CHAPTER 130: EVERYONE IS WELCOME IN HELL

The entire capital was filled with whispers.

Gossip had never moved this fast. It spread like smoke in a dry field, blowing from one side of the city to the other. From bakeries to taverns, from servants’ quarters to noble halls, there was only one thing on everyone’s lips.

She was back.

The bride of the devil had returned.

Some spoke with fear. Others with curiosity. A few with excitement. But most were stunned. People who hadn’t attended the wedding rushed to the palace just to catch a glimpse of her. The woman everyone thought was long gone. The one who had disappeared from the empire like a ghost.

And now, she walked the palace halls again.

But she wasn’t the same.

In the grand palace, Olga stormed through the corridor like a woman possessed. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands clenched. Her lips moved without sound as she walked, already preparing her insults.

She threw the door open and stepped in.

There, standing by the tall glass window, was Lydia.

Still. Calm. Silent.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even turn around. Her hands rested gently on the window frame as she looked out at the flowers which had bloomed in the garden. But it was her eyes that betrayed her. They weren’t calm. Not at all. They were burning.

Fury lived behind them.

Olga’s voice exploded into the room.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she barked.

Lydia said nothing.

"You disgraced the entire imperial family in front of everyone! Have you lost your mind?"

Still, no reply. Not even a glance.

Just a breath.

Then Lydia finally spoke, her voice soft, almost amused. "Looks like they’ve started arriving," she said, as if Olga hadn’t spoken at all.

She stepped away from the window and moved gracefully toward the stairs.

Olga snapped again. "I am talking to you, you brazen girl!"

Lydia paused for a second. Then she turned her head just slightly and said in a dry voice, "You’re the one who brought me into this palace yourself, remember? Why are you so surprised?"

Her voice was quiet. But it sliced like a knife.

She stepped closer, close enough to make Olga flinch.

"Did you forget?" Lydia asked, tilting her head. "Makes sense. You’re getting old."

And just like that, she walked past her.

Olga was frozen. Speechless. It was like being slapped without a hand ever touching her face.

Ivan, Vladimir, Leonid, and Tatiana had just walked in at that exact moment. They had seen everything. Tatiana’s lips trembled. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She looked like she was biting her own tongue just to hold herself back.

But her eyes were glassy.

She couldn’t take it.

She turned away and rushed off toward her chambers, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her maid, Yelena, chased after her in silence.

Inside the ballroom, music played, but the air was heavy.

This was supposed to be a celebration.

A royal ball. A toast to the union of Ivan and Tatiana. A night of wine and laughter.

But no one was laughing anymore.

The guests had all arrived dressed in their finest jewels and velvet, but now all they did was whisper. Their eyes moved from face to face, and then toward the staircase.

Everyone had the same question on their lips.

Why was she here?

And how had she become this?

Lydia stepped into the ballroom slowly. She didn’t rush. She let every single person see her. See the way she moved. The way she held her chin high. The way her gown flowed around her feet like smoke. It was not the girl they once knew.

She was no longer spring.

She was autumn now.

Her smile was gone. Her voice was colder. Her face looked carved from stone. She didn’t shy away from the stares — she welcomed them. And she let it burn into their heads.

The Lydia they knew, the gentle one, the quiet one, the fragile girl with soft words and hopeful eyes — she was gone.

Dead.

This one had no trace of the girl who once begged for love.

The Andreyevna family stood in the far corner, whispering quietly among themselves. Not one of them stepped forward to greet her. Not her uncle. Not Elena. Not Anya. Not Mikhail. Not Pyotr. No one.

Maybe they didn’t recognize her.

Or maybe they did... and were sad. To see her like this. A completely different person.

Lydia didn’t even glance their way. She didn’t need them.

She stood near the marble fountain in the ballroom, wine untouched in her hand. Her back was straight. Her face unreadable. She watched the nobles whisper and stare.

And she loved it.

She smiled to herself in silence. Good, she thought. Let them be afraid. Let them wonder what I’ll do next. Let them choke on their wine.

She was going to make every single one of them suffer.

Meanwhile, chaos brewed in other corners of the palace.

In Olga’s chambers, glass shattered as she threw a bottle across the room. A vase followed next. Then a golden candlestick. A maid ran out, nearly in tears.

"How dare she?" Olga screamed, her hair falling loose. "How dare that tiny little snake humiliate me in front of my people?!"

She picked up a small mirror and stared at herself, panting. "I am the queen. The queen!"

She hurled the mirror against the wall.

"I’ll squash her like a bug."

In Tatiana’s room, soft sobs filled the air. She had sunk onto the floor, her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as tears stained her dress. Yelena knelt beside her, trying to comfort her.

"It’s not fair," Tatiana cried. "I did everything right. I stayed. I obeyed. I waited. And now she walks in and ruins it all?"

"My lady, please calm down. Your health. Your baby," Yelena said quietly.

Tatiana sniffed and sat up, wiping her tears. "I won’t let her destroy everything I’ve ever wanted."

Her voice trembled but there was fire in it. "I’ll ruin her first."

Down the hall, Vladimir sat in his study with Boris and Nikolai. All three looked like they were still trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Boris tried to lighten the mood.

"Well... at least she returned," he said with a nervous laugh. "Maybe His Highness won’t be so miserable anymore."

Vladimir didn’t smile.

Nikolai crossed his arms. "That would’ve been true," he said. "If she’d come back like the old Lydia. But the woman downstairs? That’s not her. That one came to make him suffer."

Vladimir leaned back in his chair, staring at the fire.

Nikolai turned to him. "What are you going to do, Your Highness?"

Vladimir didn’t answer.

Back in the ballroom, Lydia slowly turned her head and met Ivan’s gaze across the room.

He had been standing there all along, silent and still, watching her. The others had tried to speak to him, but he said nothing. His eyes never left her.

There was no warmth in her eyes.

Only anger.

And maybe... sadness too.

But it was buried deep.

He could barely recognize her. She looked the same, but something about her felt unreachable. As if she had built a wall so high around herself, not even he could see over it.

He swallowed hard.

There was so much he wanted to say. But his tongue wouldn’t move. His chest ached.

Lydia didn’t flinch.

She looked at him like a ghost. Cold. Pale. Beautiful.

She turned away.

And Ivan stood there, still frozen, knowing deep in his heart...

She had returned to make his life hell.