Chapter 452

[ 1,005 words ]

[Third Person].

~Fellowes Residence~

Wanda stood in her room, breath uneven, hands trembling with leftover rage. The silence pressed against her skin like a suffocating blanket.

Then, a sharp knock snapped her head toward the door.

She inhaled deeply, masking every trace of her fury before saying coolly, “Come in.”

One of Reginald’s personal attendants stepped inside, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor.

“Lady Wanda,” he said respectfully, “your father requests your presence in his study.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes. Her father rarely summoned her at night unless something was important. Also, they had just parted ways in the dining room. He never mentioned this then.

But beneath the surprise, something else stirred in her: excitement. Perhaps he had noticed her value again.

Perhaps seeing Levi and Vivian together reminded him that she was still a very important piece in his chess game.

She straightened, lifting her chin slightly. “I will be there shortly.”

The attendant bowed and retreated.

Wanda waited until the door shut before she smoothed down her hair, inhaled once, and left her room with graceful, confident strides, her anger sealed behind a cold mask.

—

Reginald’s private study was dim, lit only by the fire crackling in the stone hearth.

He did not look up when she entered.

Wanda bowed deeply. “Father. You called for me.”

For several seconds, there was only the soft clink of glass as he swirled his amber drink.

Finally, he spoke—firm, controlled, with the weight of a man who didn’t repeat himself.

“As you are accompanying your brother and his wife to the Oatrun estate tomorrow,” Reginald said, still staring into the fire, “I expect you to carry yourself well.”

Wanda’s pulse jumped. Her father hadn’t used the typical words, ’be useful’ and ’don’t be foolish.’ There was no scolding—just an expectation.

She lifted her eyes and spoke with a calm voice. “Of course, Father.”

Reginald finally looked at her. His eyes were sharp—cold, calculating, but approving in a distant way.

“Draven’s return shifts many things,” he continued. “And eyes are everywhere—waiting for mistakes, waiting for weakness. Not only mine, but yours.”

Wanda swallowed slowly.

Reginald leaned back, the leather chair creaking softly.

“I do not want yesterday’s display,” he said pointedly, “to be repeated.”

Heat crept up Wanda’s neck—shame mixed with fury and a flash of hatred for Meredith.

She bowed again, lowering her gaze. “It won’t happen again.”

Reginald observed her for a long moment. His stare was heavy, dissecting, like he could see every emotion behind her expression.

Then he nodded once, dismissing her. “You may go.”

Wanda backed away respectfully before turning toward the door. The moment it closed behind her, she exhaled—slow, controlled, but full of turbulent emotion.

She walked down the hallway, and the flame in her chest reignited.

She would accompany Levi and Vivian. But most importantly, she would see Draven.

The thought sent a thrill through her veins, sharp and intoxicating.

Tomorrow was her chance to be seen, and she would reclaim the attention that should have been hers.

Just as Wanda moved down the corridor with controlled steps and approached the bend leading to her room, her mind flickered back to one thing.

Vivian. And the way she had pulled Levi away earlier. How she had smiled. How Levi had followed her without hesitation.

Wanda slowed to a halt.

Then, almost without deciding to, she turned on her heel and walked silently toward Levi and Vivian’s bedroom.

The hallway was dim, lanterns throwing soft pools of light across the floor.

Wanda approached their door with feather-light steps. Her heart thudded sharply, her blood hot with suspicion and bitter curiosity.

She stood still and listened, then she froze. A soft moan leaked through the crack beneath the door.

Wanda’s eyes widened.

Another sound followed—wet, breathy, unmistakably feminine—definitely Vivian.

Wanda’s expression twisted. She leaned closer before she could stop herself. And then, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Levi’s low, husky panting. Vivian’s breathless gasp of his name.

Wanda’s stomach churned with revulsion and fury. Her nails dug into her palms until they hurt.

“Disgusting,” she whispered under her breath, trembling. “Right after dinner… she drags him off and—”

Another louder moan cut through her words, and her jaw locked.

Inside the room, Levi’s hand braced on the headboard as he moved, his breath coming in heavy, deep pants.

But just then, his instincts sharpened suddenly, and he turned his head sharply towards the door.

He didn’t stop or even try to slow down. But he felt it—the presence outside. He knew it was his sister.

Still, he didn’t care. Not now, not when Vivian clung to him, trembling, pulling him deeper with soft whimpers that filled the room.

Back outside, Wanda heard it all. Every sound. Every gasp. Every obscene rhythm.

Her throat tightened as her vision blurred with angry humiliation. Then, she snapped away from the door, almost stumbling as she fled down the hallway.

Her breath came out ragged.

She stormed into the kitchen, nearly startling one of the servants, who wisely looked down and scurried out of her path.

Wanda grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water, and gulped it down as if trying to drown the burning jealousy smouldering in her chest.

But the water did nothing. Nothing could wash away the image in her mind—Vivian, in Levi’s arms. Vivian, taking what should have been hers.

Wanda slammed the glass onto the counter, jaw tight.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured through clenched teeth, her eyes flickering with determination and something darker.

“Tomorrow, I will make sure she remembers exactly where she belongs.”

Wanda swallowed the last mouthful of water, her hand trembling slightly around the glass.

Her nerves were frayed, her emotions raw.

Then—she heard footsteps approaching.

She stiffened.

A moment later, Levi appeared at the kitchen doorway, dressed in soft ash loungewear pants and a white singlet, his hair slightly tousled, his skin flushed with the unmistakable afterglow of intimacy.

Wanda’s stomach twisted violently.

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