Chapter 69

Nicolas glared at Matthew with obvious displeasure. Though Matthew looked resentful, he didn’t dare say another word.

Then, Nicolas, adopting a conciliatory tone, turned to Willow and said, “Willow, this matter did originate from you, and you were indeed at fault. I sentence you to be grounded in the memorial hall in solitary reflection for a day, no food, no water. Will you submit to this punishment?”

Willow choked out between sobs, “I am willing.”

She cast Nicolas a grateful glance before lowering her head.

The Osborne family is coming for the betrothal the day after tomorrow. I absolutely can’t afford to be punished now! Willow thought.

Nicolas coldly passed sentence on Danielle. “Eighty lashes with the cane, then banishment from the Monson family.”

Eighty lashes was a death sentence in itself. This wasn’t a punishment at all; it was nothing short of a death sentence, a ruthless way to silence her forever.

As Danielle was dragged away screaming, Willow visibly let out a sigh of relief.

Athena gave a cold, mocking laugh. She’d seen this coming, but actually witnessing it still made her sick to her stomach.

Without another word, Athena whirled around and strode out with determined steps.

A sense of foreboding gripped Nicolas. Instinctively, he stepped forward and blocked Athena’s path, demanding sharply, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Athena halted, fixing Nicolas with a glacial stare. Her eyes were like ice as she bit out, “Move.”

Athena’s tone wasn’t forceful; if anything, it was almost flat. But to Nicolas, it struck like a sledgehammer blow to the heart.

His heart sank like a stone, and an indescribable sense of oppression washed over him. Seeing the disappointment in Athena’s eyes, Nicolas could no longer muster the courage to stop her.

Nicolas slowly lowered his arm. Without so much as a glance in his direction, Athena turned and strode out of the main hall.

After Athena left, Willow peered timidly after her, eyes brimming with confusion. Given Athena’s temperament, she would never let Willow off so easily. But Athena said nothing at all; she simply turned on her heel and walked away. This was just too strange.

Eloise, oblivious to Willow’s distress, gently pulled her to her feet and patted her hand. “Go on,” she said softly, “spend some time in the memorial hall and seriously reflect on your actions.”

Relief washed over Eloise’s face. Nicolas had shown leniency toward Willow. Though Athena was displeased, Eloise would go and comfort her.

Willow nodded gently at Eloise, then headed toward the memorial hall. All the way to the memorial hall, Willow couldn’t shake the image of Athena’s icy stare from her mind.

That gaze was like icicles in the dead of winter, sending chills down her spine. A maid escorted Willow to the memorial hall, then departed.

Willow fell on the cushion, her face still streaked with tears. Though her aggrieved sobs had subsided, intermittent droplets continued to fall, darkening small patches on her collar. Her eyes were puffy and red, her gaze clouded with confusion and bewilderment.

Every time Willow recalled Athena’s icy stare, a chill ran down her spine. “Why can’t Athena ever accept me?” Willow wondered in frustration. The question kept haunting Willow, like an invisible hand twisting her heart again and again.

Before she knew it, midnight arrived. The memorial hall was filled with the musty scent of age. Inside, it was pitch-dark and eerily silent, the kind of place that sent shivers down your spine.

As the chill seeped into her very core, Willow couldn’t help but shiver. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. A full day without food or water had left Willow’s throat parched and burning. Her stomach growled hungrily. She licked her parched lips, squeezing her eyes shut to force away thoughts of food.

Just then, a faint sound came from the doorway. Suddenly, a small cloth-wrapped bundle came rolling in from outside.

“Who’s there?” Willow called out warily, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was only silence outside. After a moment’s hesitation, Willow cautiously approached and picked up the cloth bundle. Inside was a sandwich and a small lamp.

A spark of surprised delight lit up Willow’s eyes. It must be from Mother or Joseph, she thought, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her. They know I’m afraid of the dark, so they sent me a lamp.

With trembling hands, Willow fumbled desperately in the darkness and finally managed to pull out the tinderbox, shakily bringing it close to the oil lamp. As soon as the faint flame touched the wick, there was a sudden pop.

In an instant, the entire oil bowl burst into flames. The fire, like a ravenous beast, roared to life and shot nearly two feet into the air, casting flickering light into every shadowy corner of the memorial hall and illuminating Willow’s face, contorted with sheer terror.

A searing pain shot through Willow’s hand. Panic-stricken, she let out a piercing scream and violently flung the oil lamp away as if it were burning her flesh.

Every drop of lamp oil inside splattered onto the tablets of the ancestors of the Monson family. Slick with lamp oil, they were instantly engulfed in roaring flames. The fire raged through the cramped memorial hall like a stampeding herd, completely out of control.

In the blink of an eye, the surrounding drapes ignited. Tongues of flame licked hungrily at the Monson family’s ancestral portraits.

Willow was stunned by the sudden scene before her, her mind going completely blank. It wasn’t until the billowing smoke sent her into a violent coughing fit that she finally snapped out of it. Jolted awake, she scrambled toward the door, stumbling and crawling in terrified desperation.

At that moment, panicked shouts from the servants outside erupted as they screamed, “Fire! The memorial hall is on fire!”

Just as everyone rushed over with buckets, they saw Willow, her face blackened with soot, scrambling out of the hall, panic written all over her face. Her hair was singed and charred, her dress smeared with soot and ash; she was the very picture of utter disarray.

Willow looked up and saw Henry, his eyes bulging wide in shock, and Eloise with a look of horror. Beside him, Eloise also stood frozen in horror, her mouth agape as if about to speak, but the sudden turn of events left her utterly speechless, all color draining from her face until she was deathly pale.

Lined up behind them were Nicolas and his two brothers, their faces pale with terror. Nicolas frowned deeply, his eyes full of panic and unease as he stared hard at Willow, as if unable to believe she could have caused this. The other two brothers stood frozen, faces deathly pale and bodies trembling, utterly stunned by the inferno consuming the memorial hall and Willow’s soot-streaked, disheveled appearance.

There also stood Athena, silent and still behind the crowd. Athena fixed Willow with a steady, unblinking gaze, her eyes utterly devoid of surprise or panic. Athena’s gaze was like watching a play she’d long anticipated, her eyes glinting with mockery as if laughing at Willow’s foolishness.

An icy dread shot up Willow’s spine, and a tidal wave of terror overwhelmed her. An invisible hand seemed to crush her heart, each beat a desperate struggle.

Her lips parted, desperate to explain, but her throat seized up; not a single word would come. She stood rooted to the spot, pinned under the crowd’s piercing stares, each gaze stabbing into her like a needle.

At that moment, Willow was nothing but a sinner in everyone’s eyes. Athena curled her lips into a cold smirk. A sinner should look the part, she thought.

She had promised Willow would pay. Destroying the memorial hall was no less than grinding the ancestors’ bones to dust and scattering their ashes, a true act of ultimate desecration.

Let’s see how Willow wriggles out of the punishment she so richly deserves, Athena thought coldly.