Marianne’s face twisted into a sneer, her upper lip curling as she lifted her chin, her disdain evident in every movement.
“With all due respect, Your Grace, I care little for what you need. I do, however, believe you have some nerve, showing up here after what you did,” she said in a cutting tone, a dagger of judgment aimed directly at his heart.
“I must see her,” Wilhelm repeated, his voice strained and hoarse, each word imbued with frantic determination.
His chest heaved with each strained breath, his hands trembling so violently that he continuously clenched and unclenched his fists to stop them from shaking.
His breath hitched as he craned his neck to peer past Marianne, his gaze darting towards the dim recesses of the room behind her, desperate for even the smallest glimpse of Genevieve.
“Genevieve!” he called out, his voice rising.
The name reverberated through the entrance hall like a plea torn straight from his soul.
Marianne did not budge, unyielding in her refusal. Her arms remained firmly crossed over her chest, her glare sharpened to a blade’s edge. She did not flinch, did not so much as blink at his outburst. Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing further, her disapproval pressing down on him like a stone.
“You are not permitted to come inside,” she declared in a tone that left no room for argument.
She took a deliberate step forward, as though daring him to test her resolve.
“I must see her,” he growled. Then, he yelled again, “Genevieve!”
Marianne’s gaze sharpened, her disapproval carving deep lines into her otherwise composed face. She stood tall, her shoulders squared, daring him to try her.
“I will not allow you to hurt her further,” she declared.
Her unwavering stance made it clear that she would not be moved without a fight.
Wilhelm’s desperation surged, an unbearable pressure tightening his chest. His eyes flicked to the stairs at the far end of the hall, a glimmer of hope sparking amidst his turmoil. He stepped closer, the tension crackling in the air like the moments before a storm.
“Genevieve!” he yelled again, his voice raw, teetering between a command and a plea.
Marianne’s arm shot out to block him, but he was relentless. He laid his hand on her arm and pushed past her.
“Forgive me,” he mumbled, his voice nearly inaudible beneath his ragged breaths.
The gesture was not one of dominance but of necessity, his focus fixed entirely on finding the woman who haunted his every thought.
As he broke free of Marianne’s barrier, his boots echoed against the polished floors, each step loud in the grand hallway.
The ornate staircase loomed ahead, its curves an unyielding path to where he believed Genevieve waited. His fingers grazed the banister as he ascended, his pace increasing in his anxious need to locate her.
“Genevieve!” he called out.
Her name bounced off the lofty ceilings as though his very soul was calling out to her. His eyes darted to every shadowed corner, every closed door, searching for any sign of her presence, his need to see her eclipsing all else.
He reached the closed door of the guest room, his knuckles rapping at the wood, his voice echoing through the stillness.
“Genevieve,” he called, his voice soft and pleading.
“Go away, Your Grace,” Genevieve said, her words muffled by the thick oak door that separated them.
Wilhelm’s heart ached, his guilt intensifying.
“Please, Genevieve,” he begged. “I need to speak with you.”
“There is nothing left to say, Wilhelm,” Genevieve retorted, her voice carrying a hint of finality.
Wilhelm’s desperation grew as his hand reached for the doorknob. “Please, Genevieve,” he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. “I need to explain.”
