"Alright, Lydia. Just hold on a little longer. Once Czarina gets pregnant, has something to worry about, I'll belong only to you."
The cloying sweetness of the tart hit my nose, triggering a wave of nausea.
I bolted to the bathroom, retching violently.
I faintly heard him muttering behind me, "Tsk. So delicate."
I wiped the corners of my eyes with my hands, letting the cold water wash away my tears.
The eighteen-year-old Lydia loved the egg tarts Oliver waited in line to buy. But the twenty-eight-year-old Lydia... hated the consolation Oliver bought just to appease the household's shrews.
I staggered to my feet, bracing against the doorframe. Then a sound came from the corner.
The housekeeper's face went pale at the sight of the shattered photo frame.
"Madam... I'm so sorry..."
Even Oliver, who rarely cared about the house, knew how much I had treasured that photo of us—like it was my life itself.
Seeing this, he uncharacteristically snapped at the servant. "If you can't handle something so small, don't bother coming to work."
"It's fine. Since it's broken, just throw it away after cleaning up," I said at the same time he did.
Oliver froze. Then he saw me look up, forcing a smile.