been treated by the maids and some of the lower staff.

How they muttered insults under their breath, tripped her in hallways, ruined her dresses, and purposefully "forgot" to bring her meals.

She even allowed a few well-placed tears to slip from her big, shimmering eyes.

Playing the perfect victim, fragile and wronged, vulnerable yet brave.

By the time she was finished, Lord Theodore’s face was thunderous.

His hands, clenched into fists on the desk, trembled with suppressed fury.

"Is this... true?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

October nodded, sniffling pitifully.

Without a word, Lord Theodore rose from his seat like an avalanche gathering speed.

"Jacob!" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the hall.

The head butler—a thin, gray-haired man—appeared almost immediately, bowing deeply.

"My Lord?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Gather every single member of this household's staff in the main hall," Lord Theodore commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze fire. "Now."

Jacob bowed again and hurried away, pale.

Lord Theodore turned back to October, his expression softening slightly.

"Come," he said, offering his arm. "You will stand beside me."

October placed her hand on his arm, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction.

"Oh, how deliciously satisfying this is," she thought, mentally smiling.

They made their way through the mansion, the heavy stone halls filled with the echoing footsteps of gathering staff.

By the time they reached the grand hall, a sea of maids, butlers, and footmen had assembled, shifting uneasily and whispering nervously among themselves.

Lord Theodore strode to the center of the hall, his presence filling the room with tangible pressure. October stood just behind him, her posture perfect, her expression suitably mournful.

He stared down the assembled staff with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

"So," he began, his voice calm, almost conversational.

"I hear my daughter has been treated poorly under my very roof."

A ripple of fear passed through the staff.

"What," he said, voice rising, "do you have to say for yourselves?"

Silence.

"I asked a question," Lord Theodore snarled, his voice cracking like a whip. "ANSWER ME!"

Several maids visibly flinched. Others lowered their heads, trembling.

Jacob stepped forward, bowing deeply. "My Lord, I—"

"I am not interested in excuses," Lord Theodore cut him off.

"I want the names of every servant who has dared to insult, undermine, or harm my daughter. And I want them by sunrise tomorrow."

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"And should any of you," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "dare to disrespect any member of this family again..."

He paused, letting the silence stretch painfully.

"I will personally see to it that you regret ever setting foot in this estate."

The staff paled.

Satisfied, Lord Theodore turned, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him, and offered his arm to October once more.

"Come, daughter," he said gently, guiding her away from the hall and its collective terror.

As they left, October glanced over her shoulder, catching the terrified expressions of the maids who had once snickered behind her back.

She offered them a soft, innocent smile.

"Oh, this weakness of yours will serve me beautifully," Isabella thought gleefully, slipping deeper into her role.

Once they were back in the safety of her chambers, Lord Theodore crouched slightly to look her in the eye.

"Do not worry, October," he said, placing a heavy but comforting hand on her shoulder. "Father will make sure they all pay for what they have done."

October offered him a small, watery smile.

"Thank you, Father," she whispered.

He nodded once, and after a moment's hesitation, gently patted her head—a small, awkward gesture of affection before he turned and left her alone.

As the door clicked shut, October collapsed onto her bed, laughing into the covers.

"Not bad, Isabella. Not bad at all."

Now, not only did she have sympathy from Lord Theodore, but she also had leverage over the entire staff.

It was a victory on all fronts.

And this, she thought, grinning wickedly, was only the beginning.