Chapter 2

Morning light poured through the French windows, but it couldn't warm the chill that had settled in my bones. I was still processing last night's humiliation when George appeared in the doorway, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

He clutched a stack of newspapers like they might bite him.

"Ma'am, you should probably..." He swallowed hard. "Maybe you should see these."

I set down my coffee and reached for the Vienna Music Journal with steady hands. The front page made my stomach drop.

There they were—Max and Lucia locked in an embrace that left nothing to the imagination. Her hand splayed across his chest, his eyes soft with an intimacy I hadn't seen in years.

The headline screamed: [Habsburg Heir's New Muse: Love or Art?]

I made myself read every word. Every line twisted the knife deeper, but I kept my face perfectly blank. It was the only armor I had left.

"Ma'am?" George's voice was barely a whisper.

"It's fine, George," I said quietly, even managing a smile. "Just tabloid nonsense."

Max strolled in wearing yesterday's smugness and a silk robe that probably cost more than most people's cars. His hair was perfectly tousled—the kind that takes effort to look effortless.

His eyes went straight to the newspaper. "Good morning to you too, darling. Enjoying your coffee and character assassination?"

He snatched the paper from my hands, flipping through it like he was browsing a menu. I could feel him watching for cracks in my composure, waiting for me to break.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"The front page is quite striking," my voice stayed level. "The photographer has real talent."

Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by irritation. "That's it?"

"What else would you like me to say?" I lifted my coffee cup, fingers steady as a surgeon's. "All publicity is good publicity, right?"

Mother's deathbed words echoed in my mind: "Isadora, a true aristocrat never loses composure in public. No matter what happens, elegance is our final weapon."

I'd thought it was just her old-world prejudice. Now it was my lifeline.

Max stared at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. The silence stretched until Heinrich, the assistant butler, burst through the doors.

"Sir, Ma'am—Duchess Elisabeth has called an emergency family meeting." His face was ashen. "All family members must attend immediately."

My stomach dropped. Elisabeth only called these meetings when the family faced scandal. The last time was three years ago when Max's cousin got caught embezzling.

An hour later, I stood in the main hall feeling like I was facing a firing squad. The entire Habsburg clan had assembled—aunts, uncles, cousins—all wearing expressions that ranged from pity to barely concealed glee.

Elisabeth held court from her throne-like chair. At seventy-five, she could still make grown men squirm with a single look.

"I trust everyone's seen the morning entertainment," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like glass. "Our family name dragged through Vienna's gutters for the world's amusement."

Every eye turned to me, boring into me like laser beams. My knees trembled but I kept my spine straight.

"A wife who can't manage her own husband has no business in this family!" Elisabeth's voice cracked like a whip.

The room went dead silent. Even by Habsburg standards, this was brutal.

"Music is Max's passion," I managed, surprised my voice didn't shake. "I won't stand in the way of his art."

"Art?" She practically spat the word. "Is that what we're calling public humiliation now?"

The air grew thick as molasses. I felt every gaze—some pitying, others gleeful—but not one person spoke in my defense. Including Max, who stood off to the side watching like this drama had nothing to do with him.

"I've done my duty as his wife," my voice began to waver.

"Duty?" Elisabeth rose from her chair. "Is it your duty to make us the laughingstock of Vienna?"

The meeting ended in crushing silence. As everyone filed out, I felt like I was walking underwater.

I needed my room. I needed somewhere safe to bleed.

I was halfway up the marble staircase when Max materialized, blocking my path like some designer-clad roadblock. In the dim stairwell, we were completely alone.

"This is what you signed up for," he said, voice dripping with disdain. "Still enjoying married life?"

I looked up at this stranger wearing my husband's face. The man who once made my heart race now felt like looking at a photograph of someone I used to know.

"I knew what I was getting into."

Something flickered across his features—disappointment? But it vanished so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Then you're even more pathetic than I thought."

The words hit like a physical blow. I almost snapped back, almost told him I wasn't pathetic, that I was trying to hold this crumbling family together. But I didn't. I simply stepped around him and continued upstairs.

I made it to my room before my knees buckled. Leaning against the door, I felt the tears I'd been holding back all morning threatening to spill. But I couldn't cry. Not in this house where the walls had ears and weakness was blood in the water.

When I finally fell asleep, my phone rang. I looked at the time and saw it was 3:30 midnight.

The caller ID made my blood freeze: "Berlin - Father."

He never called during European business hours. Never. Unless...