Bella's POV
Before I could get a word out, Jasper stepped forward, cutting off Ursula's line of sight.
"Bella! Are you pulling this stunt on purpose?" he snapped. "Years of punishment wasn't enough to knock some sense into you? Still with these childish games? You've completely disappointed me!"
"I specifically told you to dress appropriately. What the hell are you wearing?" His face twisted with disapproval, his voice carrying that familiar authoritative edge of a Ministry Ministry official.
He stared at me like I was some criminal in the dock. "If you've got issues, take them up with me. Why drag yourself here to perform this little show for Grandmother? Are you fishing for her pity? Do you want to stress her out so badly she gets sick?"
I nearly burst out laughing.
I arched an eyebrow, my smile ice-cold and distant.
"The outfit? Lady Genevieve selected it. What did you expect—the rags I wore back from the labor camp?"
That silenced him completely. Jasper stood there, speechless. I'd called Genevieve "Lady Genevieve"—not "Mother."
Only then did it dawn on him: since I'd returned, I hadn't acknowledged him as my brother even once.
Unease flickered across his face. The cutting words died in his throat before he could voice them.
His eyes narrowed, something nagging at him. 'Just years of hard labor... how did she end up looking so wasted?'
Genevieve rushed in to defuse the tension. "That was my mistake. Don't be too harsh with Bella."
Jasper moved aside, letting me pass.
Ursula's face brightened the instant she spotted me.
"Come here, sweetheart," she called out, her voice shaking slightly. "Let me get a proper look at you."
The warmth and longing in her gaze made my throat tighten. I moved closer, allowing Ursula to grasp my hands and examine me from head to toe.
"Look how skinny you've gotten," Ursula pulled me into her arms, clutching me tight, her voice breaking. "My precious girl... you've been through hell. This is all on me. I'm too old, too weak... I failed to protect you."
I knew exactly what had happened back then. Ursula had fought for me, even when it meant turning the whole family against her. Her health had been declining already.
The fact that she'd survived these years was nothing short of miraculous. Without the empire's strict regulations, who knows what might have happened...
I wrapped my arms around her and whispered hoarsely, "Grandmother."
That single word shattered Ursula completely. Tears poured down her cheeks.
Nearby, Genevieve observed our reunion, jealousy gnawing at her chest.
I'd been back for a while now... and still hadn't called her "Mother."
She pressed a silk handkerchief to her eyes, playing up the role of the heartbroken parent.
Ivy moved to her side, embracing her gently. "Don't cry, Mother. Bella's back now." Her voice was tender, soothing, perfectly obedient.
Genevieve gazed down at her precious Ivy, and a wave of what looked like comfort washed over her face. She nodded, eyes still damp, but a slight smile formed on her lips. It was as if she was thinking, 'At least Ivy gets it.'
But just as she began to relax, that smile vanished.
Ursula's voice rang out, trembling and bewildered, "What happened here?"
My once-smooth fingers were now covered in scars—dark bruises and jagged marks. When I rolled up my sleeve, old blade cuts and fresh burns decorated the skin along my arms.
Ursula's expression crumbled. She couldn't stand to look anymore. "She was sent for labor... how did she wind up like this?"
Genevieve appeared genuinely stunned. "These wounds—where did they come from?"
With everyone's concerned eyes on me, I buried the emptiness in my gaze and answered quietly, "From the camp supervisors, naturally..."
Sharp intakes of breath filled the room. My lips twisted into a thin, bitter smile. "I was there to work, not to be pampered like some delicate flower. Getting beaten was standard procedure."
I left it at that. Even thinking about it made me nauseous.
But those few words had already rocked everyone to their core. From the horrified looks on their faces, I could tell they were all wondering the same thing: 'Beaten for years on end. How did she even make it out alive?'
Ursula's hands shook as she held mine. "How could they? How dare they? You're a duke's daughter! That camp was under your fiancé's authority—how could anyone there touch you?"
My smile deepened, razor-sharp and cutting. "Because someone authorized it."
Jasper's face flushed with rage. "You're pathetic. You let them beat you senseless and didn't even try to fight back?"
My voice remained flat, almost emotionless. "You think a hellhole like that gave me any right to speak, much less resist? Staying quiet and compliant meant fewer beatings. That's just how it was."
I met his gaze directly, that cold smile still playing on my lips. "Isn't that what you wanted, Lord Jasper? For me to fall in line? To finally 'learn my place'? Well, mission accomplished. I'm quiet now. Isn't that exactly what makes you happy?"
Jasper stared at me without saying a word.
Yes, I was smiling—but the warmth never touched my eyes.
I hadn't thrown a single accusation at him, yet guilt slammed into him like a blade through the ribs.
His expression started to soften, and he opened his mouth to speak—when Ivy's voice suddenly cut through the air.
"This is all my fault. I'm the one who deserves the blame. If my body wasn't so frail—if I hadn't had that terrible reaction to the medicine—Bella would never have been punished.
"I was never supposed to be part of this family anyway. Maybe... maybe I should go live in the countryside with my real parents..."
She broke down sobbing, her voice catching with every breath. Tears cascaded down her face, as if she were the victim here.
Instantly, Genevieve flew to her side, panicked, gently rubbing her back. "Shh, don't cry, sweetheart. You'll make yourself ill."
Jasper jumped in as well, worried. "You know how delicate you are—why are you working yourself up like this? If I'd known this would happen, I never would've let you come. Look what's happening now."
Then he shot me a sharp glare. As if to say, "Why did you have to show those scars? Now Grandmother's devastated, Ivy's hysterical, and Mother's drowning in guilt."
Soon enough, everyone in the room was hovering around Ivy—bringing her tea, fetching her medication, murmuring gentle reassurances.
And me? I stood there alone, invisible, as if I were just some random observer.
But of course... I wasn't an observer. I was the problem. The source of their guilt, their anguish, their distress. The one to blame.