Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

"Brielle, your heart hasn't fully recovered—how can you be this impulsive?"
Inside Twilight Aerie, Oliver gently held Brielle back as she struggled to rush out the door. His voice was filled with helplessness and concern.
Brielle's eyes were already red and swollen from crying, tears falling nonstop like broken beads. Against her pale face, they made her look even more delicate and pitiful.
"Oliver, it's all my fault," she choked out. "If it weren't for me, Charlotte wouldn't have been punished by Father and Mother. If anything happens to her, I… I don't want to live either!"
Her sobs grew louder. With her naturally frail constitution, the crying soon left her breathless.
The maid attending her rushed forward to gently pat her back, helping her breathe. But as she comforted Brielle, her words subtly cast blame.
"Honestly, Lady Charlotte is being dramatic. I heard it was only two strikes, but now the whole manor's acting like she was beaten half to death.
"Anyone who didn't know better might think General Hastings and Lady Valeria were torturing her."
Brielle gave the maid a soft, disapproving glance. "Don't say that. Charlotte… Charlotte was raised gently. It's no surprise she's a bit delicate."
When Oliver first heard that Charlotte had fallen ill from the punishment, he did feel a twinge of guilt.
After all, when he'd gone to confront her, he had fully intended to force her to admit to sneaking off to Gilded Cage.
But now, after he heard all this, the guilt in his chest quickly curdled into frustration.
He'd almost been fooled again by her little tricks.
When he got into trouble growing up, didn't their parents punish him too? He'd been whipped dozens of times in a row and only needed a couple of days to bounce back.
But Charlotte? Two light strikes and suddenly she was clinging to life? And now, Brielle was so distraught she'd triggered another heart episode?
The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.
After settling Brielle into bed and making sure she was resting, Oliver stormed off toward Rosalie's courtyard—where Charlotte was now recovering under her protection.
There were a few of Rosalie's most trusted maids stationed outside, but Oliver, boiling with rage, didn't even blink. He shoved past them and kicked open the door.
Inside, he saw Charlotte slowly sipping her medicine while Lilith stood by. The sight made his blood boil—she looked far too composed for someone who'd supposedly been bedridden. He strode over, snatched the bowl from her hands, and smashed it on the floor.
Dark herbal broth splattered everywhere, the room immediately filling with the bitter scent of medicine.
"Lord Oliver! What are you doing?" Lilith cried out, face going pale. "Lady Charlotte is still recovering!"
"Recovering?" Oliver sneered. "From what? Grandmother must be going senile to fall for this kind of act."
He glared at Charlotte, who sat silently on the bed, her face calm and unreadable. The lack of reaction only infuriated him more. He lunged forward and grabbed her, yanking her roughly from the bed.
"Do you have any idea what you've done? Because of your little performance, Brielle felt so guilty that she relapsed!
"It was just two harmless strikes. And you're here pretending to be at death's door? Cut the act. You're going to get up and apologize to Brielle—right now!"
Years of military training gave his grip strength—and in his fury, he didn't hold back. As he dragged her forward, the half-healed wounds on Charlotte's back tore open again, and the pain drained all color from her face.
"Lord Oliver, please! Stop—this isn't right!" Lilith cried, rushing to intervene.
When Lilith saw blood starting to seep through the back of Charlotte's robes, she rushed forward to stop Oliver—but she was no match for his strength.
With a sharp flick of his arm, Oliver threw her aside. Lilith stumbled and fell heavily to the floor, groaning in pain and unable to get up for a long while.
"Lord Oliver," Charlotte said coldly, "you can treat someone like me however you please. But Lilith is one of Rosalie's closest attendants."
Seeing Lilith hurt, Charlotte tried to pull away and check on her. But her words landed like a thorn in Oliver's chest, only stoking the fire already burning in him. He yanked her back and flung her to the floor without hesitation.
Pain exploded through her body.
Charlotte felt like every bone in her body had been smashed. She lay there, dazed, and couldn't help wondering, 'Why?'
She had never expected Brielle or Oliver to take responsibility for going to Gilded Cage. She'd never once spoken a word against Brielle.
Even when Oliver had implied she should take the blame, she hadn't argued.
She thought, 'Haven't I done enough?
'What more do they want from me before they'd finally let me go?'
"You—! I barely touched you and now you're putting on a show? Who are you trying to impress?"
Oliver hadn't expected her to be so fragile. His initial guilt quickly turned into irritation and embarrassment. He was about to step forward again when an angry voice cut through the air behind him.
"Charlotte!"
"What are you doing? How could you treat her like that?"
Valeria stormed in, glaring furiously at Oliver. Oliver shifted his gaze away, suddenly uneasy. But he still mumbled defensively, "Mother, don't fall for her act. She's faking it. I've taken worse beatings from Father—dozens of strikes—and I was back on my feet in two days!"
The more he spoke, the more stubborn he became, as if justifying himself could erase what had happened. He reached out again to grab Charlotte.
"You've lost your mind!" Valeria snapped, pointing at him with a trembling finger. Her face paled as she caught sight of the blood soaking through Charlotte's back. "When your father punished you, it was just a light warning. The rod he used was thin and gentle. But yesterday—he was furious. The servants didn't hold back. Those two strikes would've nearly killed an ordinary person!"
The truth was, Valeria hadn't come running out of guilt or maternal affection.
Charlotte knew that perfectly well.
There was no sudden awakening of motherly love here—only fear. Fear that if something truly happened to Charlotte, it would ruin the Hastings family's carefully maintained reputation.
After all, they still needed to marry Brielle into the Marquis' household. And right now, the only reason outsiders still spoke well of the Hastings family was because they'd "graciously accepted" Charlotte back into the household.
If she died under suspicious circumstances, that virtuous image would crumble overnight.
Charlotte brushed aside Valeria's outstretched hand and forced herself to stand. Fortunately, she'd quietly altered her own medication over the past few days using what medical knowledge she still remembered. Otherwise, after what Oliver had just done, she'd likely be bedridden again.
"You—" Oliver was stunned. He hadn't expected her to get up, and the cold, detached look in her eyes unsettled him. Flustered, he blurted out, "Why didn't you say anything earlier? Why didn't you speak up in front of Father and Mother yesterday? This… this is all your own doing!"
Your own doing.
What a convenient way to wash his hands of guilt.
Charlotte gave a faint, bitter smile. "Funny," she said, her voice quiet but cutting. "If I remember correctly, wasn't it you who stopped me early yesterday morning—threatened me, told me to take the blame for going to Gilded Cage?"
"You—!"
Oliver's face flushed, then turned pale. Speechless, he growled, "Ungrateful girl!" before turning and storming out. He didn't look back. Not once. Not even to check on the wounds he'd just torn open again.