Chương 101: 40-3.Mental Torture

I had assumed that if I squeezed my eyes shut tightly enough, I could eventually force myself under. I had overestimated my willpower and significantly underestimated the aftershock of that kiss. After losing count of how many times I'd turned over, I gave up entirely and lay staring at the bed canopy. The wind outside was barely a whisper. The candle had burned down to half. The room was so quiet I could hear my own erratic heartbeat and the dull throb of the hangover still lodged in my temples.

I was seriously considering getting up for cold water when two soft knocks came at the door. Not a maid. A maid's knock didn't have that kind of precision, nor did it carry that particular quality of patient waiting—for you to decide whether you were ready to surrender. I sat up and pinched my throbbing brow.

"Come in." The door opened a crack. Olivia stood at the threshold, carrying a shallow silver tray with a pot of hot tea and a plate of pastries so small they seemed to be mocking my current appetite. She had changed out of her formal daywear into a dark dress with a light shawl over her shoulders, making her look quieter than she had during the day—and considerably more dangerous. She glanced at me once before closing the door.

"I thought as much."

"What?"

"You're not asleep." She stated it as matter-of-factly as a weather report. I twisted my mouth sideways.

"You came all the way here in the middle of the night just to confirm my insomnia?"

"No." She set the tray on the table and poured tea without being asked, steam curling upward.

"I came to confirm whether you've already started writing yourself a flattering version of what happened." I had a sharp response ready. It dissolved before reaching my tongue. Because she was exactly right. I had been thinking. Messily, frustratingly, and with increasing irrationality. Olivia pushed the cup toward me. She didn't sit immediately, just stood by the table with her fingertips resting lightly against the rim.

The gesture was as steady as always, but perhaps because my sister had stripped me raw today, I couldn't shake the feeling that the calmer Olivia looked, the more she was concealing. I took the tea and drank. Hot enough to sting. Exactly what I needed.

"So?" I looked at her.

"Are you planning to follow my sister's interrogation with your own round?"

"Hardly." She finally sat, her skirt settling without a single unnecessary fold.

"Madam was confirming whether you understood the situation. I'm here to see how much sanity you have left after understanding it."

"You two really do run the same playbook."

"If we didn't," she said, lifting her own cup for a composed sip, "someone would probably be halfway out a window by now." She delivered this as casually as commenting on the evening breeze. I stared at her for two seconds.

"You think I'd chase after her?" Olivia met my eyes directly.

"You won't." The answer came too quickly, throwing me off balance.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because not chasing doesn't mean you won't spiral," she said.

"And spiraling in your head is sometimes worse than running wild in the streets." I made a low sound.

"You came into a man's room this late just to inform me my thoughts are disorganized?"

"Partially."

"And the other part?" She didn't answer immediately. She set her cup down, her fingertip pausing against the handle. A very brief pause. But for some reason, I noticed it. Then she spoke.

"The other part is that I wanted to see for myself exactly what state Her Highness left you in." I nearly choked on my tea.

"... Olivia."

"Yes?"

"That sounds very much like you came for the spectacle."

"If I'd come for the spectacle, I would have brought Jessi." Her tone remained perfectly level.

"At least she's honest enough to laugh out loud." I set my cup down. She looked exactly as she always did—steady expression, steady voice, steady posture. Which was precisely why I found myself wondering what exactly was sitting underneath that last sentence. I rubbed my temples.

"Well, you've seen it. You can go now."

"Not yet."

"What exactly do you want to hear?" Olivia's gaze was very still.

"I want to hear you say whether what's bothering you is why she kissed you—or the fact that she kissed you and left." That stopped me cold. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The room went quiet. The candle flame wavered, as if even the light recognized the question's surgical precision. It took me a long moment to respond.

"Does it matter?"

"It does," she said.

"The first means you're inventing reasons on her behalf. The second means you've finally started admitting you care whether she stays or goes." I looked at her.

"Are you actually here to comfort me?"

"When did I claim to be here for comfort?" Right. There she was. Appearing with tea in the middle of the night, yet refusing to offer a single soft word. But somehow, because she was like this, I didn't feel the same pure headache I felt around my sister. Olivia's blade was always finer—the kind used to pick at stitches, and by the time you noticed the pain, the seam was already open. I leaned back slightly, watching the tea's surface shift in my cup.

"I think I understand why she did it." My voice was quieter.

"Gratitude, severance, the fact that seeing each other again will be difficult—I've turned all of that over."

"Mm."

"But I'm still frustrated." Olivia waited, letting me supply the rest.

"Because she didn't leave a single word." I pulled my mouth sideways.

"If she'd said thank you, I could have filed it under finally learning proper manners. If she'd said take care, I could have pretended it was just a princess showing rare humanity before returning to the palace. But she didn't. She just kissed me and walked away." I paused.

"That makes it worse." Olivia finally made a quiet sound of acknowledgment.

"Because without words, you have to supply them all yourself."

"Exactly." I answered too quickly, hearing my own desperation. Her gaze lingered on my face. Not pity. Not mockery. More like she was confirming whether what she saw was someone simply stunned by a princess's kiss, or someone finally learning to distinguish between things he'd previously been too lazy to sort out.

"And what have you supplied?" she asked.

"That she's ruthless."

"And?"

"That she knew exactly what she was doing."

"And?" I was getting irritated.

"Olivia, could you not peel me like an onion one layer at a time?"

"No," she said.

"Because if you don't articulate it clearly yourself, you'll face the entire capital tomorrow with a complete mess where your head should be." We looked at each other. I broke first. I glanced down and gave a short, hollow laugh.

"And... she figured it out before I did." When that sentence landed, the room went quieter still. Olivia didn't respond immediately. But I caught it—her fingers, resting against the cup's rim, tightened slightly. Just once. On any other night, I might not have noticed. But tonight, after being dragged across the emotional battlefield by every woman in this house, even that microscopic shift registered. She relaxed her grip almost immediately. Fast enough that it could have been nothing. But I'd seen it.

I looked up at her. Her expression remained composed. Too composed. The kind of still water that promises nothing about what moves underneath. I almost smiled. Not from amusement. From the delayed realization that this woman had brought tea to my room in the middle of the night, and it probably wasn't purely from charity.

"Are you upset?" I asked. Her lashes lifted slightly.

"Do I look upset?"

"No," I said honestly.

"Which usually means you are." She watched me for a moment, then allowed herself the faintest smile.

"So you aren't always entirely oblivious."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"As you wish." She shifted her gaze to the candle flame.

"I'm not upset that Her Highness kissed you."

"... That sounds very much like you're upset."

"I simply find it inconvenient," she said evenly.

"And somewhat... displeasing." I raised an eyebrow.

"You're actually admitting that?"

"There's no point in denying it," she replied.

"I dislike watching a situation I had under control being rewritten by someone else's theatrics." That sounded exactly like her. Precise enough that I almost nodded. But I knew there was more. So I waited. Olivia understood I wouldn't be deflected that easily. She was quiet for a moment before adding:"And I dislike watching someone I consider mine being marked by someone else. In front of me." My breath caught for half a beat. She said it with perfect composure.

Composure like she was noting a discrepancy in the ledger. But precisely because she delivered it so evenly, I heard what sat underneath with unusual clarity. Not a tantrum. Not jealousy in any simple sense. Something distinctly Olivia's—rational, controlled, carrying a possessiveness that didn't ask permission and didn't apologize. She wasn't saying I'm jealous. She was saying I don't like this. And when Olivia didn't like something, that was dangerous enough on its own.

I stared at her for a long moment before exhaling quietly.

"When you put it like that, it's very difficult to pretend I didn't understand."

"Then don't pretend." She answered without hesitation. I went briefly speechless. This woman was sometimes faster than any blade. I'd planned to deflect with sarcasm, and she hadn't left me a gap. The candle flame shifted, casting her profile in deeper stillness. Olivia smoothed her sleeve as though that barbed sentence had come from someone else entirely. But I could no longer look at her and see only pure, untouchable composure. Not tonight. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice back into service.

"So you came to warn me?"

"Half of it."

"And the other half?" She raised her eyes.

"To see whether you're still worth my continued investment of time." I nearly laughed from pure exasperation.

"Olivia. Is it genuinely impossible for you to say one thing without a blade in it?"

"I can," she said.

"But pleasant things are rarely useful." She held my gaze—steady, undeflected. Her eyes were usually quiet. Quiet enough to measure the exact value of anything they rested on. But tonight there was something else there—something that had been touched briefly by candlelight and then carefully withdrawn, leaving behind a thinner, more delicate surface. My throat went dry. Not from the tea.

From the fact that this woman was sitting with perfect posture, hadn't said a single inappropriate word, and yet was somehow more destabilizing than Erina's kiss had been.

"What do you see now?" I asked. Olivia didn't answer immediately. She looked at me long enough that I half-expected her to do something sudden and irreversible, like Erina had. But she wasn't Erina. She was Olivia. So she simply nudged the teacup closer to me, her voice quiet.

"That you're not yet beyond saving."

"How generous of you."

"Don't thank me yet," she said.

"I'm not finished." My temple pulsed. Of course.

"If you'd been thrown into chaos purely by the princess's kiss," she continued softly, "you wouldn't be worth my attention."

"... And?"

"But you at least understand that it isn't something you can chase down for answers," she said.

"And you know that what you should fear isn't the kiss itself—it's what it leaves behind." She paused.

"That puts you within salvageable range." I laughed quietly.

"Phrased like that, I somehow don't feel relieved."

"Good." Then she smiled. Faint. Brief. But real. Not the flawless social curve from this morning. Not the testing smile she used when probing someone. Something smaller, quieter—the kind that was over before you'd finished registering it, yet somehow managed to hit directly between the ribs. I looked at her without speaking. Olivia seemed to notice the danger. She withdrew that smile completely, as if it had never appeared. She stood and straightened the teapot on the tray.

"Stop thinking about it tonight."

"You think I can?"

"You don't have a choice," she said.

"At minimum, don't spend the entire night letting that kiss beat you over the head." I leaned against the bedframe.

"Easy for you to say."

"Then find something else to torment yourself with."

"Such as?" She was quiet for one beat. Then, in the same mild tone she used for everything:"Such as considering whether it would have been harder for you to manage if the person who did that in front of everyone today hadn't been her—but me." I went completely rigid. Olivia delivered this as casually as reminding me to blow out the candle. She didn't even bother to observe my reaction, simply picked up the tray and turned toward the door.

"Wait." I called out before I could stop myself. She paused without turning around. My throat was tight. My thoughts had scattered into complete chaos, and what finally emerged was something considerably less articulate than intended.

"Are you trying to comfort me, or make sure I definitely don't sleep?" Olivia stood by the door, turning her face just enough to show her profile. The candlelight traced the corner of her eye. Perfectly still.

"Are those mutually exclusive?" I had no answer. She looked at me for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened by a fraction.

"Sleep, Cedric." This time, she didn't use my full name. Didn't use her business tone. Just my name. Quietly. Quietly enough to admit nothing. But deny nothing either. Then she opened the door and stepped out, leaving behind only the faint scent of tea and one sentence that guaranteed I wasn't sleeping tonight. After the door closed, I remained where I was for a long time. Outside, the night had deepened completely. The room was quiet enough that the candle's occasional soft crackle sounded loud.

I looked down at the steaming cup on the table and realized, with uncomfortable clarity, that the most dangerous thing tonight might not have been Erina's kiss at all. It might have been the sentence Olivia had left behind. If the person who did that in front of everyone today hadn't been her—but me— I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against my brow. Perfect. I definitely wasn't sleeping tonight.