CHAPTER 150: THINGS YOU DON’T DESERVE

The dinner began in the same quiet, polite way as always. The long table was set with silver dishes, crystal glasses, and candles burning steadily in the center. The servants moved around silently, their footsteps soft against the floor, pouring wine and serving plates of steaming food.

Lydia sat with her chin slightly raised, her robe-like evening dress glinting faintly under the light. She picked up her fork and took a small bite, glancing around as if searching for something.

Then she turned to Irina with a soft, almost innocent smile.

"Godmother, I don’t see Damir."

Irina looked up from her plate, a little surprised by the sudden question.

"Ah... he went to town," she replied calmly.

"To town?" Lydia’s voice held a note of curiosity. "Why?"

Irina’s lips curved into a faint smile. "We are thinking of staying in Svetlana for a while, so he is setting up a house for us."

Lydia’s face instantly lit up with excitement, her voice rising slightly in delight.

"Really? You want to stay here?" She clasped her hands together. "That’s great news! I will visit every day!"

She turned to Ivan, her eyes bright, as if she were truly happy for a moment.

"You see, Damir used to bring me flowers when I was young," she said with a fond laugh. "Everyone used to tease us back then, saying we would get married."

Irina laughed softly at the memory, her fork pausing for a second before she continued eating.

Lydia then turned her gaze toward Ivan, watching him closely. He was quiet, his head slightly lowered, his fingers picking lightly at the food in front of him.

Her smile slowly changed—still sweet, but sharper at the edges.

"Godmother, I forgot to ask," she said suddenly, touching the necklace at her throat. "Do you like my necklace?"

Irina glanced at it briefly and nodded. "It’s lovely."

"Yes, it is," Lydia said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "It was gifted to me by a viscount back in Ravelle. He wanted me to be his bride." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "According to him, it’s made from pearls taken from a rare oyster or something like that. I really love it."

She ran her fingers along the pearls, her tone becoming more airy and dreamy. "Back then, not just a viscount but many nobles were swooning over me. Most of them kept begging for my hand." She gave a small pout. "They said I was as beautiful and delicate as a rare flower."

Then she smiled at Ivan—sweetly, almost tenderly.

"Too bad I’m married."

Her voice dripped honey. "You must think yourself lucky, right? You’re married to the most beautiful woman."

But her next words were like poison wrapped in sugar.

"Even if you never deserved me."

Her smile widened, but her eyes grew colder. "You never deserved anything good, really. Not the position of Grand Duke. Not the title of heir to the throne. Not this palace. Not the clothes you wear. Not even a beautiful wife like me."

Her voice lowered, but every word struck like a blade.

"You are just a godforsaken bastard who got lucky in life. An illegitimate bastard who has everything he shouldn’t have."

Silence fell over the table.

Tatiana’s hands slowly tightened into fists on her lap. Her breath quickened, her jaw tense. Then she pushed back her chair sharply and stood, her voice trembling with anger.

"Lydia!"

Lydia didn’t flinch. She turned her head, her tone cold and commanding.

"It’s your highness. Sit back down."

Tatiana’s nostrils flared, but she stayed standing.

Irina’s fork paused in mid-air, her voice soft but steady. "Lydia..."

Ivan still said nothing. His head was bowed, his eyes fixed on his plate, but his hands had gone still. His lashes lowered, hiding the way his eyes were starting to glisten.

Lydia’s gaze swept over them all.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Did I lie? Everything I said was the truth. So why do you all look as if I said something terrible?"

No one answered.

She pushed back her chair abruptly. "You’re all so boring. I’ve lost my appetite."

Without another glance, she rose and walked out, her steps quick and light, as if she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

Behind her, the silence lingered.

A single tear slid down Ivan’s cheek and landed quietly on the tablecloth. He didn’t move to wipe it away.

Tatiana’s chest rose and fell sharply. Her eyes brimmed with angry tears.

"You still won’t do anything?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "You’re just going to sit there while she insults you like that?"

He said nothing.

Tatiana’s voice rose in frustration. "I won’t sit back and watch. If you won’t do something, maybe I should."

Without waiting for his answer, she stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Now only Ivan and Irina were left.

Irina set down her fork quietly, her expression heavy. She stood and bowed her head slightly. "I’m sorry, your highness, for what she said. Please... understand she doesn’t really mean it."

Ivan’s lips parted just enough for his voice to escape, quiet and flat. "I know."

Irina hesitated, then spoke more gently. "I think you should tell her. Maybe—"

"It doesn’t matter," he interrupted softly. "It’s better this way."

She frowned. "Still... I think she should know."

His eyes lifted just enough to meet hers, and there was something tired in them. "Then what difference would it make?"

Irina lowered her gaze. "I’m really sorry, your highness. Still... I will talk to her."

"Don’t." His voice was calm but final.

---

In Ivan’s room, Lydia paced restlessly. Her steps were quick, her robe swishing faintly with each turn.

Her chest felt tight, her hands trembling slightly.

"He really is a bastard," she muttered under her breath.

The image of him just sitting there—silent, patient, acting as if her words couldn’t touch him—made her blood boil.

"He just sat back... acting like he’s the bigger person," she whispered bitterly.

Her eyes stung. She hated it—hated that even when she tried to hurt him, he could still look at her with those calm, quiet eyes.

Tears slid down her cheeks, warm against her skin.

"I’ll make you suffer," she whispered, her voice breaking. "For everything you did to me."

She pressed her palms to her eyes, but the tears kept coming. And somewhere deep inside, past the anger and the bitterness, something else ached. Something she didn’t want to name.