CHAPTER 121: CHAPTER 120. NEW DAWN

They had nearly forgotten about the Rothschilds, their existence pushed to the edges of memory beneath the overwhelming work of cleansing and restructuring the Empire. Yet the moment the inaugural ceremony concluded and the grand ball began, the family appeared, as if drawn by the scent of opportunity.

Roxanne felt Vivianne’s eyes on her back and turned, meeting her gaze. Vivianne watched her with a blend of uncertainty, unease, and something like resignation.

Roxanne exhaled quietly. She already knew how this would unfold, especially with Valdemar and Genevieve, whose greed had always outweighed their sense, and now, with Liselotte vanished and Dietrich long dead, they’re bound to come crawling.

"Get them into the restroom." Roxanne said to Red.

Red bowed and slipped away. Roxanne turned to Gerhard Eisenwald, giving a subtle nod for him to continue entertaining the guests while she and Vivianne stepped aside. Gerhard responded with a solemn, respectful nod.

The month-long investigation on him had revealed no corruption, but his sin remained: he had knowingly aided the first three omega sacrifices presented to Dietrich. For that, Roxanne had given him a sentence, not of chains, but of responsibility.

He was ordered to build an orphanage in the capital, manage it, and select honest, capable workers from its own wards. It was a punishment that doubled as a chance for redemption.

The orphanage would be under the Royal Palace’s oversight, with Vivianne personally conducting periodic audits of all ledgers and operations. Gerhard accepted the terms without resistance and soon brought his entire family back to the capital: his wife, his two omega daughters, and his still-toddler alpha son.

He had sent them away before, fearful of Dietrich’s instability and unwilling to risk their safety. Now, with the new reign, he could finally breathe.

Gerhard de Eisenwald resumed his role as Chancellor of the Empire, and in his month working beside Roxanne, the difference was startling. Roxanne was strict, yet fair; sharp, yet efficient; and unafraid to dismantle problems at the root instead of wasting time trimming the surface.

She understood ledgers with ease, could read financial statements without assistance, and negotiated with merchants without being swayed or deceived. For the first time, Gerhard felt his work becoming lighter, not heavier.

Even when Roxanne enforced a new rule requiring all territories to bid fairly when trading crops with the Royal Palace and other markets, he didn’t resent the loss of his old monopoly.

Instead, he found something far more valuable than money: respect, stability, and a sense that he had finally chosen the right side. He hadn’t made a mistake back then.

Now, returning to the present, Roxanne opened the door to the resting room behind the grand hall. Inside, Valdemar de Rothschild and Genevieve were already seated.

Genevieve looked dreadful, pale and hollow-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept in months. Her hair clung to her temples in limp strands. Her dress sagged on her frame. Still the expensive-looking dress, but now it looked totally pitiful in return.

Valdemar, by contrast, sat bright-eyed and almost cheerful, as though oblivious to the ruin hanging over his house. Roxanne stepped inside, Vivianne beside her, and closed the door behind them. The air shifted.

When they’re seated, Roxanne doesn’t bother with politeness or ceremony. Her voice cut straight through the air. "What do you want?"

Genevieve answered before Valdemar could even inhale. "My daughter. Where is my daughter, Liselotte?" she demanded, her tone harsh, trembling with desperation.

Roxanne’s eyes narrowed. A single pulse of her alpha dominance rolled through the room like a silent shockwave. The pressure dropped. Instinct took over. Both Genevieve and Valdemar are forced to bow, their backs bending whether they wished it or not.

"I am your emperor," Roxanne reminded them, her tone quiet but cutting.

Valdemar forced a smile even while bowing. "Pardon my mother’s outburst, Your Highness the Emperor," he said quickly, voice soft, eager to appease.

Roxanne flicked her fingers. "Sit. Speak."

They straightened, though Genevieve is visibly shaken, and Valdemar smoothed his clothes as if that could restore his dignity. "We are here to ask about Liselotte," Valdemar began, adopting the gentle, courteous tone he always used when trying to appear harmless.

His gaze slid toward Vivianne, softening further. "And I wished to speak with my other sister. It has been so long, Vivianne."

Vivianne felt her stomach twist. His smile, the same patient, polished smile he had always used to hide ambition, made her skin crawl. Now that she sat as Luna of the Empire, she could see the truth with painful clarity. Valdemar didn’t come for family. He came for status, favor, and whatever he could claw from the throne, just like what he did in her past life.

Roxanne didn’t give him room to pretend. "I don’t know where Liselotte is," she said bluntly. "She left. On her own."

Genevieve jolted forward, despair cracking through her voice. "But I heard she left because you helped her!"

Roxanne cocked her head slightly. "And where," she asked, calm and sharp as a blade, "is the proof I helped her leave?" She already knew the answer.

There’s no proof. There never would be.

"I just wanted my daughter back... now that her husband is dead," Genevieve said, her voice turning suddenly polite, almost trembling.

Vivianne’s voice cut through the air, low and sharp. "Where."

Genevieve blinked. "What?"

"Where were you before everything happened?" Vivianne asked, every word steady but heavy enough to fill the room. "Liselotte isn’t stupid. She must have sensed something. She must have told you."

Genevieve swallowed hard. She could feel it now, Vivianne’s presence pressing down on her like a quiet storm. Not loud, not violent, but absolute. This isn’t the trembling omega she had once belittled, controlled, and molded through fear. This is the Luna of an empire, the mate of a ruler whose power shook nations.

This is someone she could no longer take for granted.

"We thought she was just being dramatic," Valdemar answered instead, brushing a hand through his hair as though trying to appear casual. "You know how Liselotte is. She whines about everything—it’s normal."

Vivianne let out a cold, humorless scoff. In two lifetimes, she had known Liselotte better than anyone in this room. And there’s one thing she could say with absolute certainty.

"She was never a complainer," Vivianne said, her eyes narrowing. "She was cautious. She was careful. And she was scared."

Her gaze sharpened, cold, cutting, and uncompromising, until Valdemar’s confident posture faltered and he looked away first, unable to withstand the weight of it.

"You were too greedy to notice anything," Vivianne said, her words landing like the final verdict of a judge long past mercy.

She exhaled slowly, regaining her composure before continuing. "We don’t know where Liselotte is. If she wishes to find you, she will. If she doesn’t, then accept that. I have no interest in entertaining either of you further." Her eyes narrowed. "We may share blood, Count Rothschild, but I don’t need to humor you. I am the Empress."

She rose with a grace that covered the trembling Roxanne could still feel in Vivianne’s fingers. "We’re done here."

Roxanne took her hand, steadying her without making it obvious, and faced the two nobles with an expression carved from ice. "Do not come seeking us without an appointment," she said, her tone flat and final. "You are not special. And as my wife has made perfectly clear, she doesn’t owe you anything."

Roxanne didn’t wait for an answer. She turned her head slightly toward the guards stationed by the door. "Escort them out."

-

Days moved quickly after the grand ball, especially now that the portal to Erevalis remained open and the path to Fenclade was finally secure. Trade surged almost overnight, swelling with life as caravans from every direction poured into the capital.

For the first time in history, it became normal to see werewolves bartering beside demons or beastmen hauling crates through the market streets. The city felt different now, fuller, louder, carrying the breath of a world no longer isolated.

Mara doubled the security without hesitation. Every squad of ten now carried at least one shifter or mixed-blood warrior as its leader, trained to intervene the moment a cross-racial dispute threatened to spark.

Roxanne had predicted the need long before anyone else even considered it; uniting three races was never going to settle neatly in a night, or even in a month. It would take patience, vigilance, and strength, three things the Empire finally had again.

By the sixth month, the transformation from Erengard to Borgia is complete.

The old imperial archives were sealed beneath layers of protective wards and iron doors. Erengard’s history remained preserved, not erased, for the past mattered but was locked away from those who would cling to it or resurrect its cruelty. It existed now only as a memory and lesson, not a chain that could strangle the future.

A new Chapter had begun.

It’s written by an alpha whose dominance no longer fed on fear but on rightful strength shaped by loyalty. By an emperor who stood unchallenged not because others knelt from terror, but because their instincts recognized the authority in her very breath. And beside her stood a Luna whose presence had a quiet, devastating power, one that could control and bear the spirit king’s authorities.

The Borgia Empire had been born in blood, but it would rise in justice.

Under the rule of Roxanne de Borgia and her Empress, Vivianne, the continent would never again kneel beneath the shadow of a fractured, incomplete alpha. Never again would omegas be sacrificed. Never again would nobles run unchecked, devouring the lives beneath them. Never again would the Empire be allowed to rot from the inside.

The world shifted, slowly but undeniably. And soon—sooner than anyone expected—the newly forged Borgia Empire would welcome its first heir.