CHAPTER 211: CHARLOTTE’S DEATH (1)

Aristia looked up from the painting on the bed, then to Alaric’s sleeping face and Millie beside him.

She released a sigh and put the paper away.

Of course there was no painting to show Alaric. She couldn’t do magic. Where would the painting come from?

She had just said that to distract him. So she asked Alaric to paint with her after they came to her room, saying that she forgot to paint one and thought that she had.

After putting the sheet away, she climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over herself and Alaric.

[Thank God the rooms are soundproof, else judging from the intensity in Wilson’s eyes, our ears wouldn’t have been able to remain innocent.] She sent a prayer out for Catherine.

A yawn escaped her lips.

[Gosh, I’m tired. Travelling really isn’t easy, especially in a carriage.]

A few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Aristia opened her eyes, feeling a bit strange. Where was she?

She was clearly in a mansion, but not in the Grand Duke’s Mansion. The mansion seemed a bit familiar but she couldn’t remember where she had seen such a mansion.

She was standing in the middle of an empty corridor. A few servants walked towards her direction, whispering as they moved.

"Excuse me, could you..."

Aristia was about to stop one of the servants but found that she couldn’t move. "What? Why can’t I move?" She muttered, her brows furrowed in thought.

What was more, the servants passed by her as if they couldn’t see her at all.

Aristia kept calm in this situation even though she was clueless on why she would wake up in a corridor in a strangely familiar mansion, unable to move and clearly invisible.

Something however caught her attention; a familiar figure approached.

"Wade? Wade!" Aristia yelled, but he didn’t see her.

This Wade seemed different from the Wade she knew. He wasn’t smiling and he looked sad. He also walked timidly just as he had when he had first been brought to the capital.

But no wonder it felt familiar. She was in the Oswalt mansion in the capital.

Aristia was stuck staring at the faces of the servants. They bowed when Wade passed, but some didn’t even bother.

Most of the servants held mockery and disdain in their eyes. Some looked at him with pity.

"What a bastard. He’s succeeded in ruining the lovely Madam."

"He’s ruined her marriage. Clearly the son of a prostitute. I wonder why the master brought him back here. He’ll only serve to sully the mansion."

"Shh. He’s still the son of the marquis. If only the madam could conceive..."

Wade avoided all these gazes and kept his head down, his feet moving even quicker.

Aristia’s first thought was to follow him. Thankfully, she seemed to be moving.

"And the Marchioness is dying..."

Aristia managed to overhear the sentence. Shock filled her mind at those words. ""Charlotte’s dying?"

She moved her attention to Wade in front of her. He had stopped in front of a slightly ajar door.

Wade peeped quietly. Aristia was stunned by the scene she witnessed. Charlotte looked pale. Her eyes were no longer bright but looked lifeless. She looked like someone that would die at anytime.

A maid supported her back as she sipped her tea tiredly.

Aristia looked back at Wade. His fists were tightly clenched and his knuckles had turned white. He slowly retreated before running away from there.

He stopped in front of a room. Aristia guessed it was probably his room.

Wade’s shoulders shook as he threw himself on the bed. "...my fault. It’...hic...my fault. It’s all my fault." His voice broke.

"No, it’s not your fault." Aristia shook her head, but her words went unheard. "Haven’t we talked about this?"

Suddenly, the scene changed. Aristia no longer found herself in Wade’s room, instead she was following a maid.

Aristia was confused. Why was she seeing this maid?

The maid also seemed familiar. Aristia wasn’t sure as she could only see the maid’s back. The maid turned a corner and finally entered a room.

Aristia could tell at first glance that it was a kitchen. Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. It was just a gut feeling, but she would soon find out if that feeling had a reason. Her lips tugged up, watching the maid closely.

The maid’s set of actions was normal. She brewed tea and placed a small bowl of sugar into the tray.

Then her actions turned suspicious. She looked around sneakily before pulling out something from her sleeves. She then poured a clear substance into the teapot.

She carefully stirred the tea, returned the wrapped substance to its hidden position inside her clothes and picked up the tray and turned around.

Aristia was stunned. Wasn’t that Charlotte’s personal maid? Was it Natasha or Natalie?

Aristia thought back to Charlotte’s condition. This maid clearly had a hand in it.

The maid left the kitchen and stopped in front of Charlotte’s room. She knocked on the door before announcing her presence.

"It’s me, madam."

"Come in." Charlotte’s voice sounded weak.

Natalie pushed the door open and closed it.

"Madam, it’s teatime." She gestured to the tray.

Charlotte nodded, struggling to sit up.

"No madam, I’ll help you." Natalie rushed forward, placing the tray on the bed to help Charlotte sit up.

"Drink this, madam. It will help you feel better." Natalie poured tea into the teacup, scooped some sugar into the teacup and stirred, then held the teacup to Charlotte’s lips.

Charlotte nodded in appreciation and parted her lips, the tea flowing down her throat as she swallowed.

Under Aristia’s disbelieving gaze, Charlotte gradually finished the tea.

The maid finally took the teaser away, but Aristia remained in the room. She turned to Charlotte. She suddenly felt like Charlotte had become a lot more weaker than before, not knowing if it was because of the knowledge of what was going on, or whether it really was like that.

The scene changed again. Aristia was still in Charlotte’s room, but she noticed Charlotte’s eyes were duller and her skin was even paler. George was there too.

Aristia observed him. There was a flash of sadness that passed his eyes for a second.

Charlotte gazed at him and there was a flash of resentment, anger and slight hatred that did not go unnoticed by him.

What went unnoticed was the sadness and heartbreak. But those emotions faded and there was only a blank gaze left. She knew she would die.

George’s gaze remained on her, his fists clenching and unclenching. The physicians hadn’t found anything wrong with Charlotte.

George felt helpless about his wife’s condition, but why did it feel like a hand was clenching his heart and slowly ripping it out of his chest when he thought of Charlotte dying?

Charlotte suddenly coughed and her handkerchief stained red.