Olivia stared at him in absolute silence, while his question hung suspended in the air like a hangman's noose. A cynical amusement gradually crept across her features, suddenly bursting into a sharp, brittle laugh.
"Your Majesty—Father, I mean, for I am hardly accustomed to the title—your sense of humor is truly peculiar. To weave such a grand fable..." A cold bead of sweat traced a slow path down her temple, a stark contrast to the biting mockery she used to veil her fracturing composure.
Yet, Lucius's expression did not waver; if anything, it hardened with a profound, aching sorrow. His eyes, heavy and piercing, searched her face. "Olivia," he said, his voice weighted with gravity, "stop lying to me."
"I am telling you the truth," she replied, forcing a steadfastness into her tone that her trembling heart fiercely denied.
