Camilla stood up abruptly. "Nyx! Is that—"
Nyx’s eyes shifted toward her, and the words died in Camilla’s throat. Caught off guard by the sheer, unyielding coldness in those eyes, Camilla could only stare.
She had clearly expected the old Nyx—the one who dropped her gaze the second Edmund raised his voice, the one who retreated whenever Camilla spoke sharply, the one who swallowed every humiliation just to keep the peace.
Recovering quickly, Camilla forced a look of motherly concern onto her face. "I was only going to say that you shouldn’t speak to your father like that."
Nyx watched her for several seconds before her lips curved into a faint smile.
"I was speaking to my father. So unless he’s suddenly become an invalid who needs you to speak on his behalf, stay out of it."
"Nyx! Stop talking to our father like that!" Livia, unable to handle being ignored any longer, finally exploded.
Nyx chuckled softly. Pulling out a dining chair, she sat down and leaned back, resting her arm against it. "Our father? He had never been a father to me. At most, we share blood ties. That’s the absolute extent of it."
Livia stared at Nyx as though she had suddenly become a stranger.
Edmund’s expression hardened into stone. "Nyx, I don’t know what has gotten into you or why you are acting so disrespectfully, but there is a limit to my patience. If you apologize now and admit your fault, I will attribute this outburst to shock from falling down the stairs."
"Are you done?" Nyx asked casually. "Edmund, do you ever change? Or have you simply gone soft in the head after living with your mistress-turned-wife for so many years?"
Bang!
"Nyx!" Edmund slammed his hand against the table. The sharp crack made both Camilla and Livia flinch, but Nyx didn’t so much as blink.
Instead, she reached out with her good hand and gently patted the back of his knuckles, her voice dropping low. "You never acted like a father, so don’t expect me to continue treating you like one. I treated you enough for the past 24 years. My only regret, besides being your daughter, is that I didn’t have this epiphany sooner."
Before any of them could hurl another insult, she raised a single hand to cut them off.
"Now, where were we? Ah, right. Tell me where my mother’s belongings are."
"You don’t need to worry about that," Edmund bit out harshly.
Nyx’s eyebrows lifted. "I don’t?"
"No."
"Then let me make this very simple." Her voice became colder. "She was my mother. Those belongings belonged to her, and whatever she left behind concerns me."
Edmund’s face darkened, but Nyx simply let out a small, dry laugh. "There you go again."
"What?"
"That expression." Nyx tilted her head, her gaze locking onto his. "Whenever my mother’s name comes up, you get defensive. Whenever her belongings are mentioned, you suddenly demand to know why I care. It’s remarkably telltale."
Edmund’s face grew cold. "You might think I don’t care, but she was my wife—"
"Perhaps you do care," Nyx interrupted smoothly, leaning in slightly. "Just... about something entirely different. And you still haven’t answered my question."
"Nyx, you’re still young. You don’t understand everything involved with your mother’s affairs—"
Nyx nearly laughed out loud.
"I’m twenty-four," She tilted her head. "I’m old enough to know that when a grown man refuses to tell his adult daughter where her dead mother’s belongings are, he’s hiding something."
Her suspicion hardened into certainty.
There was something about her mother’s belongings that Edmund did not want her looking into.
Edmund finally said, "Your mother’s personal belongings were packed away after her death. Some things were stored, while other assets were handled separately."
"I know."
Edmund paused, but Nyx’s eyes remained fixed on him.
"So don’t waste my time explaining something I already know."
Camilla’s expression grew increasingly sour, while Edmund looked more unsettled than angry. He studied Nyx carefully—her posture, her expression, the coldness in her words.
There was something wrong.
Before yesterday, Nyx would have lowered her head. She would have apologized or softened her tone. She never would have spoken to him like this, she certainly wouldn’t have addressed Camilla this way, and she would never have demanded her mother’s belongings with such certainty.
"What happened to you?" Edmund asked quietly.
Nyx stared at him. For a fraction of a second, she almost laughed.
What happened to her?
She had lived through the end of the world, only to wake up back in the quiet before the storm. But none of that could be explained to him.
"I had an epiphany," Nyx said simply.
Edmund’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "They’re in storage."
"Which facility?"
"I’ll have someone bring them to you."
"No." Nyx shook her head. "I want to see everything myself."
"That isn’t necessary."
"It is to me."
Neither of them moved. Finally, Edmund let out a slow exhale. "They’re being kept at a private facility outside the city. I’ll have the location sent to you."
"Good." Nyx nodded once. "And I want everything."
Edmund frowned. "What?"
"Clothes. Jewelry. Documents. Personal effects. Photographs. Letters. Anything packed away after her death." She paused, holding his gaze. "And I want the original inventory log from the day it was put into storage."
Edmund’s posture stiffened instantly.
Nyx caught the reaction—the slight hitch in his breathing, the tension in his jaw.
"Why do you need an inventory?" he asked, his tone growing defensive.
"So I know whether anything is missing." Her gaze remained locked on his. "Surely that’s reasonable."
Edmund said nothing.
Nyx offered a faint, fleeting smile. "I thought so."
She stood, preparing to leave, before pausing mid-step. "There is one more thing."
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. "What now?"
"Money."
Livia scoffed in disbelief. Nyx glanced toward her, unbothered. "What?"
"You’re asking for money now?"
"Why wouldn’t I?" Nyx looked almost amused.
Livia opened her mouth to snap back, but Nyx cut in before she could draw breath.
"I’m the eldest daughter of the Arden family," Nyx said smoothly, her eyes sweeping over the dining room. "That’s what the public believes, isn’t it?"
She looked back at Livia. "Yet somehow, the family’s beloved younger daughter has better clothes, finer jewelry, luxury bags, and a far larger allowance than the eldest."
Livia’s face darkened.
Nyx merely shrugged. "It isn’t my fault your father has such obvious preferences—but if I’m expected to play the part of an Arden, I expect to be paid accordingly."