The Uninvited Guest

"How does that have anything to do with what I asked?" she snapped, her interest clearly waning.

Her eyes narrowed with irritation. The temperature in the room seemed to rise with her mood.

"Can you hurry up? I want to know more about the pyramids," she added, impatience dripping from her voice.

Leonardo's mind raced, searching for a distraction, anything to buy a few seconds. He took a shaky breath, chest tight with anxiety.

"You already bathed with your husband, right? Don't you think he'll be mad when—"

Her hand lashed out, slapping him across the face. The heat of her touch was searing. Leonardo recoiled, pain shooting through his cheek.

"My husband won't get mad at me," she said coldly, her voice flat and resolute. She straightened and stared down at him, unreadable.

Leonardo froze. That flash of violence—that detachment—he'd seen it before. The only other person who had slapped him like that was his mother. And now this woman also a mother to Anna and Elara.

The realization struck him hard, a chilling thought that tightened the knot of fear in his stomach. He looked at her, his eyes wide, dread coursing through him like ice water.

"Why did you do that?" he asked quietly, disbelief lacing his voice.

She didn't answer. Her gaze drifted, as though he were nothing more than background noise.

Leonardo steadied himself, grasping for control. He had to shift the power dynamic—shake her somehow.

"Your husband's friend," he began carefully, eyes on the floor, "the one with the armor… mono-lid eyes? Yeah, him. He's dead."

The lie was calculated. He blurred truth with fiction, each word a stepping stone to survival.

"The Sage gave compensation. You know what that means, right? Your husband is dead."

Her composure cracked. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice faltering.

"Your husband is dead, ma'am," he repeated, his tone flat but deliberate. Every word was a risk, but he had no choice. He was dancing with fire—literally.

She stared at him, stunned.

"I'm sorry to say this, but…" He hesitated. Anna and Elara flashed through his mind. I'll explain it to them later, he thought. Right now, I just have to survive.

"Why did he die?" she asked, her voice shaky. "Isn't it only Kokoro?"

Leonardo seized the opening, layering half-truths with lies.

"It was his son—Ryuji. He killed his father. And Henri… your husband… he killed Ryuji in return."

She blinked, her breath catching. "My husband wouldn't kill a mere boy," she said, though her voice wavered.

"Maybe not," Leonardo said, "but he left the boy critically injured. He used his attachment skill—shifted the air around the stem's top. You know what that means."

He clung to what little truth he had. He had seen Henri use that skill. That much was real.

"Ryuji was a strange boy," she murmured. "But killing his dad?"

She covered her face, breath unsteady. The story—false though it was—began to settle in.

Leonardo watched closely. Doubt flickered in her eyes, growing roots in her grief.

"Did he die honorably… in my name, Adelaide?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Leonardo hesitated. This was the edge. One wrong word and everything would collapse.

"Yes. He did. You should've seen him," he said finally, steadying his voice. It sounded real—even to him.

She turned away slowly. "Oh… alright," she murmured, distant.

She walked toward the door, her steps slow and heavy.

The door creaked open. She stepped into the hallway, turning toward the stairs.

"Pyramids," she whispered, the word repeating like a fragile mantra as she drifted away.

Leonardo stayed frozen, watching her vanish. Only when her footsteps faded did he exhale—a shallow, trembling breath.

He leaned against the cold tile wall, adrenaline flooding his veins.

He had done it.

He had lied. Twisted her grief into a weapon.

And it had worked.