Chapter 4 The Time Bomb Arrives
The chair jammed under the handle shrieked a long, agonizing grind before the door slammed open.
A walking pink nightmare in layered silk burst into the room.
Her blonde hair was a disaster, stuck to her cheeks by streaks of wet mascara.
Behind her, two maids trailed like kicked dogs, faces pale as ghosts.
Gisella von Mercer. The main villain. The spoiled brat who was destined to make sure I lost my head in six months.
"Ilse!! Where the hell have you been?! Why was the door blocked?!"
She didn't wait for an answer. She stomped across the carpet, grabbed a porcelain vase off the side table, and CRASH. Shards of ceramic and stagnant water sprayed everywhere. I jumped back, not out of fear, but because the noise was headache-inducing.
I stared at her. In the novel, she was supposed to be a cold-blooded manipulator. A political monster. But looking at her now? She wasn't scary. She was just... loud. Snotty nose, red eyes, and a tantrum level that would make a toddler blush.
My professional brain didn't freak out. I'd dealt with CEOs who screamed like this over a stock dip. This wasn't a crisis, it was just a high maintenance client.
"Gisella," I said, keeping my voice low. "Sit down. Breathe."
"Breathe?! I can't breathe, Ilse! My chest is going to explode!"
She flopped onto the velvet sofa, her skirts puffing out like a giant, angry cupcake. She started wailing, shredding her handkerchief to pieces. I waved the maids away. They practically sprinted out. I locked the door again without the chair this time and sat down across from her.
"What did Didier did?" I asked.
She looked up, eyes puffy with rage. "That guy... he's impossible! He went to the market to check on the festival prep. And you know what I saw? I followed him, Ilse. I saw him get off his horse just to help that... that farm girl!"
"Farm girl?" I frowned. My brain snagged the name instantly. Lysandra. The main character.
"Yes! That fake saint from the temple!" She slammed her fist against the sofa arm.
"Her apple basket fell, and Didier, the great Prince Didier, knelt in the dirt to pick them up! He smiled at her! He's never smiled at me like that, and we've been engaged for two years!"
She buried her face in her hands. "My pride... everyone in the market saw! The merchants, the peasants... they were whispering about me. My reputation as the future Empress is ruined!"
I leaned back, watching the show. From my perspective, Didier's move was actually brilliant, populist, humble, "man of the people." It's a classic image campaign. But for Gisella? It's a nightmare. The original Ilse would've fueled this fire, pushing her to start a fight.
"So," I said, watching her sob. "Because the Prince smiled at someone else in public, you decided to come into my room, break my property, and ruin your makeup?"
Gisella stopped mid-sob. She stared at me like I'd just spoken in tongues. "Ilse? You... why are you talking like that? Usually, you're the first one screaming for blood when Didier ignores me! Why are you mocking me?"
I cleared my throat. Gotta be careful. Can't sound too much like a corporate consultant.
"I'm not mocking you, Gisella. I'm calculating the risk." I rested my chin on my hand, looking her dead in the eye. "Think about it. If you throw a tantrum, attack Lysandra, or cause a scene, who looks like the villain? You. And who gets to play the pure, tragic victim? That temple girl."
Gisella froze. Her mouth hung open. She was actually trying to process logic.
"If you act out now, you give Prince Didier an excuse to break the engagement. He'll say you're 'unfit' to be Empress," I leaned in, hitting the pressure point. "We have to play this smart. No amateur, physical stunts. We need to be subtle."
She stared at her shredded handkerchief, then back at me. Silence stretched out. I thought I'd actually done it, defused the bomb with a few lines of communication tricks.
But then, the sadness vanished. The tears dried up. Her eyes went cold, sharper, darker, twisted. She leaned forward across the table. A crooked, insane smile spread across her red lips.
"You're right, Ilse. A scene in public is too risky. My reputation would suffer."
She grabbed my wrists. Her grip was tight, her long nails dug into my skin, biting hard.
"We can't let Didier have a reason to leave me. So the only way is to get rid of the problem entirely, quietly," she whispered, her eyes glowing with genuine madness.
"Ilse! Contact your shady friends in the underground market. Get the strongest poison you can find, the kind that leaves no trace. We're getting rid of that farm girl tomorrow morning before she sees Didier again!"
My lungs locked up.
All my strategy, all my corporate damage control, it all evaporated. I wasn't just managing a client. I was an accomplice to a murder plot. My heart was slamming against my ribs.
I hadn't calmed her down. I'd just made her think I was on board with the hit.