Chapter 4 Break off the Engagement

Agnes stopped, a sneer curling her lips. "What's the matter, scared? You may be the legitimate daughter, Isolde, but you're nothing more than a wild girl from the countryside. Landing an engagement with the Marquis's family—that's more luck than you deserve." She tilted her head mockingly. "If this engagement is broken, where will your precious pride go?" Isolde stepped forward, her own smirk razor-sharp. "If the engagement ends, it'll be on my terms. What right does your family have to call it off? After your shameful mess, you've still got the gall to strut around here? You've embarrassed yourselves straight back to your mother's skirts." She had no patience for politeness anymore. She was who she was, and she did what she did, and spoke as she pleased. Decorum wasn't for people like Agnes. Agnes's expression shifted. He hadn't expected Isolde to be so difficult to deal with. The Valens couldn't afford to break off the engagement, and they knew it. The match had been arranged out of gratitude for Isolde saving the Marquis's life, and he valued loyalty above all else. That's why they'd rushed Eleanor into the household while he was away—secure her place, and the Marquis could fume all he wanted, but the deed would be done. They'd miscalculated. They'd thought Isolde was just a naive country girl, easy to manipulate. They hadn't counted on this sharp edge. Agnes shot a look at Matilda, who quickly recovered with a strained smile. "Isolde, Eleanor is your cousin. You've always been so close—" "Close?" Isolde cut her off, her voice cold as frost. "We're not cousins. My uncle would never raise someone so shameless. And as for being close—if we were, she wouldn't be drooling over my fiancé. Let's drop the act, shall we?" Matilda's smile froze. "Eleanor is with child. Surely you can find it in yourself to let her into the estate." "Let her in?" Isolde's laugh was sharp. "Not a chance. But since she's carrying William Valen's bastard, I won't stand in her way. End the engagement, and we'll be done. From now on, William and I have nothing to do with each other." Matilda's face turned red. "What if she's concubine, and you're William's only one official wife?" "No way." Isolde's response was instant and absolute. "Why are you so cruel? She's willing to settle for a concubine! What more do you want?" Matilda snapped, her composure shattering. "Cruel?" Isolde's smile twisted. "If she didn't want to be humiliated, she shouldn't have spread her legs. Actions have consequences. I'm done here." She turned sharply, her skirts swishing as she strode away, not giving them a chance to speak. Eleanor's nails bit into her palms, her fists clenched tight beneath her wide sleeves. Her eyes burned with fury. Isolde Langley, you'll pay for this. Agnes turned to Matilda with a scornful glance. "It seems the Duke's estate is in shambles. You can't even keep a stepdaughter from running wild." Matilda flushed with embarrassment and anger. How dare this baron's wife speak to me like that? But she couldn't deny it—Isolde had never spoken to her this way before. What has changed? she wondered. She forced a tight smile. "Go home. I'll talk to her. The wedding will proceed as planned. William and Eleanor must marry before the Marquis returns—her condition won't wait." Eleanor's tear-filled eyes darted to William, her voice trembling. "Why can't you just end things with her? Why are you hesitating?" William squeezed her hand, his tone soft. "Don't worry, Eleanor. I'll make it happen. You'll be my wife." Once the Valens were gone, Matilda shut the door and spun on Eleanor. "What were you thinking, making such a spectacle of yourself? You've embarrassed us all." Eleanor's tears vanished, replaced by cold fury. "Aunt, kill her." Matilda snorted. "Kill her? Do you think killing someone is as simple as swatting a fly?" "Uncle doesn't care about her," Eleanor said urgently. "If she dies, no one will bother looking into it." "You're wrong," Matilda said, her voice biting. "The Duke may not love her, but she's still his legitimate daughter. He won't let her die without cause." "Then what do we do?" Eleanor's voice cracked with desperation. "I can't hide this pregnancy much longer!" Matilda snapped, "Enough! Stop the noise and let me think." Isolde returned to her courtyard, where Helena beamed. "My lady, you were incredible back there!" Isolde gave a faint smile, but inside, her heart ached. The memories of her past wouldn't stop replaying, sharp and vivid. The hatred was a fire in her chest, bitter and unrelenting. Just moments ago, she had wanted to kill William and Eleanor with her bare hands. But no—not yet. She had sworn, as she lay dying in her past, that if she ever got the chance, her revenge would be slow, cruel, and complete. She sank into a chair, her hand instinctively covering her stomach. The flatness beneath her palm sent another pang through her chest. "Lady Isolde, you've no sense of gratitude! So ungrateful!" Mary barged in, her voice sharp with scorn. Isolde narrowed her eyes, leaning back lazily against the chair. She gestured with a flick of her fingers. "Come here. Let's have a word." Mary hesitated but stepped closer, muttering, "What do you have to—" Before she could finish, Isolde's hand snapped out, landing two sharp slaps across her face. A cold gleam shone in Isolde's eyes. "Now," Isolde said icily, "tell me—who's the ungrateful one?" Mary staggered back, clutching her cheek, her expression stunned. "You... you hit me?" "Damn right, I did. What of it? Think I can't?" Isolde's lips curled into a smile, sharp as a blade. Mary's heart raced. This girl—when did she grow so fierce? It has to be a bluff. "Fine! If you have no use for me, I'll go straight to Lady Matilda. She'll see you regret this!" Mary spat, her tone full of venom. "Then go. Don't waste time," Isolde said flatly, her cold gaze unwavering. Mary faltered, realizing she'd lost the upper hand. Turning on her heel, she snapped, "Fine! I'll go now." Helena watched Mary storm off, her worry plain. "My lady, aren't you afraid of Lady Matilda?" "If it comes to it, not even that old tyrant could stand against me," Isolde replied, her voice steady. Helena blinked, startled. "Old tyrant? Who?" Isolde's gaze darkened. "Who else? Duke of Blackmoor, my father." Her father, Geoffrey Langley, had left her to rot in a countryside manor for thirteen years. Before her time travel, she hadn't hated him. She'd foolishly thought all fathers were distant, even when it was obvious how differently he treated her siblings. Matilda had always excused it, saying it was only because she'd grown up away from the family. Naturally, the bond wasn't as strong.