Chapter 181: Revealing Herself To Her Father
Hadrian, his clothes torn to shreds, dignity stripped bare, and life barely clinging to him, stared at her with eyes still shimmering faintly with pride.
Lorraine could not suppress the flicker of surprise. Her father, her once mighty father, still clung to that hollow pride, as if it were a weapon capable of fending off his downfall. Was he that stupid? Or was pride so deeply woven into his blood that surrender was inconceivable?
She studied him closely.
In that broken, pitiful man before her, the dark desire she had carried, the desperate yearning for him to see her, to recognize her as worthy, had vanished like smoke in the wind.
It was almost laughable, really. Just hours ago... just yesterday, she would have given anything to hear him speak her name, even once, as a faint acknowledgment that she was something more than a mistake, more than a blemish upon his legacy.
But now?
Was it the presence of the man standing firmly behind her: her husband, her Leroy... unwavering, like a towering oak against the storm? Or was it the quiet, undeniable truth that Leroy had loved her all along, through her worst and best, through despair and triumph?
Her heart had settled, finding in his love the only thing that ever truly mattered. Her father’s recognition, once so sought after, meant nothing now.
Her voice was steady, cold.
"Your bosom friend isn’t coming to save you," she said. A slow smile curved her lips, cruel in its certainty. "Guess what?" Her words lingered in the thick air before she continued, "I got her. The one you kept hidden. Aralyn."
Hadrian’s eyes widened for a moment, a flicker of disbelief, but pride was not so easily discarded.
His lips trembled, betraying his weakening composure, though he masked it with feigned defiance. "So, what if you got the past King’s mistress?" His voice dripped with venom, laced with contempt, as bitter laughter began to bubble from deep within his chest.
"The Dowager doesn’t want her," he added, the tone sharpening into cruel mockery. "Why aren’t you asking your all-seeing sister about all of this?" His words twisted, deliberate. "Divina? Damed-ina? Owl? Crow? Seagull? What is her name?"
Each syllable was a dagger, aimed to unsettle, to provoke.
The words hung in the air like a dark challenge, heavy and suffocating.
Lorraine’s heartbeat slowed, tension coiling tighter around her ribs, squeezing her breath.
The past King’s mistress... What was she doing there, in their mansion, as her mother’s lady-in-waiting?
If the Dowager didn’t want her... Then what else did she want from her?
Hadrian’s laughter echoed through the dungeon’s stone walls: bitter, hollow, and cracked, not of triumph, but of despair.
Because, deep down, they both knew the devastating truth: the tide had irrevocably turned.
Lorraine didn’t allow the swirl of suspicion to consume her just yet. She placed her questions, her suspicions, on the back burner. Answers had a way of coming to her, no matter how deeply they were buried.
Her eyes moved to the men in black standing silently around her, their expressions unreadable but attentive. They had heard every word. They would investigate. The truth... Surely, it would surface.
She needed to know if this was the only secret her father guarded.
"The Dowager wants her, though," Lorraine said, her voice smooth and measured, as if unveiling a well-played card. "She tried to negotiate with me."
Hadrian’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—arrogance, maybe... or fear.
A sly smirk curled at the corner of his lips.
"Of course... She would want to find where the..."
He swallowed the rest, his pride too intact to spill every morsel of the game he played.
Lorraine clenched her jaw, her resolve hardening. Hadrian was no ordinary man. Unlike others who crumbled under pressure, who let their secrets spill like a broken dam... This man was built of steel. Even threats of Elyse hadn’t cracked him.
And that meant... there was only one way forward.
Her voice cut through the silence, calm, deliberate, yet laced with icy purpose.
"Let’s not talk about the Dowager now," she said. "Let’s talk about us, Hadrian."
Her eyes bore into his, unyielding, sharp as a blade. "I’ve left you in your thoughts long enough. You’ve reasoned with my men. You’ve reasoned with yourself. You would have reasoned with your ancestors... and all the gods in the heavens. So... why haven’t you figured out who I am?"
The question hung between them, heavy, final—like the toll of a death knell.
Because the answer, when it came, would shatter more than his pride. It would unravel everything he thought he knew about power, legacy, and blood.
Lorraine moved with measured grace, pulling a small stool and seating herself directly in front of him. Comfortable, calculated.
"Since I’ve gotten to know you rather well these past days," she began, her tone dripping with mock generosity, "I’ll be gracious and tell you something others don’t know, Hadrian..."
Her hood and the mask still shrouded her face, leaving only her eyes visible. But Hadrian could feel it—the subtle smirk curling her lips, the unspoken promise that nothing she revealed would be out of mercy.
No... she wouldn’t share a secret with someone she planned to destroy. He knew because that was what anyone with a functioning brain would do. That was what she would do.
And as much as he hated to admit it, the man who carried himself as the patriarch of House Arvand could not help but admire her.
Clever. Cruel. Calculating.
A flicker of fear danced across his face. His body trembled for the briefest of moments. But still, he refused to look away. Not to a nobody. Not to a woman.
Not to her.
He wouldn’t show weakness—not even to her.
Leroy stood silently behind Lorraine, his eyes locked on the unfolding scene. Hadrian’s words weighed heavily on him. That frail woman, now living in their house, must know something... something that belonged to the previous emperor.
What exactly, he had no idea. But for now, his attention was on his wife.
Lorraine exhaled softly, and with deliberate slowness, she lowered her hood. "The Swan Divina is not my sister," she said. "I have no sisters. I only have a brother..."
Hadrian’s chest constricted. His heart thundered like a war drum, louder and louder, until it seemed to fill the entire room.
She was going to reveal herself.
A part of him screamed to close his eyes. To refuse to see her face, if only to delay the inevitable. But curiosity, that insatiable curse that had carried him through every treacherous court intrigue and whispered secret, overtook him. He had survived this long by seeking the knowledge he had no business knowing.
And now... it was coming to him.
His eyes settled on that hair—dull golden curls, familiar beyond doubt. And the emerald pin glittering faintly in the torchlight, unmistakable.
His gaze shifted briefly to Leroy, standing impassive and silent, a pillar of unyielding strength. "She’s your mistress?" His voice was low, bitter, and laced with incredulity.
Leroy’s lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing.
Lorraine supported her forehead in her palm, exasperated. Seriously?
Hadrian scoffed, his tone venomous. "You declared so loudly that you loved that mongrel, and yet... here you are. With a mistress."
Lorraine fought the urge to wrench his skull open and examine whatever dark place in it refused to acknowledge the truth.
She inhaled deeply, her voice steady now, carrying the weight of undeniable justice. "You killed my mother, Hadrian. And that is why you are here."
Slowly, deliberately, she removed the mask that had concealed half of her face.
Hadrian’s eyes landed on her face—graceful, yet fierce. The flickering torchlight revealed every contour, every shadow etched by vengeance. And around her mouth, the faintest trace of something terrifying: purpose.
"Lorraine?" His voice cracked, disbelief choking every syllable.
This can’t be... How could it be... her?
The silence that followed was absolute. Heavy with inevitability.
Because now, nothing could be undone.