Evelyn sat poised at the garden table, her fingers lightly gripping the delicate porcelain teacup. The soft rustle of the garden’s leaves was the only sound, but her mind was far from at ease. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on Amelia, who sat opposite her, attempting to mask the fury burning behind her gaze.

Evelyn took a sip of her tea, her lips curling slightly as she examined the young woman before her. “Tsk,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. “Your ugly face is making me nauseous.” She paused for effect, watching the subtle flicker of irritation in Amelia’s eyes. “I feel like I will end up vomiting if you don’t cover your face.”

Amelia’s hands tightened around her teacup, but she forced her expression into a mask of submission. “I am sorry, Duchess,” she said, her voice strained but composed. “I will keep it in my mind.”

Evelyn’s lips twisted into a faint, imperceptible smile, one that carried no warmth. She took another sip of her tea, her eyes narrowing as the taste lingered on her tongue. After a moment, she frowned, her displeasure evident.

“This tea,” she said, her tone turning cold, “is disgusting.” She glanced at the maid who had prepared it, and without a second thought, tossed the contents of her cup onto the grass. The splatter of liquid stained the ground, a small, deliberate gesture of disdain.

Turning back to Amelia, Evelyn’s voice remained icy. “Remake my tea.”

The command hung in the air, and Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. This was it—the moment she had been waiting for. Her hands trembled with excitement, but she quickly masked it with a bow of her head, her voice steady as she responded, “At once, Duchess.”

As Evelyn turned her attention elsewhere, Amelia’s eyes flashed with a gleam of determination. This was her golden opportunity to act. Without wasting a moment, she moved toward the tea set, her mind already calculating every step. She would follow through with her father’s plan—there could be no mistakes. The poison would go into Evelyn’s tea, and soon, the Duchess would pay for the humiliation she had endured.

Amelia’s breath quickened as she reached for the pouch in her sleeve. Her fingers brushed the small packet of poison—its presence a promise of power. She had to be swift, precise. Her hand hovered over the teapot, and in one swift motion, she added the poison to the tea, mixing it carefully to ensure no trace remained.

When she turned back to Evelyn, her face was the picture of calm. She carried the teapot with the practiced grace of someone who had done this many times before. As she set it down before Evelyn, her heart raced. This time, there would be no failure.

Evelyn regarded her with a cold, calculating gaze, but she didn’t notice the subtle change in the tea. She simply nodded, lifting her cup once more. As Evelyn took her first sip, she kept her piercing gaze locked onto Amelia, her expression impassive yet sharp. “The tea tastes… different today,” she remarked, her tone calm but slightly suspicious.

Amelia’s hand tensed for a fleeting moment, but she quickly regained her composure. She reminded herself of the facts: the poison was odorless and tasteless, something that only an expert or someone with prolonged exposure to such toxins could detect. Evelyn was no alchemist; she would suspect nothing. A faint, almost mocking smile appeared on Amelia’s lips as she responded with feigned sweetness. “Perhaps it’s just the pregnancy affecting your taste buds, Duchess.”

Evelyn frowned slightly but took another sip, seemingly placated by the explanation. Without a word, Amelia signaled to the maids to leave, and they bowed before exiting, leaving the two women alone in the garden. Amelia’s eyes remained glued to Evelyn, anticipation building with each small sip Evelyn took. Soon, she thought. Soon, the Duchess would fall.

Then, without warning, Evelyn’s teacup slipped from her fingers, shattering against the cobblestones. A trickle of blood escaped from her lips as she clutched her stomach, her eyes wide with sudden horror.

“W-What did you do?” Evelyn gasped, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to rise but faltered, collapsing back into her chair.

Amelia’s face transformed from practiced sweetness to open satisfaction, a glint of cold triumph in her eyes. “Oh, dear Duchess,” she murmured, stepping closer, “perhaps you should have thought twice before humiliating me.” Her voice was soft but laced with venom.

Evelyn’s breathing grew ragged, her strength waning with every passing second. “You… you’ll pay for this,” she choked out, pain flashing across her face as her body fought against the lethal concoction.

Amelia leaned in, her voice a mere whisper in Evelyn’s ear. “No, Duchess. 'You' are the one who has run out of time.”

To be continued