Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The family doctor had just concluded his assessment on Elena. Lyra couldn't help but pace round the room. The dowager duchess laying still on the bed.

"How is my mother-in-law doing?" She asked immediately, her voice strained.

"She was in a state of severe shock, Your Grace," the doctor replied, closing his medical bag with a soft click. "But her heart is strong. She is stable now and is resting peacefully."

"Thank you, Doctor," Lyra said, a wave of relief washing over her face, though her expression remained grim.

The door to the Dowager Duchess's bedchamber finally opened. The family doctor stepped out together with Lyra into the hallway where Eric, Delia, Philip and Anne, all four of them were waiting in a state of anxious, suspended animation. They had been waiting all afternoon for news and it was already getting to dusk.

"If anything changes, or if she does not wake by morning, do not hesitate to call me, no matter the hour," the doctor said, turning to Lyra.

"I will," Lyra nodded. She then called for the head butler to see the doctor out, the brief moment of medical crisis now over, leaving only the raw, emotional crisis that remained.

Philip was the first to speak, his voice full of a deep, practiced concern. "How is Grandma doing? Is she really alright? Will she be fine?"

"Yes." Lyra nodded. "She is asleep now," She replied, her gaze moving past him to land for a cold, hard second on Eric and Delia. "Go home," she said, her voice flat and devoid of all its usual warmth. "All of you."

She started walking down the grand staircase, her movements stiff with a barely suppressed anger. Eric, his own face etched with worry and regret, moved quickly to stand beside her.

"Mother, please," he pleaded, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "Please, just listen to us. I know how this looks. We may have started that way, but it is not like that anymore. We love and care for each other a great deal now. I really love Delia and she loves me too."

Philip, who was standing at the top of the stairs, let out a short, mocking laugh.

Eric ignored him, his focus entirely on his mother. "Delia is not the kind of person who would tell empty lies just to get what she wants. You have met her. You know that. She isn't that kind of person."

Lyra paused on the stairs and looked at Delia whose expression was one of regret, her own expression full of a deep, profound hurt. "I have nothing else to say to you, Eric," she said, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed hurt. "Just go."

She continued down the stairs, leaving them behind.

"Mother!" Eric called after her, but she didn't even look back. "Mother!!"

Philip chuckled softly after Lyra was gone, a sound of pure, triumphant malice. "Too bad, little brother," he taunted. "Your grand plans are all messed up now. What are you going to do?"

That was the final straw. Eric, now burning with a white-hot rage, moved back up the stairs towards Philip, grabbing him by the collar of his fine coat and making him choke.

"You did this," Eric snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You went as far as to dig through someone else's private home. And for what? Just to say what?"

Philip, a smug, amused look in his eyes even as he was being choked, chuckled again. "Does blaming me for your own mistakes make you feel any better, brother?"

"What?" Eric asked, his grip tightening.

Philip grabbed Eric's hands and, with a surprising strength, removed them from his collar. The sudden movement caused his elegant walking cane, which he had been leaning on, to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. "You are the one who took advantage of our family's trust, Eric,"

Philip said, his voice now a smooth, accusatory purr. "You are the one who brought this… arrangement… into our lives. Isn't that the real root of your problem? And now you've hurt your mother deeply and also killed grandmother."

Eric moved back a little, the truth in his brother's manipulative words hitting him as the waves of realization crashed down on him.

Having been fed up with the fighting, with the lies, with the endless, pointless drama, Delia finally spoke.

"Philip," she said, her voice ringing with a cold, hard authority that made both men turn to look at her. She threw all formality, all politeness, through the window. "You and Anne are not innocent in this, either."

Philip looked at her, shocked by her use of his first name without his title, by the sheer audacity of her tone. "What did you say?"

"You wanted to crush us by any means necessary," Delia continued, her voice rising with anger. "You and my sister invaded our home, our private space, just so you could find something, anything, to use against us and you have the guts to point finger at us. Don't you have any shame?"

"You are the one who is shameless, Delia," Anne added, stepping forward to stand beside Philip, a united front of villains. "Yelling at us when you are the one who lied to this entire family, who…"

"Anne!!!" Delia raised her hand to slap the smug, hateful look right off her sister's face.

"Shut up!!!"

Lyra's voice, sharp and commanding, echoed from the bottom of the stairs. She had come back with a tray of a pitcher of water and a cup in her hand, likely for the dowager duchess. She stood there, her face filled with pure, exhausted fury.

"Who," she demanded, her gaze landing on Anne, "gave you the right to run your mouth in my house?"

Delia slowly put her hand back down to her side, the urge to commit violence subsiding in the face of the Duchess's overwhelming authority.

Lyra spoke again, her voice now dangerously quiet, a clear sign that she had reached the absolute end of her patience. "I do not want to have to repeat myself. Every single one of you, leave my house. Now."