CHAPTER 120: RUIN

"Make sure that he isn’t seen!" Fiona ordered, her voice sharp and commanding. She watched as the two servants expertly wrapped Viole’s unconscious body in the bed’s sheets, their movements quick and methodical. They replaced the sheets with new ones, making the bed look untouched before hoisting Viole’s limp form onto one of their shoulders.

The door clicked shut behind them as they left, leaving Fiona alone in the room.

Despite her composed exterior, Fiona’s heart was racing. Each beat hammered against her ribs, a stark reminder of the danger she was courting. If Cain found out what she’d done, she would be dead before she could plead her case. Not even her father’s influence would be enough to save her.

Fiona pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed a number. When the call connected, she didn’t bother with pleasantries. "Where is Cain?" she demanded, her voice laced with urgency.

The response she received made her scowl. "Stay close to him!" she snapped, raising her voice. "I don’t care what you have to do, just don’t let him out of your sight!"

She ended the call abruptly, her attention snapping back to the room. The faintest traces of Viole’s scent lingered in the air, mingling with the poison she had slipped into the tea. It was an incriminating combination, one that could unravel her plans if Cain’s keen senses picked up on it.

Without wasting a second, Fiona dialed another number, issuing precise instructions to a trusted cleaner. The team she contacted wasn’t part of Cain’s household staff—she couldn’t risk that—but they were reliable and discreet, thanks to her connections among the guards.

By the time the cleaners arrived, Fiona had already removed the poisoned cup, cradling it carefully as she exited the room. She handed it off to a subordinate with strict orders for its disposal, her thoughts racing as she planned her next moves.

She stood in the corridor, waiting as the cleaners worked inside. Every passing second felt like an eternity, her mind spinning with scenarios of what could go wrong. She couldn’t shake the image of Cain returning early, his piercing eyes demanding answers she wasn’t prepared to give.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona forced herself to focus. When the cleaners finally emerged, the room smelled fresh and neutral, devoid of any evidence of her involvement.

Back in her quarters, Fiona stepped into the bathroom, the hot water cascading over her body as she scrubbed her skin vigorously. She was trying to wash away more than just the physical remnants of her actions—the lingering scent of fear and guilt clung to her like a second skin.

As steam filled the room, she rehearsed her story aloud. "I went to your room, and I asked to see you, but he didn’t let me in," she murmured, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty.

She leaned back in the tub, closing her eyes as she tried to regulate her breathing. Her father’s punishments loomed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the stakes she was playing for.

"Is it so wrong to want Cain all to myself?" she whispered, her tone a mixture of anguish and defiance. "How can I watch him be with someone else, especially a man? What have I done that a woman in love wouldn’t do?"

Her voice trailed off, the weight of her justifications pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, her expression was carefully neutral, her features schooled into an unshakable mask of composure. She selected a floral pink dress, its soft hues contrasting sharply with the cold calculation in her eyes. Jewelry adorned her neck and ears, accentuating her beauty and giving her an air of innocence she no longer possessed.

She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection. Every detail had to be perfect; there could be no room for error. The urge to call the servants who had taken Viole and demand an update gnawed at her, but she resisted. Knowing less was safer than knowing too much.

Minutes dragged by in oppressive silence, her nerves fraying with each tick of the clock. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She rose, smoothing her dress as she prepared to leave her quarters.

If Cain returned early, she needed witnesses to vouch for her whereabouts. It was better to be seen and heard, to establish her alibi among the mansion’s staff.

Her thoughts turned to Ravon, her father’s pawn. His infatuation with her could prove useful. A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she descended the stairs, her every step measured and graceful.

********************

The sudden, sharp pain in her arm was the first thing that pulled Violet back to consciousness. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, the acrid stench of manure and damp straw assaulting her senses.

She tried to move, only to realize her hands were bound tightly behind her back, her legs similarly restrained. Panic set in as she glanced around, her surroundings dimly lit and unfamiliar.

’The stables,’ she realized, her heart sinking.

The muffled sounds of horses shifting in their stalls filled the air, mingling with her own labored breathing. She struggled against her bindings, desperation giving her strength, but the knots held firm.

Her first instinct was to scream, to call for help, but as soon as she opened her mouth, a figure stepped into view.

One of the servants loomed over her, a cruel smirk twisting his features. A glinting blade rested casually in his hand, its sharp edge catching the dim light.

"I thought I heard shuffling," he said, his tone mocking as he approached.

"Ple-please," Violet began, her voice trembling, but he cut her off with a harsh slap that left her cheek stinging.

"Quiet," he growled, tearing a strip of fabric from her shirt. He forced it into her mouth, tying it tightly around her head to gag her.

"You’re lucky Howie is the gentler one," he sneered, his expression darkening. "But we don’t have time to play around. The mad Lord will be back by nightfall, and we’ve only got a few hours to enjoy ourselves."

Violet whimpered, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face. The servant’s gaze roamed over her, his leering eyes making her feel exposed and vulnerable.

"You’ve got a pretty face," he remarked, his tone laced with malice. "That’ll make it all the more satisfying to ruin."

He backed away, leaving the stall, but his chilling words lingered in the air. Violet’s breaths came in ragged gasps as she struggled against her bindings, the rough rope digging into her skin.

Her mind raced, searching for a way out, but there was none. The fear in her chest grew with each passing second, her body shaking as the realization of her helplessness set in.

The look in the servant’s eyes haunted her—a look of pure, sadistic pleasure.

And she knew, without a doubt, that her nightmare was far from over.