CHAPTER 118: MALICE

The last thing Violet wanted to do was respond with a greeting as she stared at the woman in front of her, who looked like a harmless doe. Her eyes were brown, her body appeared frail—almost as if it would break with the slightest pull. Yet, both of them knew better; the woman was a werewolf, and appearances could be deceiving.

"I brought tea!" she continued, her tone light and cheerful. Violet, still standing at the door, felt an overwhelming urge to slam it in her face. Yet, a small, gnawing curiosity kept her rooted, wondering what this woman could possibly have to say.

After a moment’s hesitation, Violet stepped to the side, gesturing for the servant to come in, not surprised when Fiona followed closely behind the servant carrying the tea, stepping in with an almost triumphant look on her face.

"For a second there, I was convinced you were going to slam the door in my face!" Fiona said, making her way to the dining table where they had sat the night before.

The servant accompanying her bowed his head in acknowledgment but didn’t spare Violet another glance. He busied himself setting the pot of tea and cups on the table before leaving, unbothered by the tension in the room. Violet didn’t stop him.

Her gaze shifted to Fiona, who had already taken a seat and was gesturing to the chair opposite her, as if she owned the room and Violet were merely an intruder.

"I figured that since Cain isn’t around, we should hash out our differences," Fiona began softly. Violet reluctantly moved to sit, though she had no intention of touching the tea set before her.

"Right now, you’re Cain’s lover. There’s no reason why we can’t coexist," Fiona continued, her tone saccharine but laced with an undercurrent of malice. "As his future wife."

Violet’s eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what?"

"We both know it’s impossible for you to ever marry him. I haven’t dug too deeply into your family situation, but I heard you were born in the lower district," Fiona said, sighing dramatically as though genuinely pitiful. "It’s tragic, really."

Violet’s anger simmered as Fiona spoke, her hands pressing into her thighs to keep her face neutral. Fiona’s tone grew sharper, the sly smile at the edge of her lips widening.

"You can sleep with him, but you’ll never have him," she said. "And, judging by his scent on you, you haven’t even done that yet. His smell lingers faintly, but it’s not something that clings to your every pore." Fiona smirked at the flicker of confusion crossing Violet’s face.

"I don’t blame you," Fiona continued, waving her hand dismissively. "You’re not a werewolf, so you wouldn’t understand. Thinking about it..." She gestured vaguely toward Violet’s face. "Your mother must be a witch, right? I’m surprised you’ve stayed alive this long, given Cain’s hatred for witches. Nasty people, witches. Your mother must’ve been just as—"

Violet’s patience snapped. Her glare sharpened as she interrupted, her voice cutting through Fiona’s tirade like a blade.

"You come currying favor, yet you bring insults when you should be begging on your knees," she said, her words precise and venomous.

For a moment, Fiona faltered. The flash of anger in her eyes was brief, but Violet caught it.

"Cain’s future wife?" Violet sneered. "What kind of delusion are you living in? I may not know about werewolf practices or scents, but if you come back tonight, I can give you all the evidence you need to prove Cain’s been inside me—where it matters."

The bold declaration hung in the air like a slap. Fiona’s expression darkened, but she masked it quickly, reaching for the teapot. With deliberate care, she poured tea into both cups, taking great effort to hold each cup steady and avoid spilling a drop.

Only after setting the pot down did she speak again, her voice calm, almost unnervingly so. "I suppose I was wrong. You do have some fire in you." She lifted her cup to her lips, taking a measured sip before sliding the second cup toward Violet’s side of the table. "We can be rivals and still act civil toward each other."

Her smile was small, tight, and calculated. "We’ll let Cain decide. It’s the proper thing to do—"

"Honestly, I think you should be ashamed of yourself," Violet cut in, her voice rising with barely contained fury. "How can you keep chasing a man who clearly doesn’t want you? You throw yourself at him, and he rejects you time and time again. You might look good on the outside, but on the inside, you’re completely rotten."

Fiona’s grip on her teacup tightened. Her composed facade began to crack, anger clouding her eyes. She had poisoned Violet’s cup, intending to let the tea do her work silently. But now, Violet’s words felt like daggers, each one slicing through her carefully constructed poise.

"...You’re disgusting and shameless," Violet continued relentlessly. "You even have the audacity to call yourself his future wife when Cain would rather cut off his hand than hold yours."

Fiona’s fury boiled over. She slammed her teacup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the table. Her hand shot out, grabbing the cup Violet had begun to raise to her lips.

"I guess we really can’t get along," Fiona said, her voice forced into a semblance of calm. She yanked the cup away and set it back on the table, the smile on her face stiff and brittle.

Her mind raced. Killing Violet had been the plan but in a heartbeat she had changed her mind realizing that humiliating her—breaking her spirit beyond repair—would be far sweeter. Slowly, Fiona rose from her seat and moved to press the indicator on the wall, summoning a servant. She was confident that the only ones who would respond were loyal to her.

When she turned back, Violet had risen as well. The air between them crackled with tension, a palpable shift in the atmosphere that made Violet’s stomach churn. Something in Fiona’s demeanor had changed, her presence now suffocatingly oppressive.

Violet clenched her fists, her earlier bravado faltering as doubt crept in. She knew what werewolves were capable of. Her courage in speaking so boldly stemmed from the assumption that Fiona wouldn’t dare cross Cain. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

"I have nothing more to say to you. You should—" Violet began, her voice trembling slightly. But she didn’t get to finish her sentence.