Franz was not cruel.
He waited until Elisia closed her eyes completely.
When he received her silent permission, he gently pulled her towards him.
Their lips met gently, with some reverence.
As soon as his lips connected with hers, he exhaled a heavy sigh through his clenched teeth.
A pure, seductive fragrance surrounded her, dangerously seductive.
But she couldn't allow herself to hesitate.
While she was trapped in Franz's strong arms, Elisia raised her hands to push against his chest.
As she tried, the soft mattress moved beneath her.
“Fran…ah—”
A soft moan escaped her lips as she whispered his name.
The moment Elisia opened her mouth, Franz took the opportunity and deepened the kiss.
What started as a gentle kiss quickly intensified, and Elisia's resistance began to melt little by little.
Franz tilted his head, pressing their bodies closer together, while her heart, which had been still, began to beat madly.
'...no'
The sound of her heartbeat was deafening to her ears, and she closed her eyes tightly.
She gathered what was left of her strength to push Franz away.
But, despite her intention, she only placed her hands gently on his chest.
This was enough to stop Franz.
He froze in place, pulling away a little to catch his breath.
“You're right,” he muttered bitterly, panting, “we're not married yet.”
As if it was a promise to continue after the wedding.
Elysia felt very disturbed.
Franz never loved her.
He always showed disgust at her presence, and even her smell repulsed him.
Their wedding night was a mere duty—cold, devoid of any emotion.
Every moment she spent with him was torture, painful to the point of tears.
And because of one of those nights...
'Forget it, Liz'
Elysia shook her head slightly, and rearranged the opening of her dress with trembling fingers, forcing herself to smile slightly.
“You're right.
So please, don't visit my room like that again.
If you want to talk to me, send a message through Sara.”
“What about you?”
"Sorry?"
“You might want to talk to me too.
Or you might need help while you're staying here.
If you ever want to see me, just open my room door.”
Franz's voice was full of seriousness.
When he noticed the hardening of her features, he quickly added: “…If that ever happens.”
“Not going to happen,” Elisia replied coldly, her emerald eyes shining like ice, “Because when I really need you, you won’t be there.”
“You seem confident about that.
Why?”
"Who knows?
Why really?"
Elisia's lips curled into a bitter smile.
She had become accustomed to Franz neglecting her—it had become a habit.
His compassionate attitudes now were the result of necessity only.
To him, she was just a tool, nothing more.
However, he acted as if he had sincere feelings for her.
In some ways, this Franz was more cruel than the one she had known before.
Pretending to long for love...
'I will never look for you again.'
Elisia's hand moved to her stomach, gripping her dress so tightly that wrinkles formed in it.
She shivered slightly, staring at Franz.
“So don't waste your time on me,” she warned him sharply.
Franz's handsome forehead wrinkled.
“And don't depend on me.”
She turned away coldly from him.
When she turned her back, she felt his breath touching her neck.
Then the bed moved again as he moved away.
She didn't look at him until she heard the door closing.
Only after he left did she allow herself to breathe, and hugged her body together, clutching her stomach tightly.
“Ah...”
She bit her lip, holding back her tears.
'Ask for help?' From you?’
She laughed sarcastically.
She won't ask Franz for help again—no matter what.
Because he will leave her anyway.
'I won't be fooled twice.'
Her shoulders shook gently, tears gathering in her eyes.
For a long time, soft crying filled the empty bedroom.
Elisia was already being treated like the second prince's wife.
Although the wedding is still a few days away, nobles have begun to flock to her to gain her approval, filling her days with invitations.
Elisia looked indifferently at the pile of invitations that Sara had brought.
Each sender expressed his sincere desire to honor the new princess.
'If they're sending all of these, they must have sent a lot of gifts to the Ambrose Lands as well.'
Her pen stopped.
Then she turned to look at the beautiful garden hanging behind the window, decorated with bright autumn colors.
There was no garden in the separate palace where she lived in her previous life, no beautiful trees or flowers to please the eye.
In those days, she was a prisoner, isolated, not even daring to imagine such comfort.
But now, she was sitting comfortably in the middle of the Second Prince's palace, enjoying the scene without haste.
Her bed is luxurious, the stove is warm, and every luxury she had never imagined before is hers today.
'Everything changes.'
Even those who had previously neglected her now treated her with the utmost respect, knowing that her suite was directly connected to Franz's room.
This extreme sensitivity to political changes was clearly demonstrated.
"… my lady?"
Sara interrupted her thoughts with her gentle voice, and Elisia fluttered her eyelids in confusion.
"Hmm?
What did you say?"
“Should I prepare a response to this first?”
“What is this?”
Sarah presented a silver tray bearing a message.
When Elisia saw the wax seal engraved with a shield surrounded by rose branches—the crest of the Ambrose family—she frowned.
Without opening it, she knew its sender and content.
There is no doubt that it is from Patricia, advising her to win Franz's heart and serve him faithfully.
“It was fast.”
She muttered bitterly.
She wasn't expecting to receive this letter before the wedding, but it arrived early.
It is clear that things are not exactly the same as before.
“Get rid of it,” she ordered coldly, “from now on, throw away every letter from Ambrose.
I will neither read it nor respond.”
“But...”
Sarah hesitated, holding the tray nervously.
Elisia coldly motioned for her to come closer, then tore the envelope with a letter knife.
She quickly browsed the message.
“As I expected.”
She handed it to Sarah, then ordered her sharply: “Read it, too.”
“What?
How dare I read a letter from your stepmother?”
“It's okay.
Hurry.”
Sarah hesitated for a moment, then finally read.
As soon as she started, her caution turned into anger, and her hands began to shake.
Elisia was watching her carefully, guessing which part she had spoken—the request for money, under the pretext that the dowry had been spent, or her plea to persuade Franz to give Caleb a noble title.
"This...this is terrible.
How dare you ask this of me?"
Sara raised her eyes in shock, her violet irises trembling.
Sarah knew very well how Elysia was treated at Ambrose Palace—tortured by her stepmother, dependent only on Caleb.
However, after arriving at the palace, her status had risen tremendously, and Sara thought that Patricia would not dare to harass her again.
Sara had to understand clearly why Elysia had refused any contact with the Ambroses—not out of petty grudges, but out of legitimate caution.
“Do you understand now?” Elisia snatched the letter from her hand, then threw it firmly into the fireplace.
While the flames were consuming the paper, she announced coldly: “Elysia of the Ambrose family is dead.
Burn every letter addressed to a dead person.”