Chapter 92 A Rotten Scheme Over Tea
Didier sat in his velvet chair. In his hand, a crystal glass filled with red wine swirled slowly. The thick liquid danced, catching the flicker of the dim candlelight. He sipped it lazily. Calm. Too calm.
His mind raced, piecing together the events into a puzzle he had now solved. Gisella Mercer going to see another man? Julian Vance? To anyone else, it might be a sign of love. But to Didier? It was a pathetic cry for help.
"Of course," he murmured. His voice was smooth, almost like a snake's hiss.
He smiled. Gisella must feel neglected. She saw Didier growing closer to Lysandra, panicked, and finally sought an escape to make Didier jealous.
The logic was flawless. Women were troublesome creatures, but oh-so-easy to predict.
If they were angry, they would do something stupid just to make the man they loved turn his head.
"How foolish," he mocked. But his heart was satisfied. Gisella was apparently obsessed with him to that extent.
Didier stood up. His silk robe draped elegantly over his shoulders. He strode toward the door, then summoned his personal servant with a single rap of his knuckles against the wood.
"Send an invitation to the Mercer estate," he commanded without turning back. "Invite Gisella for tea at the palace tomorrow afternoon. Make sure she comes."
He had already prepared the perfect script. A strategy to secure his position. Tomorrow, as the afternoon sun illuminated the palace terrace, he would summon Gisella and discuss everything "maturely."
In his head, the plan was meticulous.
He would give Gisella what she wanted: marriage. The status of the Empress. The seat every noblewoman craved. Gisella could have the title, the luxury, and the right to stand beside him at official imperial events. But that was it. Just that.
The rest? His heart remained Lysandra's.
Didier imagined Gisella's face when he laid out his rules.
He would not let Gisella touch his personal space.
On paper, they were husband and wife. But in reality?
Gisella was just a trophy who needed to know her place.
She would be the Empress, but Lysandra would be the one holding the influence behind the throne.
Lysandra was the Empress of his heart; Gisella was the Empress of formality.
He felt like a chess player who had just spotted a gap in the opponent's defense. Didier didn't consider this betrayal. It was a solution. He even felt generous for still marrying Gisella despite his heart not being in it.
"She should be grateful," Didier muttered, staring into the mirror. His handsome face stared back, full of disgusting self-confidence. "If she knows her position, she will be safe. If she continues to act out with other men... well, perhaps she needs to learn a little discipline."
Tomorrow, he would settle everything. He would make Gisella understand that in this game, she was merely a pawn lucky enough to sit near the king, even though the king never had the intention of even glancing her way.
Didier was ready. And he was certain Gisella would have no choice. After all, who could refuse an offer to become Empress? Gisella would surely melt the moment she heard the proposal, regardless of the cruel terms that came with it.
The plan was locked. Now, he only had to wait for tomorrow afternoon to play it out.