Morning sunlight slanted through the windows of the City Lord's estate, spilling over the ancient stone floor in a faint golden shimmer.
Livia stood before the doors, taking a deep breath. In her hand, she clutched the "prepared document"—deliberately aged paper, its edges slightly yellowed, carrying even a faint scent of dust, like it had been tucked away in some forgotten archive.
This document wasn't just a bargaining chip—it was a test, a chance to see Edgar's hand more clearly.
The door opened.
Her steps were steady as she walked down the corridor, every motion calm, as if everything were within her control. But as she stepped into that familiar room—one that had never truly felt like hers—a ripple stirred in her chest.
Edgar sat by the window in a high-backed chair, half his face lit by the morning light, the other shrouded in deep shadow. He was toying with some small, unidentifiable object, his long fingers moving slowly, deliberately—like he was studying it. Or perhaps studying her.
Livia suddenly realized—this was the first time she had ever truly been alone with Edgar.
No Marcellus, no Elias.
No negotiations, no traps.
Just her and him—two strangers bound by blood.
For a moment, she found herself uncharacteristically dazed.
"You came," Edgar was the first to speak. His tone was calm, but with a sharpness hidden within. "My daughter. You've become… surprisingly impressive, lately."
He placed the object on the table and lifted his gaze toward her, eyes keen as a blade.
"Sometimes I wonder… are you really my daughter? Or someone else entirely?"
The words were soft, but they cut deep—probing, pressuring, a veiled threat.
Livia kept her face composed, though her heart tensed. He was perceptive, as expected—but what exactly had he noticed? Was he just casting the net wide, or trying to throw her off balance? Maybe it was all just a show of dominance—to seize control of the conversation from the start.
But she didn't flinch. Instead, she gave a faint smile.
"Well, some people gave me no choice. If I don't look out for myself, who else will? Who in this world truly cares about me?"
One line—both evasive and cutting. She reframed her vulnerability into strength, subtly accusing her father of never protecting her.
Edgar's brow arched slightly, as if he hadn't expected such a sharp comeback. Then, suddenly, he chuckled—not warmly, but with a hint of cold amusement and grudging respect.
"I did underestimate you," he said, rising slowly to his feet and walking toward her.
"A little girl who used to hide in the castle, crying over every hurt—now, just a few weeks later, you've become someone entirely different. I have to ask… who shaped you into this? What else have you been hiding from me?"
He took a step closer, his voice low, like a hunter murmuring to his prey.
But Livia didn't back away. She met his eyes head-on, her tone steady and composed.
"Who knows? Maybe someone's helping me. Maybe not. But then again… don't we all have secrets, Father?"
She stressed the word father, turning it into a challenge: What about you? What are you hiding?
The tension snapped taut, like a drawn bowstring. For a moment, the room fell into a wordless standoff.
Then Edgar laughed—this time a genuine one, like she had truly amused him. As if, even though he had the upper hand in this verbal duel, he was forced to acknowledge her growth.
He returned to the table and sat down again.
"Since you've said that much, I won't hold back either," he said. "I do want to see what you've brought me."
Livia held her ground, her gaze darkening slightly.
Now, she thought, let's see if he can see through the secret hidden behind this document.