Chapter 3 Compromise

The Windsor Manor

"Put on this dress."

Edward looked at the white fabric piled on the bed.

Victoria's blood seemed to freeze. It was a wedding dress—the one Anne had been wearing when she died. Around the waist and abdomen, a large patch of dark red had long since dried to black. Her sister's blood.

"I can't." Victoria stepped back, revulsion rising in her throat.

"You don't get to refuse."

Edward stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow that swallowed her whole. "You schemed to replace her, so see it through. Put it on, or leave."

Victoria's fingers trembled as she touched the fabric. In front of Edward, she took off her outer clothes and put on the dress that smelled of death. The dried, cracked bloodstains rubbed against her skin—cold and sticky, like dead skin against hers.

She forced herself to walk down the stairs.

The servants stopped working. Their stares landed on her, full of scorn.

"My God, she actually dares to wear that dress…"

"That's Ms. Windsor's blood. How could she?"

"She'll do anything to climb higher."

The whispers drifted to her ears. Victoria straightened her back. Her face was deathly pale, but she refused to lower her head.

Night fell. In the master bedroom.

Victoria changed out of the suffocating wedding dress and stayed in the shower for a long time, trying to wash the phantom smell of blood from her skin.

Afterward, she began imitating Anne's manner, trying to play the gentle, caring wife. She picked up a tray and pushed open the study door. On the tray were fresh cranberry scones—Anne's most frequent dessert, Edward's favorite flavor.

Edward was working. He looked up when he heard her. His gaze swept over the curve of Victoria's body as she bowed her head, then landed on the dessert. Disgust flared into rage.

"Eager to throw yourself at me? Get out."

"Edward, this is the dessert Anne used to make." Victoria didn't understand why he was angry. She walked to the desk, trying to show a wife's tenderness. "I know you're tired. Please, have some."

Crash!

Edward swept his arm across the desk, knocking the entire tray to the floor. The porcelain shattered. Red jam splattered across the expensive carpet—a bloody echo of that wedding.

"You think you're worthy of making these things?"

He came around the desk, grabbed Victoria's hair, and forced her to look up at him. "Don't think I can't see through your fake act. You bring her favorite dessert with that cheap act—what are you trying to do? Seduce me? Or remind me that you got everything by stepping over Anne's dead body?"

Pain tore at her scalp. Victoria rose on her toes, tears filling her eyes, but she bit her lip and bit back every sound.

"Speak!" Edward roared.

"I just wanted to replace Anne. To take care of you. To be with you." Her voice was fragile, broken.

"You're not fit to breathe the same air as her."

He yanked her hair and dragged her like trash out of the study.

"Let me go… Edward… it hurts…"

Victoria stumbled, her knees slamming hard against the marble floor, leaving red marks. Edward ignored her pleas. He kicked open the door at the end of the hall—the one that had stayed shut for years.

The bridal chamber. Everything remained as it had been when Anne was alive. A huge wedding photo hung on the wall. In it, Anne smiled, elegant and gentle. Beside her, Edward's eyes shone with unguarded adoration.

Edward threw Victoria onto the floor.

"Look. Look closely."

He pressed the back of her head down, forcing her face toward the floor, making her stare at the photo. "You want Anne to witness your pathetic seduction attempts that badly?"

Every word dripped with venom. "She's watching you, Victoria. Anne is watching from heaven. Watching you in this miserable state."

Victoria was forced to gaze into Anne's gentle eyes in the photo. Guilt, pain, and despair swallowed her whole.

"I'm sorry… Anne… I'm so sorry…" She broke down sobbing, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Then Anne's bloodstained face before death invaded her mind, and that weak request—"be happy." She couldn't cry. Anne's only wish was for her to live happily. Marrying Edward was the beginning of happiness. She had fulfilled Anne's dying wish. She should feel satisfied.

Victoria's crying stopped.

Under Edward's stunned gaze, she roughly wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her mouth twitched stiffly, forcing a twisted smile onto her pale face—looking even more wretched than if she'd kept crying.

"I… I am happy," she murmured to the photo. "Anne, look, I married Edward. We're together. I'll make him happy."

That stiff, twisted smile carried an unsettling edge.

Edward watched her, a chill running down his spine, followed by deeper disgust.

"Crazy."

He let go and stepped back as if touching something filthy, looking down at the woman collapsed on the floor. "You're completely insane."

His rage drained away, leaving only cold contempt. That indifference hurt more than any beating. "You're not one ten-thousandth of Anne. The sight of you makes me sick. Since you're so obsessed with this room, you'll stay here tonight. Surrounded by Anne's memory. Think about what you've done."

Bang.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Victoria kept that stiff smile on her face, kneeling quietly in the dark room.