The Rothschild County was indeed a most fortunate territory, blessed with an abundance of fertile land and bountiful harvests. The late Count was a noble who dedicated himself wholeheartedly to the well-being of his people, earning him a reputation as a wise and benevolent ruler.
However, the Count harboured a weakness that would ultimately unravel the delicate fabric of his domain. He had fallen deeply in love with a captivating slave—a beautiful woman with silver hair and emerald eyes, a mesmerising dancer who had captured his heart.
Even after the Count had taken Genevieve as his lawful wife, he could not bring himself to sever his ties with his lover. Because if he marked Genevieve as his true mate, it would have meant forsaking his secret paramour forever.
From this forbidden union was born a child of extraordinary beauty—Vivianne, a daughter blessed with the silver hair and violet eyes of her father, along with a rare connection to the spirits that imbued her with unique power. Vivianne arrived a year after Genevieve had given birth to the Count's legitimate heir, Valdemar.
Tragically, Genevieve did not survive Vivianne's birth, not due to complications of childbirth, but by the hand of an unknown assailant. Poisoned, she perished, leaving the Count no choice but to turn to the only course of action that could ensure Vivianne's safety—he finally marked Genevieve as his true mate, even as he spent the rest of his days consumed by an overwhelming hatred for his wife.
The Count's inner turmoil ultimately led to his downfall, and he passed away when Vivianne was only ten years old. From that day forward, young Vivianne's life became a living hell, bereft of the love and protection that should have been her birthright.
Vivianne stood in the dimly lit confines of the basement room, her eyes sweeping over the familiar surroundings with a mixture of trepidation and resignation. She thought she had died in the hands of the Emperor of Erengrad, but then she woke up right three weeks before her true hell began, waking up in the same room she had spent her life in after her father, the Count, was dead.
This was the chamber in which she had been sequestered, mere moments before being shoved into a union with the incapable alpha—the very same emperor who threw her to the other alphas in their state of rut.
Unlike the typical omega, Vivianne's unique condition set her apart—she possessed a pheromone that was far too potent, one that always drew the attention of alphas, both mated and unmated alike. This was a phenomenon never before witnessed, rendering her an oddity in the eyes of her peers and condemning her to a life of isolation.
Her half-brother, Valdemar, had believed that the best course of action was to marry Vivianne off to the emperor—the alpha of the pack, the mightiest of them all. He had not realised that Vivianne's singular nature was beyond the control of even the emperor himself and that no matter how powerful the alpha, they would be powerless against the siren's call of her alluring scent.
Vivianne's lips curled into a bitter smile as she recalled the cruel irony of her situation. "I'm not going to get through that again," she muttered, her voice laced with a defiant determination.
Her mind drifted back to the events that had led her to this darkened basement room—the fateful summons to her half-brother Valdemar's office, where he had presented the prospect of an arranged marriage.
Despite being the illegitimate daughter of the late count, Vivianne de Rothschild was renowned throughout the empire for her peerless beauty and the unique pheromones that drew alphas to her like moths to a flame. Valdemar, born as a beta, had recognised the potential power and influence that could be gained by wedding his sister to the most powerful alpha of all—the emperor himself.
In Valdemar's eyes, this was the path to securing the legacy of the Rothschild family and solidifying his own claim to the county by him being a beta. Vivianne was merely a means to an end, a prized asset to be bartered away for his own advancement.
Vivianne's jaw tightened as she remembered the callous manner in which her brother had discussed her fate, as if she were nothing more than a commodity to be exchanged. The knowledge that she was to be sacrificed to appease the emperor's base desires only fuelled the simmering resentment within her.
"Not this time," she vowed.
True to her memories of the past, the maid barged into Vivianne's room without so much as a courtesy knock. "The lord calls for you, Lady Vivianne," she announced, her tone brusque and lacking in the proper respect.
Vivianne's lips pressed into a thin line, but she simply nodded. "Very well," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within. She had been expecting this summons, for the wheels of fate were once again in motion.
The maid, clearly taken aback by Vivianne's calm demeanour, stole furtive glances at the young woman, her curiosity piqued by the tangible tension in the air. Yet, she dared not voice her questions, as the count is currently waiting in his office.
As Vivianne made her way to Valdemar's office, she could feel the weight of expectation bearing down upon her. Her stepmother and half-sister, Liselotte, were already present, their expressions a calculated mix of anticipation and guarded ambition.
Vivianne's reputation as a great beauty was well-known, even as the illegitimate daughter of the Rothschild line. Her captivating violet eyes, a trait that imbued her with the power to command the spirits, were a coveted prize that many nobles sought to claim.
In contrast, Liselotte was also considered a beauty in her own right, but Vivianne's presence seemed to eclipse her, drawing all eyes and captivating onlookers. This was no mere physical allure, however; Vivianne's pheromones, imbued with a singular potency, had the power to drive even the most seasoned alphas into a frenzy of desire.
Wasting no time, Valdemar cut to the heart of the matter. "The Emperor of Erengrad and the Grand Duke of Borgia have both expressed interest in the Rothschild's daughter's hand in marriage, Liselotte, Vivianne," he stated, his voice betraying neither warmth nor emotion. "It is time we discussed the implications of these proposals and how best to secure the future of our family."
Vivianne could not help but recall the events of her past life, as they now unfolded before her once more. In that fateful timeline, when she had chosen to marry the emperor, her half-sister Liselotte had sworn upon her deathbed that she would never wed the "demon of the North"—a "dreadful moniker that had always been associated with the Grand Duke of Borgia.
The whispers surrounding the Grand Duke had painted them as an old, horrifying creature with foul breath, glowing red eyes, and a repulsive body odour. Liselotte had been adamant in her refusal to be bound to such a figure, which ended up with her marrying the marquis's son.
While Vivianne had suffered immensely as the emperor's consort, Liselotte had found her own happiness, marrying the alpha son of a powerful marquis family. And throughout those harrowing years, the Grand Duke of Borgia had remained stubbornly single, their imposing presence a fixture in Vivianne's memories.
Vivianne's encounter with the Grand Duke had been a singular moment of clarity. Unlike the other alphas who had fallen prey to the siren's call of her pheromones, the Grand Duke had remained unaffected, not even flinching in her presence. This revelation had left a deep impression on Vivianne, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that her path lay with the enigmatic ruler of Borgia.
This time, Vivianne was determined to make the right choice—a choice that would spare her from the horrors of her past life and ensure she took back the Rothschild legacy from Valdemar and Genevieve.
Valdemar's gaze bored into Vivianne, his discerning eyes searching for any hint of hesitation or uncertainty. "So? Vivianne? Who do you want to marry? I gave you the first choice because of your unique condition. And I know how much the Emperor is smitten with you," he said, the underlying implication clear—he believed he could control Vivianne more easily if she were wed to the Emperor than Liselotte.
Without a moment's hesitation, Vivianne replied, "I'll marry the Grand Duke of Borgia." Her firm, unwavering tone caught everyone in the room off guard, especially Liselotte, who had been prepared to fight her sister for the chance to wed the emperor.
Liselotte's expression shifted from surprise to amusement. Because she had been having affections for Dietrich, the emperor. Thus, she's been wanting to marry him, and her mother, Genevieve, had always believed that her daughter was the only worthy choice to become the empress.
Valdemar's brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by Vivianne's unexpected decision. "Are you sure? You'll be having a hard time in the North. Being the Empress is far— His words were swiftly cut off by the sharp interjection of his mother, Genevieve.
"Valdemar! Vivianne is an adult! Let her be!" Genevieve snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "If she wanted to marry the Grand Duke of Borgia, then let her!"
Vivianne held her ground, her gaze unwavering. She knew in her heart that this was the right choice, the one that would spare her from the torment of her past life. "Yes, I'm sure I'll marry the Grand Duke of Borgia and let Liselotte marry the emperor. However..."
"What is it? You can't change your mind!" Genevieve retorts, her expression hardening with displeasure.
Vivianne's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "Let my marriage with the Grand Duke be held in secret, in the Holy Empire. Ask the Emperor for time to answer his proposal. Then answer after the emperor's proposal with Liselotte, after my marriage with the grand duke is blessed by the church."
Liselotte's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"
Valdemar's eyes narrowed as he quickly grasped the implications of Vivianne's request. "Because the Emperor desires her more than you, Liselotte. And if he knows the Grand Duke is going to take her, he'll do something to stop it." He clicked his tongue, a hint of frustration in his tone. "Do you want that to happen?"
"No." Liselotte replied softly, feeling small.
Genevieve's gaze darted between her children, her expression a mix of calculation and begrudging respect for Vivianne's shrewd thinking. "Very well," she conceded, the words laced with a trace of irritation. "We shall proceed as you've outlined. The emperor must be pacified, and your marriage to the grand duke secured without his interference."