CHAPTER 110: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TEN

The high noon sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of the Thompson estate’s grand dining hall. The long mahogany table was set with the finest silver and porcelain, laden with roasted venison, steamed vegetables, and fresh fruits.

It was a rare occasion. The entire family—Beatrice, Derek, Marissa, Carlos, and Ashlyn—was gathered for lunch.

Beatrice, the Dowager Duchess, sat at the head of the table. She looked frail but happy to have her family around her. She set down her crystal goblet and turned her warm gaze toward Marissa.

"How is Ryan doing lately, my dear?" she asked, her voice filled with the longing of a great-grandmother missing her favorite child.

Marissa, seated to Derek’s right, wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin. She smiled, a genuine, soft expression reserved for mentions of the boy. "He is well, Grandmother. The northern air suits him. He writes that his swordsmanship is improving every day."

Beatrice nodded, pleased. "When next will you go to him again?"

"Next week," Marissa replied promptly. "I promised him I would visit often."

"Good, good," Beatrice said, nodding her head. "I need to give you something to give him. A small charm for protection. I had it blessed at the temple yesterday."

"That is not a problem, Grandmother," Marissa replied respectfully. "I certainly will take it to him."

The conversation about Ryan seemed to remind Beatrice of the future of the Thompson line. Her smile tightened slightly as she turned her gaze to the man sitting at the other end of the table.

"And you, Derek," she said, her tone shifting from grandmotherly warmth to scolding. "When will you bring another great-grandchild for me to hold?"

The table went silent. The servants stopped moving for a split second.

Derek did not flinch. He pretended not to hear her. He focused entirely on the piece of venison on his plate, cutting it with calm precision. He put the fork in his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth.

He felt a gaze on him. He looked up and caught Marissa looking at him.

For a second, they were back in the bathroom, water splashing, hearts pounding. The memory of her wet nightgown, of his loss of control, flashed in his mind. Marissa’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly averted her gaze, staring intently at her water glass. Derek felt his ears turning pink. He looked back at his plate, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Just then, a sharp sound broke the tension.

Clatter.

Ashlyn, who was sitting opposite Marissa, dropped her fork. She brought a hand to her mouth, her face twisting in a grimace. She let out a small, suppressed gagging sound.

"Ugh," she whispered, pushing her plate away.

Marissa’s fork hung in the air, halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed instantly. She looked at Ashlyn—at the pale face, the dramatic hand gesture, the timing.

"What is she up to now?" Marissa thought, her mind racing. "Is she sick? Or is this another performance?"

Beatrice leaned forward, concern etched on her face. "Ashlyn, what is it? Are you feeling unwell? Is the meat not to your liking?"

Carlos, who had been eating silently with a smug look on his face all lunch, suddenly beamed. He dropped his napkin on the table and stood up, puffing out his chest. He looked at his brother, then at Marissa, and finally addressed the Dowager.

"Grandmother," he announced, his voice loud and filled with pride. "It is not the meat."

He reached out and took Ashlyn’s hand, pulling her slightly closer.

"By your blessings, and that of our ancestors," Carlos declared, "Ashlyn is with child."

The announcement hung in the air for a second.

Ashlyn lowered her hand from her mouth and smiled. It was a shy, modest smile, perfect for a young mother-to-be.

"Soon," Carlos continued, looking directly at Derek with a challenging glint in his eyes, "we will have another addition to the family."

Beatrice’s face lit up with pure joy. She clapped her hands together. "Really? Ashlyn is pregnant?"

Carlos sat back down and placed a possessive hand on Ashlyn’s flat stomach. "Yes. The doctor confirmed it yesterday."

"I am so happy!" Beatrice exclaimed. "The Thompson line is growing! This is wonderful news!"

Derek looked at his brother. He saw the arrogance in Carlos’s eyes. He felt a twinge of annoyance, not because he wanted a child, but because he knew Carlos would use this child as a weapon. However, he kept his face neutral. "Congratulations," he said simply, taking a sip of wine.

Marissa watched the scene unfold. She saw the way Carlos preened. She saw the way Ashlyn looked down modestly. It was all too perfect.

"So that is her shield," Marissa thought coldly. "A child. In this house, a pregnant woman is untouchable. Clever, Ashlyn. Very clever."

Marissa put on her mask of the caring sister-in-law. She spoke up, her voice warm.

"Ashlyn," she said. "Now that you are pregnant, you must really take care of yourself. The early months are fragile." She turned to the servant behind her. "I will summon the Royal Physician immediately. He is the best. He can prepare medicines to protect the growing life in you."

It was a test. Marissa wanted her own doctor to verify the pregnancy and check the timeline.

Beatrice nodded in agreement. "Yes. Marissa is so considerate. The Royal Physician is best."

Ashlyn’s head snapped up. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, gone in an instant. She couldn’t let Marissa’s doctor near her. He might report back to Marissa about every detail.

"I appreciate my sister’s kindness," Ashlyn said quickly, squeezing Carlos’s hand. "But I am shy with strangers. I have already arranged for a doctor I trust. Dr. Aris. He will be giving me check-ups every three days. He knows my body best."

She turned to Beatrice, her eyes pleading.

"Grandmother," she said softy. "To be honest, I feel joy, but also so much anxiety. This is my first pregnancy. I am scared."

"Oh, my poor child," Beatrice cooed. "There is no need to be scared."

"Lately," Ashlyn continued, her voice trembling slightly, "I have no appetite. The kitchen food makes me nauseous. But... I find myself craving something very specific."

She looked across the table at Marissa.

"I crave soup," Ashlyn said. "But not just any soup. I remember when we were still growing, before... before everything... Marissa once made a vegetable soup. It was so simple, but so comforting."

Beatrice looked amused. "Marissa can cook? The Grand Duchess?"

Ashlyn nodded vigorously. "Yes. She is very talented."

She looked at Marissa with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Grandmother," Ashlyn said, "I feel that if I could just have that soup, personally made by my sister, my appetite would return. It would be good for the baby."

The trap snapped shut.

Marissa saw it immediately. It was clumsy, but effective. Ashlyn was asking the head of the household, the Grand Duchess, to cook for her like a servant. It was a humiliation disguised as a pregnant woman’s craving.

But it was more dangerous than that.

"If I cook for her," Marissa thought, her mind analyzing the threat, "and she gets a stomach ache, or she bleeds, or—god forbid—she loses the child... who will be blamed? The cook. Me."

It was a setup. If anything went wrong with the pregnancy, Ashlyn now had a scapegoat.

Marissa looked at Beatrice. The Dowager was looking at her expectantly. To refuse a pregnant woman’s craving, especially concerning the heir, would look petty and cruel.

Marissa smiled. It was a bright, flawless smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Rest assured, Grandmother," Marissa said, her voice smooth as silk. "Being in charge of the household, and Ashlyn being my dear sister, I have a double responsibility."

She looked directly at Ashlyn.

"I will ensure both mother and child are safe," she promised, the words carrying a double meaning. I will watch you.

Ashlyn smiled back, a look of victory on her face. "Then I will trouble you, sister, to personally prepare the soup for me."

"Don’t worry, Ashlyn," Marissa said sweetly. She stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "Just focus on resting. I will handle... everything."