A Witch Lives In The Emperor’s Bedroom - Chapter 4

After Rosalie announced that the Grand Duke’s carriage had fully departed, everyone finally relaxed, Bella included, who let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Then, without warning—smack!—a sharp sound echoed, and Bella collapsed to the floor, clutching her cheek in shock.

It was Martha.

Though physical punishment wasn’t unusual for Bella, its suddenness left Rosalie and Ethan looking slightly taken aback.

“Mother, why did you do that?” Rosalie asked.

“Is this about the brooch?” Ethan added.

Martha ignored their questions, simply gazing down at Bella before giving a nod to Emma, the maid nearby. Emma immediately stepped forward, grabbing Bella roughly and hauling her to her feet.

“You know what you did wrong, don’t you?” Martha said, flexing her hand as if to stretch it after the slap.

“Mother, are you all right?” Rosalie asked, concerned for Martha’s hand.

Bella, her right ear ringing from the force of the slap, barely heard her.

“Don’t you know what you did wrong?” Martha repeated, glaring at Bella.

Bella, drawing on years of experience in reading her mother’s expressions, tried to guess the reason.

“I—I know,” Bella replied quietly.

“Oh? Then go ahead, tell me.”

Martha’s tone was elegant, her words chillingly polite. Bella, still cradling her sore cheek, lowered her hands and clasped them respectfully.

“It was… for using Rosalie’s brooch—”

Smack!

Another slap cut her off, and Bella swayed, unable to fall as Emma held her firmly. For a moment, she wished she could collapse, if only to get a brief reprieve.

“Try again.”

“For leaving the drawing room without permission and taking too long to return—”

Smack!

The stinging in her cheeks had reached a point where she could barely feel the pain anymore, only a dull, throbbing numbness as her face swelled.

“Once more.”

Martha’s mask of refinement was slipping, her voice filled with irritation.

Ethan waved the nearby servants away, leaving only Emma and Martha in the room.

“Say it again,” Martha insisted.

Bella remained silent, too shaken to speak.

“Do you not hear me?” Martha’s voice dropped to a razor’s edge as she gripped Bella’s chin tightly, forcing her to look up.

When Bella stayed silent, Martha struck her again.

Smack!

This time, Emma couldn’t hold Bella up, and she fell limply to the floor.

“When you first greeted His Grace, you were barefoot,” Martha stated coldly. “But when you returned, you were wearing shoes. You must have had some… interaction with the Grand Duke, didn’t you?”

Rosalie’s eyes widened with fury as her cheeks flushed, not with love this time, but with jealousy and anger.

“What did you just say, Mother?” Rosalie demanded, her voice shaking. Ethan, meanwhile, wore a smug grin, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Tell me, Bella,” Martha continued, her voice icy, “where did you get those shoes?”

Emma, noticing Martha’s signal, yanked Bella’s skirt up, revealing the beige shoes Zenos had given her.

As Bella lay on the floor, too dazed to respond, Rosalie couldn’t contain herself any longer. She stormed over and began slapping Bella’s face repeatedly, her strikes hard enough that Bella’s head slammed into the floor.

“You worthless girl! How dare you have a secret conversation with His Grace?” Rosalie screamed.

“It—it wasn’t like that,” Bella stammered, trying to explain. “I was in trouble, and he kindly offered to help—”

“Of course, His Grace would be kind. But you should have refused his help, shouldn’t you? Oh, I see it now! You must’ve gone barefoot on purpose, hoping to trap him in such a situation. You cunning little snake!”

Rosalie snarled, grabbing at Bella’s hair, but Ethan stepped in, holding Rosalie back by her shoulder.

“What are you doing? Let me go!” Rosalie snapped.

“We don’t need to spill blood here,” Ethan said with a smirk. “We have a special place for situations like this.”

Bella’s blood ran cold at his words.

*

Bella knelt in the center of the cold, damp basement dungeon. She was dressed once again in her rough, shabby gown, her feet bare on the grimy stone floor.

Martha and Rosalie sat on elegant chairs in one corner of the room, with Ethan standing beside them, watching the scene with amusement.

In front of Bella stood Emma and another maid, Gina, both of whom took a strange pleasure in tasks like this, always volunteering eagerly for such “dirty work.”

“Even though you knew better, you dared to speak privately with His Grace. Such insolence requires punishment, wouldn’t you agree?” Martha said, her tone smooth and unfeeling.

“Of course, Mother. We should beat her half to death, so that she’ll only just recover in time to show her face at my wedding,” Rosalie said with a vindictive smile. “And there’s no need to take her to the Imperial Ball, is there? We can just say she’s too ill to attend.”

With Rosalie’s nod, Emma and Gina moved into action.

Swish, smack!

“Ugh…” Bella gritted her teeth, suppressing her scream. She’d learned on her first day with this cursed family that crying out only made the punishment worse.

“Enough,” Martha said, her voice calm.

Emma and Gina, sweating from the effort, stepped back, while Bella, her cheeks tear-streaked and her body trembling, kept her eyes downcast.

“Let this be a lesson,” Martha said coldly. “Do not dare to act so shamelessly again. Understand?”

“…Yes, Mother.” Bella managed, breathing heavily between words.

Martha scrutinized Bella’s face, as if judging the sincerity of her response, then turned away in distaste at the sight of her daughter’s pain-stricken expression.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Martha took the lead, with Rosalie close behind.

“If you ever pull something like this again, I’ll marry you off to some brute—uglier and meaner than your own father. Remember that,” Rosalie said with a mocking smile before disappearing up the staircase.

Emma and Gina lingered, glancing at Ethan, who withdrew a silver coin for each of them from his pocket.

“Upstairs,” he ordered.

“Pardon?” Emma asked, confused.

“I said, go upstairs.” Ethan held the coin closer, and Gina took it quickly, pocketing Emma’s share and pulling her along.

Once they were gone, Ethan turned to Bella, a twisted smile on his face.

“Didn’t think I’d have another opportunity for this so soon,” he murmured, catching his breath as he looked her over, a dark glint in his eyes.

Bella bit her lip, feeling a surge of dread. Everyone in the mansion knew about Ethan’s cruel inclinations—and they all knew that Bella was occasionally forced to play his unwilling victim.

“Since you’ve already had a rough day, I’ll go easy on you,” Ethan taunted. “Got it?”

“….”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a wicked grin, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her.

Thud, thud.

The sound of his footsteps echoed ominously through the basement, making Bella flinch instinctively. She slowly rose to a sitting position.

“O-Oppaboni,” Bella stammered, using the polite term for “brother.”

“Hm?” Ethan’s smile softened, but his eyes remained cold.

“Today… please, just… spare me a little. Just this once.”

Ethan looked at her, feigning contemplation, then suddenly laughed. He crouched down, grabbing her chin roughly.

“Do you think I have pity?”

“…”

His grin widened, more sinister than ever.

Sensing the danger, Bella shoved him back with all her strength. Ethan stumbled, and before he could react, Bella scrambled to her feet and bolted up the stairs.

“You… you wretched—!”

Ethan quickly recovered and chased after her, but Bella reached the top first and slammed the door shut, locking it behind her.

“Open this door, you lunatic!” he roared, pounding on the door.

Ignoring his shouts, Bella sprinted through the mansion toward the front gates, knowing that the maids would soon hear Ethan’s yelling and try to stop her.

Barefoot, she raced through the gates and out into the night, thankful that Martha had dismissed the guards earlier for the Grand Duke’s visit, leaving her path clear.

The streets were dark and silent. It was the Night of the Witch’s Birth, so not a soul dared to wander outside.

Finally, Bella found a secluded alley far from the mansion and collapsed there to catch her breath. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared it might burst.

As her adrenaline waned, she felt every ache and bruise, the pain searing through her body. She curled up, feeling as if she might just die there in the alley.

Then suddenly—

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Bella gasped and spun around to see a drunkard towering over her, grinning with a dazed, toothy smile.

“Well, hello there.”

The drunkard was an old man with a head full of scraggly white hair.

Bella, still in shock and aching all over, struggled to her feet. Just the act of standing felt as if her body might shatter from the pain.

“Hard making a living on the streets, isn’t it?” he sneered.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bella stammered, taking a shaky step back. She wanted to run, but her body felt too stiff and drained to move quickly.

“Playing innocent, are we?” he laughed, leaning closer. “Look, tonight’s the Night of the Witch’s Birth, so there’s no one else out here but me. How about it, huh?”

As he reached out to grab her, Bella instinctively swatted his hand away, shaking her head.

“You’re mistaken. I’m not a woman of the streets,” she said firmly.

“Who do you think you’re fooling? Everyone’s struggling to survive these days, so I’m sure you just crawled out here to make a little extra, huh? No need to act so—”

“I told you, I’m not that kind of person!” Bella shouted, her voice growing louder in desperation.

The drunkard’s smile vanished, replaced by an angry scowl. “You insolent wench!”

He slapped her hard across the face, sending Bella tumbling to the ground once again. The side of her face, already swollen from her family’s abuse, burned painfully.

“You think you can act above your station?” he spat, his voice rising in rage. Then, with a snarl, he climbed on top of her and wrapped his hands around her throat.

Bella gasped, clawing at his arms, but his grip only tightened. Her vision began to blur, a suffocating whiteness closing in.

“Die… Die, you filthy…!”

As he continued to spew vile insults, Bella’s mind reeled with images—Martha, Rosalie, Ethan, Gina, Emma, and all the other maids and servants who looked at her with nothing but scorn. Their disdainful faces filled her head, accompanied by the hateful words they’d always thrown at her: worthless, ugly, dirty, unwanted…

Make it stop…

The pain in her lungs felt insignificant compared to the agony these memories brought. Make it stop… Please… just disappear… all of you, disappear!

“Disappear!” she screamed in her mind.

In that instant, a vivid red light burst from Bella’s hand like the petals of a rose in full bloom. The brilliant flash struck the drunkard directly in the face, boring a hole straight through his head.

Blood poured from the wound as he crumpled lifelessly to the ground beside her.

Bella stared, horrified, then scrambled away, pressing herself against the wall. The drunkard’s blood pooled on the ground, slowly inching toward her. Gasping, she bolted upright, pressing her back against the opposite wall.

For a moment, she simply stared in shock, looking down at her hand and then at the body beside her. Finally, it dawned on her.

“It… it happened!” she cried.

Her shock gave way to exhilaration as she started jumping up and down, her heart swelling with a rush of newfound power.

“It finally happened! My wish came true!”

Overcome with joy, she stomped her feet, laughing and cheering as if she owned the world. All her pain had vanished in an instant.

“This is amazing! I feel… I feel so…!”

“Lady Isabella?”

She froze mid-step, her wild joy halted by the familiar, calm voice.

Slowly, she turned around, and there, standing in the shadows, was—

“Y-Your Grace…?” she stammered.

It was Zenos Ferdinand, the Grand Duke himself.