Flowers fall, love and hate are balanced.

"Andrea, is this another one of your games? Can’t you ever be sensible and stay quiet? Must you shame this family before the entire Capital?"

"William, don't speak to her that way! She is your wife. I am the outsider here—it isn’t worth it."

Sandra moved as if to help Andrea up, but William pulled her firmly back against him.

"Don’t talk nonsense. You know who has my heart."

Andrea gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh. She had nothing left to say.

"Sandra will be staying at the estate to recuperate. Behave yourself, unless you want more than just kneeling."

"Guards! Watch the young mistress. She does not rise until she has reflected on her actions."

With one last indifferent glance, William turned and led Sandra away.

The Dowager, Ariana, snorted in contempt. "Once you’re done kneeling, go to the family shrine and copy the scriptures!"

Then she and Dorothy followed them out.

Andrea watched their retreating figures until they vanished. Slowly, she tried to stand. Her weakened body swayed; a wave of dizziness washed over her, darkening her vision.

Before she could steady herself, two matrons stepped from the shadows. Seizing her arms, they forced her back down onto her knees.

"Young Mistress, the young master’s orders are clear. You are not to rise."

Too weak to resist, Andrea was pressed down until she was nearly prostrate on the cold ground. Nearby, Layla—also forced to kneel—struggled to rise in protest, only to be shoved back down brutally.

"How dare you! My lady is still the Young Mistress of this house! Who gave you the right?" Layla cried.

The two matrons sneered.

"Still has the face to call herself Young Mistress?"

"Everyone knows your ‘lady’ is nothing but a scheming whore who climbed into his bed. Do you see any place for her here?"

"Had plenty of energy seducing her way in, didn’t she? Now she plays the frail flower? Kneel properly!"

Their cruel words washed over Andrea, leaving her trembling.

She had once believed that if she lived quietly beside William, the rumors would eventually fade.

But his indifference, his blatant favoritism toward Sandra—it only etched those slanders deeper into her skin.

The incident from three years ago… he could have uncovered the truth with a single investigation. She had been a victim, too!

Was it simply because she loved him that she deserved to bear this shame, to be trampled into the dirt?

In that moment, a tidal wave of regret, hatred, and agony crashed over her.

Grief wrenched through her chest. She coughed violently—a spray of crimson staining the ground—and then darkness took her.

***

"Beat her! Harder! Don’t stop until she talks!"

William’s furious roar pierced the fog in Andrea’s mind. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Disoriented, confused—then a hand closed around her throat.

Her gaze met his. His eyes were bloodshot, blazing with murderous intent.

"Why!"

His grip tightened, cutting off her air. She clawed at his hand, struggling, but his fingers only dug deeper. Black spots danced before her eyes; a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth.

The warm blood dripped onto his hand. He flinched, loosening his hold abruptly, and let her go.

Andrea collapsed into ragged, painful coughs. William stood frozen, staring at his own trembling hands as if they belonged to a stranger.

From outside the room, Layla’s agonized scream tore through the air. Andrea’s head snapped toward the sound. She lunged forward, grabbing fistfuls of William’s robe.

"What have you done to Layla?" Her voice was a raw, shredded whisper. She tried to push past him, but his hands clamped down on her shoulders, holding her in place. A sharp glance from him toward the door—and the sounds of struggle outside ceased, replaced by fading footsteps as Layla was dragged away.

Then his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Why… did you get rid of the child?"

Andrea went completely still.

"Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this child? What right did you have to decide alone?"

He paused, his next words a venomous, icy whisper.

"Or is it like they say? You couldn’t stand the neglect, so you found another man’s bed? Was it a bastard you were carrying?"

Andrea’s head jerked up. She stared at him, disbelief etched across her pale face.

Seeing the cold conviction in his eyes, her own welled with hot, unshed tears. Her voice trembled. "William… you monster."

His eyes were red-rimmed, blazing with fury. "Then tell me why!"

A strange, hollow laugh bubbled from her throat, as if she’d just remembered something absurd.

"Why? Have you forgotten your own glorious deed? Have you forgotten two years ago?"

"Did you really think, after you ran me through with your sword that day, that any child could have survived?"

"Congratulations, William. You killed your own child… again."