Genevieve felt a surge of pure elation coursing through her veins. After years of enduring an unhappy, loveless marriage to an alpha who had despised her, she was finally on the cusp of emerging victorious.
The moment Vivianne agreed to become the bride of the Grand Duke of Borgia – the so-called 'monster of the North' – Genevieve knew that her carefully laid plans were coming to fruition. Her daughter, the only illegitimate daughter of Count Rothschild, was about to ascend to a position of unimaginable power and prestige.
While Vivianne may be relegated to the status of a concubine in the Northern palace, Genevieve took solace in the knowledge that her own daughter, her flesh and blood, Liselotte, would soon be wed and claimed by the mighty Emperor Dietrich Eregrad himself.
Genevieve's feelings of elation are tinged with a deep-seated resentment towards Vivianne, who is not her own flesh and blood but rather the daughter of her husband's mistress.
Though the prospect of Vivianne becoming the Grand Duchess of Borgia is still advantageous for the Rothschild family, Genevieve cannot help but view the young woman with a mixture of disdain and jealousy.
After all, it is Vivianne, the product of her husband's infidelity, who is being elevated to a position of power and privilege – a position that Genevieve herself has long been denied. The irony is not lost on her.
The thought of the two daughters of Count Rothschild, one destined for the role to be the concubine of the Grand Duke and the other poised to become Empress, filled Genevieve with a sense of vindication. All the years of suffering, the scorn and derision she had endured, were about to be washed away in a tide of triumph.
No longer would she be viewed as inferior, as damaged goods unworthy of the regard of the noble elite. They were on the precipice of a new era, one where the Rothschild name would be elevated to dizzying heights, commanding the respect and envy of all who dared to cross their path.
Genevieve's eyes narrowed with a mixture of resentment and calculation as she summoned the maid. "Call Vivianne for me at once," she commanded, her voice laced with a subtle edge.
The young woman in question had been sequestered away in the basement of the Rothschild estate for the past two years – ever since her coming of age as a rare and powerful omega. This was a deeply unsettling situation that shook the entire county.
Vivianne's pheromones were so potent that they could bring even mated alphas to their knees, causing them to crave her submission and do unspeakable things in their desperation to claim her.
It was a volatile and dangerous situation that necessitated Vivianne's isolation, both for her own protection and to preserve the fragile rationality of the alphas around her.
But Genevieve knew that Vivianne's deeply enticing nature also made her all the more precious and coveted. In the world of the nobility, a virgin omega was the ultimate prize – the more beautiful and untouched, the better. No alpha worth their salt would deign to marry a used and tainted omega.
And so Vivianne had become the object of desire for every noble family in the Erengrad Empire, her very existence a source of both resentment and anticipation for Genevieve. The older woman could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the attention lavished upon this stepdaughter, even as she plotted to leverage Vivianne's value to the family's advantage.
As the maid hurried to summon the young omega, Genevieve was preparing for the arrival of the Grand Duke. Vivianne's fate had been sealed the moment the Grand Duke of Borgia had expressed interest in her. Now, it was up to Genevieve to ensure that the Rothschild family reaped the full benefits of this union – no matter the cost.
-
Liselotte's eyes gleamed with barely concealed delight as she processed the news. "So it's official, then? That wretched sister of mine is to wed the monster – the demon-spawn Grand Duke of Borgia?"
"Yes, my lady," the loyal maid confirmed, a hint of trepidation in her voice. "The arrangements have been made."
Liselotte leaned back in her chair, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. For years, the image of the Grand Duke had loomed large in her mind – a nightmarish, otherworldly creature that embodied the darkest fears and deepest horrors of the Erengrad Empire.
The tales that circulated about the Grand Duke's distorted, skeletal features and unnatural, demonic presence only fuelled Liselotte's revulsion. To think that her own sister, Vivianne, would be bound to such a being – it was almost too delicious to bear.
"A monster is a monster, no matter his wealth or station," Liselotte mused aloud, her disdain palpable. "There is no way I could ever bring myself to serve such a creature in bed, let alone call him a husband."
The very idea of Vivianne, her so-called sister, being claimed by this dark, twisted entity filled Liselotte with a mixture of triumph and disgust. It was a perverse twist of fate that only served to heighten her own sense of superiority and entitlement.
"While Vivianne is forced to suffer the indignity of being the Grand Duke's plaything, I shall ascend to the throne as Empress," Liselotte declared, her voice dripping with sinister glee.
Despite being the legitimate daughter, Liselotte has always felt a deep-seated inferiority towards her step-sister, Vivianne. The green-eyed monster of jealousy consumes her as she contemplates Vivianne's ethereal beauty, which seems to eclipse her own.
Liselotte envies Vivianne's shimmering silver hair, cascading in luscious curls that frame her delicate, porcelain-like features. She covets the captivating allure of Vivianne's large, expressive eyes – pools of mesmerising purple that radiate a blend of innocence and sensuality, rimmed by thick, dark lashes.
The older Vivianne becomes, the more her beauty seems to bloom, glowing with an almost supernatural radiance that Liselotte can scarcely comprehend.
It is as if the very spirits themselves have blessed Vivianne, transforming her into a vision straight out of a fairy tale – a graceful, elegant creature that commands the attention of all who behold her.
Meanwhile, Liselotte is forced to confront the reality that her own charms, while considerable, pale in comparison to her step-sister's unearthly loveliness. Liselotte has dark brown hair like her father, the previous Count Rothschild, and eyes like her mother. Liselotte knows she can never hope to match Vivianne's breathtaking splendour.
Liselotte's lips curled into a malicious grin as she revelled in the news of Vivianne's betrothal to the Grand Duke of Borgia. The bitter realisation that she had always lived in her stepsister's radiant shadow now filled her with a sense of twisted excitement.
"At last, the tables have turned," Liselotte mused, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "For once, I shall be the one holding the upper hand, while Vivianne is forced to submit to that wretched, demon-spawned creature."
Though the Grand Duchy of Borgia was technically a principality, separate from the Erengrad Empire, Liselotte knew that the nobility there still answered to the whims of the Imperial throne. This meant that Vivianne's newfound position, while elevated, would still be shackled to the demands of the very system Liselotte hoped to one day command.
"Can't wait to see the look on her face when the Grand Duke comes to claim her," Liselotte sneered, imagining the horror and disgust that would surely mar Vivianne's delicate features. "She may have been blessed with unmatched beauty, but even that won't save her from the clutches of that wretched beast."
The thought of her radiant step-sister being forced to submit to the Grand Duke's dark desires filled Liselotte with a perverse sense of triumph. Finally, she would have the upper hand, and she would relish every moment of Vivianne's suffering.