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Once Viola recounted seeing Sophie at the estate gate that day, Rebecca’s fury erupted.
“She… she is already a princess consort. Why can’t she let go of us? It’s as if she wishes for everyone in our house to be completely wiped out.”
Seeing her mother-in-law denounce Sophie with such fury, Viola felt a mixture of relief and satisfaction.
“With such a wicked heart, she will surely face retribution,” Viola declared.
However, there was an underlying worry in her heart. Since taking over the management of the household, her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had frequently expressed their dissatisfaction with her. Though her husband never voiced his concerns, his occasional contemplative silence left her with a cold and distant feeling.
The servants in the household, including the steward, had never spoken a word against Sophie. Even when Viola attempted to guide the conversation, they seemed oblivious, consistently praising Sophie as a good and kind mistress.
Charlotte, the old lady from the second branch of the family, was even more direct. She praised how well the household had functioned under Sophie. Even Viola’s eldest sister-in-law, Amelia, echoed those sentiments.
Before marrying into the Jaffe family, Viola had expected that everyone would despise Sophie. Given Sophie’s narrow-minded and jealous nature, Viola thought she would have been harsh toward the servants, who would then speak ill of her.
Yet, it was only her critical mother-in-law and youngest sister-in-law who harbored such intense hatred towards Sophie.
Viola’s anxiety stemmed from the feeling that she seemed to fne understand everything while grasping nothing fully. She vowed to surpass Sophie and to be more accommodating. She especially wanted to prove to the world that even as a woman who had remarried, she could handle the household better and manage the Jaffe family with exceptional skill.
She also intended to mend her relationship with Freya. Since Freya was also a rightful wife, by the king, Viola believed that long as she was sufficiently lenient towards the other woman, Freya would be eternally grateful. After all, she had once been rejected by Sophie.
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But Viola had miscalculated even that.
Freya showed no appreciation for her kindness, only a cold indifference that was infuriating. Their disagreements often escalated. Despite Viola’s attempts to resolve conflicts, Freya seemed determined to argue about every little thing, unwilling to settle unless right and wrong were established.
To Freya, everything she did was right, while everything Viola did was wrong.
That distortion of right and wrong was truly maddening.
Life after marrying into the Jaffe family had been a mess, completely different from what Viola had previously imagined. Aside from her husband’s relatively good treatment, nothing else was going as she had hoped.
Blake once again took Freya to Jadehill Estate. This time, he arrived with a substantial number of gifts and even knelt at the entrance to request an audience.
Fortune was on his side-the Marquis of Jadehill was not at home, and upon learning of their arrival, Mary graciously invited them in.
Freya maintained a sullen expression throughout, showing no intention of apologizing. However, Mary seemed unbothered and instructed her servants to serve refreshments. Mary’s daughter-in-law, granddaughter-in-law, and great-granddaughter-in-law stood to the side, all casting hostile glances at Freya.
Blake knelt and greeted, “Good day, Madam Clayton. I am Blake Jaffe, and I wish you health and happiness.”
Freya reluctantly followed suit and knelt, but said nothing, her mouth hidden behind her veil as if it were sealed.
Mary dismissed their formalities and invited them to sit.
“Madam Clayton, my wife spoke thoughtlessly and offended you. I hope you can forgive her,” Blake said, clearly anxious.
“Thoughtlessly? She spoke with malice!” snapped Caroline, one of Mary’s granddaughters-in-law.
“That’s right! We never intended to ask for donations. Grandmother was just tired after our journey and wanted to rest a moment at your family’s residence and have a drink of water.”
“And yet, upon meeting us, she called us beggars. What have we begged for from you? What have you given us?”
Mary’s other granddaughters-in-law voiced their grievances. Mary had been doing a good deed. How could they let Freya insult the elderly woman like that?
Blake felt a deep sense of dread, realizing that despite meeting Mary, they might not be forgiven. He glanced at Freya, signaling for her to apologize, but she seemed to neither see nor hear the complaints from the Clayton family members.
She sat there like a statue. Her presence alone was already the greatest concession she could offer.
“Enough,” Mary said slowly. “Our guests are here. We mustn’t be rude.”
When Mary spoke, everyone fell silent.
The old woman glanced at Freya before turning her attention back to Blake.
“I haven’t dwelled on this matter. It’s the younger generation of my family who are upset. I’ve told them many times that once a person does something, people will have bonet good and bad things to say about it. You can’t silence everyone, so just focus on doing your best. As long as your conscience is clear, that’s all that matters,” said Mary.
Freya finally spoke up, her tone calm and measured, “It’s impressive how open-minded and magnanimous you are, something we can only aspire to. But if you are truly so forgiving and free of resentment, then why were we turned away at the door the last time we came?”
“Freya!” Blake broke out in cold sweat, turning sharply to her and warning, “Be quiet.”
Mary gave Freya a meaningful look. “Madam Freya, I wasn’t aware of your previous visit. Had I known, I would have informed you that there was no need to come and apologize. You didn’t offend me. You only insulted yourself.”
Mary picked up her coffee and took a slow sip before continuing, “In my lifetime, I have encountered many types of people-capable and incapable, modest and arrogant, the great and the wicked, the kind and the loving. And I have seen quite few like you-twisted and conflicted.”
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“You say I am twisted?” Freya’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes flashing with anger. “How am I twisted? I would appreciate it if you could enlighten me, Madam Clayton.”
“Refusing to acknowledge your own failures and blaming them on others, constantly feeling like life hasn’t given you a fair chance, carrying a restless resentment, unwilling to accept defeat, hoping to surpass certain people, and trying to find ways to make others see you in a different light-that’s what makes you twisted.”
Mary shook her head slowly, her voice calm and gentle as she continued, “Why concern yourself with these matters? If you defeat someone, does that mean they will suffer? If you win against them, will you find happiness?
“No, their joy or sorrow doesn’t affect you. They don’t care about your happiness or sadness, yet you torment yourself with thoughts of them daily. Now, tell me, isn’t that twisted?”
Freya’s expression shifted dramatically as Mary’s words struck at her very core, hitting the mark precisely.
She had been seeking an opportunity to surpass Sophie, to prove that she was superior. This obsession tormented her day and night, robbing her of sleep and appetite, and filling her with a persistent rage. Yet, despite her daily resentment, it seemed as though Sophie paid her no mind?
She couldn’t believe it!
Clenching her fists, Freya said, “Madam Clayton, have you ever encountered someone so deceitful that they practically embody hypocrisy? Have you seen someone climb to the top by stepping on the achievements of others?
“Someone who feasts on the military honors of their family and is never satisfied? Someone who disregards their comrades’ lives, allowing them to be captured and mistreated? And yet, such a person becomes a princess consort. Do you really think the heavens are watching?”
Mary smiled, her wrinkles deepening her expression into a look of gentle kindness. “Such a person exists only in your heart. How could I possibly see her?”
Freya’s expression darkened, her anger evident even through the thin veil. “You don’t believe me.”
“Whether I believe you or not is of no importance,” Mary said calmly. “What matters is that you believe it yourself, and you torment yourself because of it. You are unhappy, consumed by bitterness, and every thought you have is driven by this resentment and anger. In the end, this will only harm you.”
Mary waved her hand dismissively. “Enough. I am tired. I don’t remember what was said that day, and neither does anyone here. Once you leave today, everyone will see you and know that you came to apologize. I believe the common people will not trouble you further.”