"Then tell me this," Azalea said, stepping closer, her tone like ice. "Why have you been asking about Marilyn?"
At that, Jackson's mask faltered. A flicker of irritation crossed his otherwise relaxed expression. He tried to compose himself, but Azalea had already seen enough.
"I knew it," she hissed. "You don't want Portia to carry Cristiano's heir. You want to bring Marilyn back, crown her as the Crown Princess, and keep Portia for yourself."
Her voice trembled with disbelief as she spoke the words aloud.
"You fool," she spat. "She's not just Cristiano's wife…she's the Prime Minister's daughter! Touching her means declaring war on his faction. Do you want to bring ruin upon me? Upon yourself?"
Jackson didn't respond. He stared into his tea, his expression unreadable.
Azalea muttered under her breath, her voice shaking. "You think you are clever, but this is suicide."
