Olivia fled up the stairs, her sobs echoing through the house. Edward stood for a moment, his chest heaving, before turning on his heel and stalking back into his study, slamming the door behind him.
The hallway was suddenly very quiet.
Nora stood alone by the staircase. Catherine stood a few feet away, her body rigid. The hatred in her eyes was palpable, a physical force in the room.
"Are you satisfied?" Catherine hissed. She took a step toward Nora, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You walk into this house and tear it apart in a matter of days."
Nora met her gaze without flinching. "I simply presented the facts, Mother."
"Facts?" Catherine spat the word. "Olivia is innocent! She's just a child. She doesn't know how cruel people can be. You... you set her up. You used that recording to trap her."
Catherine was rewriting history in real-time, twisting the narrative so that Olivia was the victim and Nora was the predator.
"She has lived in this house for eighteen years!" Catherine's voice rose, cracking with emotion. "She is my daughter! Who are you? You show up from nowhere and think you can just take everything from her?"
Nora looked at the woman standing before her. This was her biological mother. A woman who should have been her protector. Instead, she was a stranger defending a stranger.
Nora felt no pain. Only a cold, analytical detachment. She recognized this kind of irrationality. It wasn't logic; it was ego.
"Ah," Nora said softly. "I understand now."
Catherine paused, thrown off by Nora's calm tone. "Understand what?"
"Your dilemma, Mother," Nora said, her voice taking on a slightly theatrical quality, a cadence that felt centuries old. "How exhausting it must be to maintain the illusion of a perfect family."
Catherine flinched. "What are you talking about?"
"You require a perfect daughter," Nora continued, stepping closer, her voice low and precise. "A daughter who wears the right clothes, attends the right schools, and reflects your status back to you. Like a living, breathing Hermes bag."
Catherine's face tightened.
"And then there is me," Nora said, a sad smile touching her lips. "The flaw. The original item that doesn't match the decor. My very existence reminds everyone that your perfect life is built on a mistake."
The color drained from Catherine's face. Nora had found the wound and pressed down hard.
"So you don't defend Olivia out of love," Nora said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You defend her because she is the prop that holds up your fragile world. How... admirable."
The word "admirable" hung in the air, thick with sarcasm. It was a slap in the face delivered with a velvet glove.
Catherine trembled. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her defenses had been stripped away, her true motives exposed to the light.
Nora didn't wait for a response. She gave a slight nod, as if dismissing a servant, and turned toward the stairs.
She walked up the steps slowly, her posture impeccable. Every step was a deliberate blow to Catherine's pride.
Behind her, Catherine let out a choked gasp. Nora heard a heavy thud.
She paused on the landing and looked back.
Catherine was on her knees, clutching her chest. Her face was ashen, her breathing shallow. A maid came running from the kitchen, screaming for help.
Nora watched for a moment, ensuring the woman wasn't dying, then turned and walked to her room. She had won the battle. The war was just beginning.
