Chapter 62 The Dinner Table War
The clinking of forks against ceramic plates sounded like weapons of war. Dinner at the Mercer estate felt more like a tribunal. The dining room was huge and luxurious, but tonight, the air was suffocating.
Viscount Mercer, Gisella's father, slammed his hand on the table. A plate in front of him skidded off and hit the floor with a loud crack. His face was beet red, veins bulging on his neck.
"Are you insane, Gisella?!" he roared. His voice echoed, making the servants in the corner shrink down. "Do you want us all executed? Do you want our heads displayed on the city gates?!"
Her mother, who had been sobbing quietly, chimed in. "Gisella, do you have any idea what you've done? The King has already warned us! Even the Empress can't protect us if you keep acting like you're possessed!"
Gisella didn't say a word. She just kept her head down, stirring her cold soup. She didn't fight back. She just took the verbal beating. Sitting next to her, I could barely breathe. I wanted to bolt from the room.
I looked at the situation. This wasn't just about a broken engagement.
The Mercers were cornered. They weren't just scared of losing their noble standing; they were scared of what would happen if they lost their "protector" in the palace.
They were backed into a corner, and Gisella was their ticking time bomb.
"Answer me, Gisella!" her father went on, getting more unhinged. "Do you even think?! We could be finished overnight!"
Gisella finally looked up. Her eyes were hollow. "I just wanted to be free, Father. Is that wrong?"
"Free?" her father laughed bitterly, his voice raspy. "Your freedom costs us all our lives!"
After the argument spiraled out of control, her parents stormed out, simmering with rage. Gisella sat there, slumped. She looked at me.
"Isle," her voice was raspy. "Go to my room first. I... I still have things to discuss with Mom and Dad. Don't disturb me yet."
I just nodded. "Fine, Gisella."
I walked to her room, but my mind was racing. Something was off. Her parents' fear wasn't just about status it was about being exposed. When I got to her room, I couldn't stop my curiosity. I looked at her desk. The middle drawer wasn't locked.
I opened it slowly. It was a mess. Bills, letters, and... a stack of documents tied with a black ribbon.
I untied the ribbon and glanced through them. I froze.
This wasn't ordinary bookkeeping.
These numbers... this was proof of bribery.
Proof of royal tax embezzlement. I saw the Mercer name, and right next to it was the Varannes name, my family name.
It was all there, detailed, for the last year.
Money funneling into private pockets, profits from manipulating grain distribution and harbor taxes, and other dirty schemes.
I almost collapsed to the floor.
Shit.
The Mercers and the Varannes... they weren't just in some garden-variety scandal; they were involved in high-level corruption. If these documents leaked, it wouldn't just be Gisella getting beheaded—it would be me too. Me, stuck in Isle de Varannes' body, known as her "best friend."
My hands were shaking, clutching the papers. What was I supposed to do? If I stay silent, I'm dead. If I speak up, I'm dead faster.
Amazing....