CHAPTER 145: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE

The woman was moving with a purpose. She cut through the crowd like a ship cutting through water. The crowd parted for her.

She was beautiful. Stunningly so. She wore a dress of crimson silk that was cut low, daringly so for the court. Ruby necklaces dripped from her throat like drops of blood. Her hair was piled low in an intricate style, adorned with gold pins.

She stopped right in front of Marissa’s table.

She didn’t bow. She didn’t curtsy. She stood there, looking down at Marissa with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.

She snapped her own fan open. It was red, matching her dress.

"Duchess Marissa," the woman said. Her voice was sultry, low, and confident. It was the voice of a woman who knew she held power.

"You are sitting all alone," the woman noted, tilting her head. "You aren’t bored, are you?"

Marissa looked up. She studied the woman’s face. The high cheekbones. The cruel, beautiful eyes. The way she held herself with the arrogance of royalty, even though she wore no crown.

Marissa knew her.

She hadn’t met her in this life yet, but she knew the face from the reports, from the whispers, and from her memories of the past life.

This was Lady Jane.

She was not just a noblewoman. She was Prince Liam’s secret mistress. His favorite. The woman who whispered in the ear of the future King. She was to Liam what Senna had tried to be for Derek, but infinitely more dangerous, because Lady Jane was smart, and she was cunning.

Marissa closed her fan slowly. She sat up straighter.

"Lady Jane," Marissa whispered calmly, acknowledging the threat.

The lovestruck Lady Jane who was willing to do anything to please the prince.

She smirked, remembering who this woman really was.

She looked at the woman standing before her. Lady Jane was a vision of ambition wrapped in red silk. Her father, Lord Greyson—the practical elder who had argued in the throne room—was a man who saw his daughter not as a child, but as a chess piece. He intended to use her beauty and her ruthless intelligence to raise his status, to climb the ladder of power until he was standing next to the throne itself. Liam was really good in making sure his relationship with Jane was well hidden, making him appear as a devoted and loyal husband, a stark contrast to what Derek pretends to be—a skiver.

Marissa’s memory, sharp and cold from her previous life, began to unspool the dark history that had not yet happened.

"In my previous life," Marissa thought, her gaze dissecting Jane’s perfect, painted smile, "Liam’s wife, the current Crown Princess Dahlia, died suddenly. It was a shock to the kingdom. Some whispered it was a strange, wasting illness. Others, more brave, whispered of assassination. And some said she took her own life in despair."

Marissa’s grip on her fan tightened.

"But the reason for the Princess’s death was never clear to the people. It was a secret buried in the palace walls. And then... in less than a week... Prince Liam openly married his ’secret’ mistress, Jane. And just like that, she became the Crown Princess. She took the dead woman’s place before the body was even cold."

Marissa looked at Jane again. She saw the hunger in her eyes. She saw the way Jane looked at the empty throne next to the King as if it already belonged to her.

"Though," Marissa continued her train of thought, analyzing the political landscape, "in my past life, I was never allowed into the inner circle of the Royal Court. Carlos didn’t have a title, so I was kept on the fringes. But I still heard the rumors. I heard that Crown Prince Liam married Dahlia for political reasons. She was a General’s daughter. Her father commanded the loyalty of the border armies. The next largest armies after the Thompson’s . Liam needed that stability to secure his pursuit for the crown. Crown Princess Dahlia was entrusted to Prince Liam by the King himself, a bond of trust and duty."

Marissa’s eyes narrowed. She looked from Jane to Prince Liam, who was watching them from across the room with a cold, appreciative smirk.

"I am sure of it," Marissa concluded, a cold certainty settling in her gut. "It was Liam and Jane who killed Dahlia. They used her for her father’s armies, and when she was no longer useful... they removed her."

It was a chilling realization. Marissa was sitting across from a future murderer. A woman who would walk over corpses to get a crown.

Marissa composed her face. She smoothed her expression into one of polite, icy detachment.

Jane’s smile widened, sensing Marissa’s scrutiny but misinterpreting it as intimidation.

"Duchess?" Jane prompted, her voice like syrup. "You seem lost in thought. Is the party not to your liking?"

Marissa raised her chin.

"Thanks to you," Marissa replied, her voice cool and polite, "I am quite entertained. Lady Jane."

She put a slight emphasis on the title "Lady," a subtle reminder that Jane was not yet royalty, not yet a wife, just a mistress playing at power.

Jane’s eyes flashed with a brief spark of annoyance, but she hid it quickly. She gestured to the empty chair next to Marissa—Derek’s chair.

"May I?" Jane asked.

It was a bold move. To sit in the Grand Duke’s chair was a breach of protocol, a sign of disrespect. But it was also a challenge. If Marissa refused, she would look petty and insecure. If she accepted, she was allowing the enemy into her space.

Marissa evaluated the threat. Jane wanted to talk. Jane wanted to probe.

"Fine," Marissa thought. "Let’s see what the snake has to say."

Marissa gave a small, regal nod.

"Please," Marissa said.

Jane sat down. She didn’t sit on the edge of the chair; she settled into it comfortably, spreading her crimson skirts, claiming the space as her own.