117

117
Chapter 117

Azalea stood before the tall mirror in the designer’s room, her gown shimmering under the warm light. The seamstress stepped back, pinning the last adjustment and nodding approvingly.

“It’s perfect, Your Grace,” the woman said softly.

Azalea took a slow turn, studying her reflection. The gown was breathtaking—silk and lace cascading like moonlight, tailored to hug her figure but loose enough to hide the slight swell of her stomach until she chose to reveal it. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“Good,” she said simply, stepping down from the platform. “Tonight must be flawless.”

Vicky, who had been standing nearby, gathered the train of the dress as Azalea changed back into her regular attire. Once everything was neatly packed, they left the designer’s studio and made their way to the waiting car.

The drive back to the palace was quiet until Vicky leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “I can’t wait to see their faces tonight,” she said, her excitement bubbling over. “When they find out you’re pregnant, the entire hall will be stunned. I’m already picturing Thomas’s expression.”

Azalea gave a faint chuckle, though her gaze was distant, fixed on the scenery passing by outside. “It will be a great pleasure,” she replied calmly. “I want to see what they all think. Whether they will dare smile in my face or whisper behind my back.”

Vicky nodded eagerly. “You’ve kept this secret long enough. Tonight they’ll know you’re not just Queen—you’re the mother of the next heir.”

When they arrived at the palace, Azalea stepped out first. The air smelled faintly of rain, the marble steps glistening under the soft sunlight. She started up the staircase, her hand brushing along the railing.

“Wait—” Vicky’s sharp voice stopped her mid-step.

Azalea turned back, brows furrowing. “What is it?”

Vicky crouched, pointing at something on the stairs. A thin, almost invisible sheen of oil glistened against the polished surface. One wrong step, and Azalea would have easily slipped.

Azalea’s stomach clenched. She crouched slightly to look closer, her breath catching. “Who would…?” she began, but her voice trailed off.

Vicky stood, her expression tight. “This doesn’t look like an accident,” she said grimly. “The maids are careful with the stairs. This was deliberate.”

Azalea straightened, her jaw hardening. A wave of unease swept through her, but she schooled her expression. “Don’t say a word to anyone yet,” she murmured.

Carefully, she finished her climb, her mind already racing. When she reached her chambers, she found Federico inside, standing near the window, reviewing documents.

“There’s something you need to know,” she said without preamble.

Federico turned, immediately sensing her unease. “What happened?”

“Vicky found oil on the stairs,” Azalea said, stepping closer. “It was slick enough to make anyone fall. If I hadn’t been careful, I could have…” Her hand instinctively brushed her stomach, and Federico’s face darkened.

He crossed the room in two long strides. “That only means one thing,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Someone knows you’re pregnant and is trying to make you lose the child.”

Azalea swallowed, her pulse racing. “Or it could mean the maids were clumsy.”

“No,” Federico said firmly. “Clumsy doesn’t leave oil in the perfect spot to make you fall. This was calculated.”

Azalea nodded slowly, though her mind was already spinning. If someone truly knew, then she was already in more danger than she thought. “I’ll have Vicky warn the maids to be careful,” she said finally. “If this was intentional, we can’t let them know we’re onto them. Not yet. It would make them more careful, harder to catch.”

Federico’s jaw tightened, but he nodded in agreement. “Fine. But I’m doubling the guards around you starting today.”

Azalea met his gaze, her expression cold. “Good. Because tonight, no one will ruin my plans.”

She turned toward the dressing table to prepare for the evening, but the tension in the room lingered, heavy and unspoken.

Somewhere in the palace, someone wanted her gone—and she would make sure they were exposed before they had a chance to strike again.

___

Mack pushed open the creaky door of the cottage, his jaw tight as his boots thudded against the wooden floor. Ophelia was seated in the armchair, legs crossed, sipping wine as though she had no care in the world.

“You called me here,” Mack said, his voice low, barely holding back his irritation. “What’s going on?”

Ophelia smiled lazily, setting her glass down on the side table. “Ah, Mack,” she said, her tone infuriatingly calm. “Always so impatient.”

“Spare me the games, Ophelia,” he snapped, stepping closer. “Tell me what you’ve been planning. And don’t waste my time with riddles.”

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Your precious Azalea is pregnant.”

The words hit Mack like a blow to the chest. He froze, then his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. Without thinking, he spun toward the wall and slammed his fist into it with a loud crack.

Ophelia’s laugh rang through the room, light and mocking. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I warned you this would happen. You let her stay with Federico, and now she’s carrying his child. What did you expect?”

Mack turned back toward her, his chest heaving with rage. “You think this is funny?” he growled.

“Yes,” Ophelia said smoothly, picking up her wine again. “Because you refused to listen to me when I told you to separate them. Now look at you, angry and helpless. This is what you get.”

Mack took a step closer, his face twisted with fury, but Ophelia didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, looking pleased with herself.

“Calm down,” she said lightly, waving a hand. “It’s not the end of the world. I already have a plan.”

Mack’s eyes narrowed. “What plan?”

Ophelia’s grin turned almost wicked. “I heard there’s going to be a victory banquet tonight. The perfect stage, the perfect audience. That’s when I’ll make my move.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about, Ophelia?”

“You’ll know when the time is right,” she said with a shrug, standing up and smoothing her dress. “For now, I’ll play the role of the gracious guest. I’ll congratulate Azalea, smile sweetly, and let her think she’s won.”

Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. “But when the moment comes, I’ll strike. And everything she holds dear will crumble.”

Mack stared at her, his rage simmering under the surface, but he said nothing. Deep down, he knew Ophelia wasn’t bluffing. Whatever she had planned for tonight, it was going to change everything.