I wiped my hands clean, then slipped upstairs, unlocking my bedroom door and letting myself back in. I closed it quietly behind me, my heart thundering in my ears. If Raul had been right—if the poison worked swiftly—then Papa wouldn’t even think to check the lock.
He wouldn’t need to.
As dusk fell and the household gathered for dinner, I crept back toward the stairwell and crouched in the shadows. My pulse quickened. The moment was here.
From the dining room came the clink of silverware, the gentle murmur of conversation?—
Then came the first gasp.
A groan followed it—a choking noise. A chair scraped against the floor.
Within moments, the room erupted.
Cries of pain tore through the air, followed by retching, moans, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor—a grotesque symphony of anguish. The once-harmonious sounds of family dinner now warped into something nightmarish.
I listened.
And reveled in it.
I had done this. I had made it happen. And I felt… powerful.
Quietly, I stole from the stairwell and hurried back to my room. Footsteps thudded behind me—desperate, clumsy. I threw myself onto the bed and pulled the covers high, twisting my face into a mask of distress. I writhed, moaned, and waited.
The door burst open.
Papa stood there, ghost-pale, sweat beading on his brow. His lips were parted as if to speak—but no words came.
His eyes took in the sight of me on the bed, and I watched him crumble a little more.
Let him think I suffer, too.
Let him think I was a victim, not the architect of his misery.
“So… you have it too?” Papa gasped as he dabbed his clammy forehead with a soaked handkerchief.
I let out a pitiful moan, dragging my fingers weakly across the blanket. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m as sick as a dog,” I croaked.
He leaned against the doorframe, swaying slightly, sweat glistening on his pallid face. “We’ve all got it,” he muttered. “Every single member of this house. Your mother’s the worst of all—I’ve ordered everyone to bed.”
A shiver racked his body. “Excuse me,” he said weakly, then turned and bolted, slamming the door behind him. I heard his staggering footsteps fade down the hall.
The moment the latch clicked, I let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
It had worked. Every part of it—perfectly.
Raul had said the poison would only last a day, maybe two. Just long enough.
The house fell into a tomb-like silence, interrupted only by theoccasional grotesque chorus of retching. I endured it, and I welcomed it. It was the sound of my freedom being carved out in real-time.
Hours passed in sickening stillness until the light outside the window finally faded into dusky lavender. It was time.
I rose from bed like a phantom shedding its death shroud and moved through my room with the precision of a thief.
First, the silk knickers and chemise, soft as a whisper against my skin. Then the petticoat.
The corset followed—tight and unforgiving, it sculpted my waist into an hourglass, a silhouette of seduction and elegance. I laced it myself, breathing shallowly and keeping my pulse steady.
Then came the gown.
