Chapter 228: A glimpse of the past 3
Forty-one years ago
I stand in the corner of the lavish sitting room, my hands clutched tightly behind my back, the ache in my shoulders a dull reminder of how long I’ve held this posture. Exhaustion weighs heavy on me—not just from today, but from months, perhaps even years, of moments like this. Endless confrontations, scoldings, and accusations that seem to play on repeat.
The air crackles with tension, thick and suffocating. Sunlight streams through the tall, arched windows, casting long, golden beams across the polished marble floors. The delicate scent of jasmine tea lingers in the air, but even that soothing aroma does little to calm the storm brewing before me.
"What is this?!" Concubine Danielle’s shrill voice slices through the silence like a whip. She slams a newspaper onto the mahogany table with such force that the porcelain tea set rattles precariously. Her perfectly manicured finger jabs at the bold headline splashed across the front page.
"Princess Mirelle Caught at Local Bar Again—What Was She Really Doing There?"
Her face is contorted in fury, auburn curls shaking as she glares across the room. Her brown eyes, usually so calculating and cold, are now wild with frustration.
Mirelle, seated elegantly across from her, seems utterly unfazed. She leans back in her chair, her long raven-black hair cascading over one shoulder, as she lifts a delicate porcelain cup to her lips. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of tea, her expression a perfect mask of nonchalance. If I hadn’t known better, I’d never suspect the burning resentment that simmers beneath that calm exterior. But I do know better.
Mirelle has perfected that look—the impassive, detached face of a young woman who long ago decided that caring wasn’t worth the pain.
"I don’t understand what the big deal is, Mother," Mirelle replies smoothly, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. Her green eyes, sharp and unflinching, meet Danielle’s blazing gaze with a calm defiance that only infuriates the concubine more.
Danielle’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, her fists clenched at her sides. "You’re a child!" she screams, the pitch of her voice rising. "A child! And it’s unladylike! Do you have any idea how this looks? How it reflects on me?!"
The room feels stifling, the tension nearly unbearable. I hold my breath, knowing that this won’t end quietly.