Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 97 - 92: A Woman Scorned

Chapter 97: Chapter 92: A Woman Scorned

Rosaline took a shallow breath, her fingers trembling as she stared at the untouched porcelain cup in front of her. The weight of Edward’s gaze made her stomach twist with something far more terrifying than fear: certainty.

She had been careless.

Edward hummed quietly, as if plucking the thought straight from her mind. "No, my lady. This started when you made your claims and spread rumors throughout noble society." His voice was laced with amusement, but beneath it, there was something merciless. This was not a warning. This was a sentence.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, screaming at her to run, fight, or do something. "So, what is this?" she demanded, pressing her hands against the table’s surface to keep herself stable. "What did you—"

Edward tilted his head slightly, his brown eyes calm, unreadable. "Just something to make you feel free again."

The words struck like a slap.

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea rising like a wave. Her hand moved instinctively toward her abdomen, her breath caught in her throat.

Edward’s smirk was subtle but sharp enough to cut. "His Majesty values the truth above all else, Lady Rosaline. The deception you attempted could have had severe consequences—for you, your family, and the court. This... is simply a correction."

A correction.

The chill of realization spread through her, bone-deep and paralyzing.

Her breath hitched, her nails digging into her palm so hard she nearly broke the skin. "You can’t—"

"Oh, but I can," Edward murmured, his tone mild, almost indifferent. "And I have."

Her pulse roared in her ears. The walls of the receiving room seemed to close in, the opulence around her turning into a gilded cage.

No.

No, no, no.

"You’re lying," she hissed, voice shaking, but the words felt hollow. She knew better. The Emperor never bluffed.

Edward clasped his hands behind his back, watching her unravel like a man observing a predictable outcome. "His Majesty, in his endless mercy, has ensured that you will be well cared for. The royal medics are on standby to assist with your recovery."

Her pulse faltered.

Recovery.

The word clanged in her skull like a death knell, its mockery suffocating.

Her eyes darted to Edward’s face, desperate for any sign of deception, but all she found was cold certainty. He was enjoying this.

Then his gaze flickered downward—just briefly, just enough.

And Rosaline knew.

The breath left her lungs in a sharp, painful exhale.

A tremor ran through her fingers as she gripped the table, her nails scraping against the polished wood. The nausea surged, violent and relentless, and for a brief moment, she thought she would be sick.

"No," she whispered, the word barely more than a breath. Her throat tightened, her vision tunneling. No, this isn’t fair—

Edward let out a low chuckle, devoid of warmth. "Fair?" He repeated the word as if it were a joke. "My lady, fairness would have meant His Majesty exposing your deception to the entire court. Fairness would have been your name dragged through the mud, your family stripped of its status, your so-called allies abandoning you one by one the moment they realized what a liability you had become."

She trembled, the words slicing into her like a blade.

She had thought she was untouchable. Had believed that her time in the Emperor’s bed gave her leverage, that he might see her as something more than a passing dalliance. But Damian was not a man to be captured, and she had just learned what happened to those who tried.

Her vision blurred.

This was supposed to be her moment. She was meant to have power. She had fought for it and endured humiliation and dismissal at court just to stand beside him. She had poured every ounce of herself into being useful, desirable, irreplaceable.

And yet—

He had thrown her away like nothing.

She had miscalculated.

And now, the price was being collected.

Edward leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a whisper, his breath warm against her ear. "You will go home, my lady. You will recover. And then you will count yourself fortunate that His Majesty has granted you the chance to live without consequence."

The cold finality in his tone sent a shudder through her.

Rosaline clenched her jaw so tightly that her teeth ached, forcing herself to remain upright. Her nails had bitten into her palm so deeply she had drawn blood.

She would not collapse.

She would not break.

"And what if I refuse?" she rasped, though she already knew the answer.

Edward’s smile was polite. Almost kind. "Then I suppose the royal medics will have to take additional precautions to ensure your health."

Her breath caught.

Additional measures.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she forced herself to straighten, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat. She would not let them see her weakness.

Her entire world had just been ripped away from her. But she would not let them have her dignity.

Slowly, she exhaled. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle but controlled. "Tell His Majesty... that I understand his mercy."

Edward’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze. "A wise choice."

Rosaline did not speak as she rose, her posture rigid with contained fury. She did not look at the teacup or Edward’s ever-present smirk, but inside, her mind boiled.

She had lost.

Completely.

And the worst part?

She had never even stood a chance.

Her hands curled into fists as she stepped toward the door. The humiliation burned deep, an unrelenting fire that she refused to let consume her. Instead, she let it fuel her.

Edward may have thought she was broken, but she was not finished.

She had lost this battle, but wars were not won in a single move.

She forced herself to remain calm, to listen. That was the key to survival.

Her mistake had been acting too soon, assuming that being in the Emperor’s bed had given her power. But she had learned a valuable lesson from this failure:

Damian did not love her.

But he did love something.

Or rather, someone.

The rumors had been swirling, whispers passing through noble circles. The Emperor, as untouchable as he was, had never been swayed by anyone before. But recently, there had been a shift. He had paid close attention to one man, made small but significant gestures, had been protective.

It had sparked speculation.

Gabriel von Jaunez.

Rosaline’s lips pressed together as she walked toward the car waiting outside.

So, that’s what Damian loves?

Fine.

She would ruin him.