Chapter 2 Whispers of Poison

The warmth of her mother’s hands lingered long after the woman left, escorted gently by her father. Aria lay still, staring at the ceiling, the carved beams above seeming heavier than stone. She had seen the sorrow in their eyes, carefully hidden, but not enough to escape her notice.

They weren’t distant from the cold. No, that wasn’t it. They loved her, she could feel it in the way her mother’s voice trembled, in the protective set of her father’s shoulders. But love had been crushed under the weight of helplessness. Watching her waste away had drained them of hope long ago.

Aria swallowed hard, her throat tight. This body was weak, yes, frail to the point of absurdity. Every breath carried a weight. Every movement left her dizzy. But beneath the exhaustion and the ache in her chest, her instincts whispered something darker.

This wasn’t the natural signature of illness.

This was sabotage.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She remembered the novel, how the Alpha’s only daughter was pitied, bedridden, her body riddled with incurable weakness. But Aria had lived another life. She had been a doctor once, and her hands had healed patients others had already written off as lost. She knew the difference between true illness and poison.

And what ran through her veins now… was poison.

Subtle. Clever. Stretched thin across years, enough to cripple without killing. Whoever was behind this didn’t want her dead. They wanted her powerless.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. Fine, she thought bitterly. Let them believe I’m helpless. Let them watch me fade into nothing… until the day I rise and tear their world apart.

---

Morning came with muted light seeping through the tall windows. A servant entered quietly, carrying a tray of breakfast. A bowl of broth steamed gently, fragrant with herbs. The woman bowed low, her voice respectful but rushed.

“Eat slowly, my lady.”

Her smile was polite. Too polite. And behind it, a flicker of unease.

Aria’s sharp gaze tracked her movements, memorizing every detail. When the door closed again, silence returned, but her heart beat harder.

She didn’t touch the spoon. Instead, she leaned forward, inhaling carefully. Beneath the broth’s herbal aroma was something faint. A bitterness that didn’t belong.

Her pulse quickened.

She dipped her finger into the broth, then touched it to her tongue. At once, her senses confirmed it, an additive masked with skill, designed to blend seamlessly into the flavor. A poison that drained vitality gradually, leaving only weakness in its wake.

Her lips curved into a cold smile.

So it was true.

Someone was drugging her.

She pushed the tray aside. They thought her too naïve to notice, too weak to question. But she wasn’t the fragile girl they remembered. In her past life, she had hidden her brilliance out of love. This time, she would hide it out of strategy.

For now.

---

Later that day, her parents returned. This time, they brought with them a physician, an older man who had been tending to her for years. His beard was well-kept, his robes immaculate, his expression carefully practiced.

He checked her pulse, placed a cool hand against her wrist, and muttered reassurances to her parents. He spoke of imbalances, of weakened spirit, of the need for more tonics.

Aria’s sharp eyes studied him silently.

His hands didn’t shake, but his tone carried rehearsed sympathy, repeated too many times. And though his face was composed, his gaze avoided hers too quickly, too often.

He knows.

Not the mastermind, he was far too cautious for that, but complicit. An obedient pawn, perhaps one with too much to lose.

When he left, her mother lingered by her side, stroking her hair as though Aria might shatter if touched too roughly.

“My sweet Aria,” her mother whispered, voice thick with grief. “One day, the goddess will take mercy on you.”

Aria’s throat tightened. A part of her longed to speak, to tell them she would heal herself, that she wasn’t the fragile child they believed her to be. But she stayed silent.

Not yet.

If she revealed herself now, the true enemy would strike harder, faster. No, she needed time. Time to rebuild her body. Time to uncover the snake hiding in her home.

---

That night, when the household finally went quiet, Aria forced herself upright. Her body trembled with weakness, sweat dotting her brow, but she pushed forward.

Each step toward her shelves felt like walking through storm winds, but she didn’t falter. The shelves were cluttered with jars of dried herbs, powdered roots, and half-used vials. Perhaps they thought she never touched them, that she was too weak to care.

Her fingers worked swiftly. She crushed, mixed, sniffed, and tasted. She had once learned the art of medicine and alchemy; her mind recalled it all now. Every herb’s essence, every poisonous trace, every antidote that could be brewed from scraps.

The bitterness of the tainted herbs burned her tongue, but she welcomed it. Each discovery was confirmation. Proof.

Hours passed. The moon climbed high. Her limbs shook with exhaustion, her eyes burned, but she didn’t stop until, at last, a small vial of liquid shimmered under the dim candlelight.

It wasn’t a cure. Not yet. But it would slow the poison’s grip.

Aria clutched it tightly, her lips curving into a fierce smile. She hid it beneath her pillow, close enough that no one would find it.

They wanted her to be fragile. They wanted her to be pitiful. But she wasn’t either. Not anymore.

She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling with fire in her eyes.

If the world wanted her to play the fragile daughter, she would. She would smile softly, feign weakness, and wait.

But behind closed doors, she was sharpening herself.

Preparing.

And when the time came, she would not simply rise.

She would burn the lies that bound her and show them the truth.

Aria was no longer the girl who hid her brilliance.

She was the woman who would tear the mask from every smiling face that sought her ruin.

And this time, destiny would not use her.

This time, she would write her own story.