Mira moved through the hallway with quiet steps, her curiosity pulling her forward like an invisible thread.

The dusty side room came into view, and she paused at the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in what Viktor and Kaida had built.

The machine stood there—crooked, cobbled together from broken furniture and salvaged parts, but unmistakably a spinning wheel. Beside it was a crude loom frame, half-assembled but functional enough.

And scattered around the floor were bundles of long grasses, plant fibers that had been processed and separated.

Some of them looked like flax, others like hemp.

There were even small clay bowls filled with what looked like crushed herbs—petals and roots that had been mashed into a thick paste, creating natural dyes in muted reds, yellows, and browns.

Mira crouched down, picking up a strand of the processed fiber. It was rough but workable, twisted just enough to hold together.

"He really did this," she murmured, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

She moved to the spinning wheel, running her fingers along the rough wood.

The mechanism was simple—a large wheel connected to a smaller spindle by a drive belt made from twisted fiber.

The spindle had a small whorl at the base, and the whole thing looked like it might fall apart if she looked at it wrong.

But it was 'there'. And it worked.

Mira had basic knowledge of sewing—she'd mended clothes before, patched torn fabric, stitched buttons back on. But spinning thread from raw fiber? That was different.

Still, she was curious.

She sat down on the small stool in front of the wheel, positioning herself the way she'd seen women do in the village markets.

She picked up a bundle of the flax fibers, holding them in her left hand, and reached for the wheel with her right.

The first attempt was a disaster. The wheel spun too fast, the fiber slipped from her fingers, and the thread broke before it even formed.

"Umh," she muttered.

She tried again. And again.

Slowly, after many failed attempts, she started to get the feel of it. The angle of the fiber. The speed of the wheel. The gentle pull that twisted the strands together into something resembling thread.

Her hands moved more confidently now, the rhythm becoming natural. The thread was uneven, lumpy in places, but it was 'thread'.

And then an idea sparked in her mind.

Toby. Her son. He needed clothes.

She worked faster now, her focus sharpening. She spun enough thread to work with, then moved to the loom frame.

It took more trial and error, more fumbling with the mechanism, but eventually she figured out how to weave the threads together.

The cloth that formed was rough, simple, but serviceable. A small piece—just enough for a child's tunic.

Mira held it up to the light filtering through the window, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

"Success," she whispered.

Then her gaze dropped to her own clothes.

The fabric was tattered, worn thin from years of use and rough washing.

The hem was frayed, and there were holes near the shoulders where the seams had given out.

It hung loose on her frame, doing little to hide the curve of her hips or the swell of her breasts.

She stood, moving toward the pond just outside the garden door. The morning sun had risen higher now, casting golden light across the still water.

Mira knelt by the edge, looking at her reflection.

Her face stared back at her—older now, tired. Her body was fuller than it had been in her youth, softened by childbirth and hardship. Her skin wasn't smooth and flawless like a nobleman's wife should be. There were faint stretch marks on her belly, scars from labor and survival.

She wasn't young anymore. She wasn't fresh. She wasn't... beautiful.

Not the way Kaida was. Not the way Helena could be.

A flicker of something cold twisted in her chest.

'He'll choose someone younger,' she thought, her jaw tightening. 'Why would he want me? A woman with a child, with a body that's been worn down by life?'

Especially now, with Kaida in the picture. Young, strong, fierce.

The chances of Viktor losing interest in her had grown. And if she didn't stay proactive, if she didn't 'fight' for his attention...

She'd lose.

Mira's hands clenched into fists.

"No," she muttered.

She stood, turning back toward the spinning wheel and loom. Her reflection in the pond faded as she moved away from it, replaced by determination.

An idea formed in her mind—wicked, clever, perfectly 'her'.

'If he likes perverted things... then I'll give him something he can't ignore.'

A slow grin spread across her face as she sat back down at the loom.

She started working, her hands moving with renewed purpose. She picked through the dyed fibers, choosing the ones that were softer, more delicate. She spun them carefully, weaving them into fabric that was thinner, more revealing than what she'd made for Toby.

The cloth took shape slowly—a dress that would cling to her curves, that would show just enough skin to tease without being completely shameless. The neckline dipped lower. The fabric was thin enough to hint at what lay beneath.

"I hope you like it, my darling," she murmured, her voice dripping with possessive affection.

Then she paused, her hands stilling on the loom.

'Wait.'

Her gaze flicked toward the hallway, where she knew Helena was still sleeping.

'Should I make one for my sister-wife too?'

The thought surprised her. Not long ago, she might have seen Helena as a rival—someone to compete against, to push aside.

But now?

Now she saw her as an equal. Someone to fight 'alongside', not against. Someone who will soon understabd what it meant to survive, to claw your way back from these young women group.

If they were going to compete for Viktor's attention, then they'd do it on equal ground.

Mira's grin widened.

"Alright then," she said softly. "Let's make something for her too."

She started spinning more thread, her mind already working on the design.

Something that would suit Helena—something elegant but alluring, something that would make Viktor's eyes darken with that familiar hunger.

The sun climbed higher in the sky as Mira worked, her hands moving steadily, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

She wasn't going to lose.

Not to Kaida. Not to anyone.

She was Viktor's best wife. And she was going to remind him of that every damn day.

---

"...I.. need answers..."

Bella's eyes opened slowly, the morning light filtering through the cracks in the walls and hitting her face. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her mind sluggish and heavy.

There were just too many questions... how that nobleman knew everything about her, his words about her sister, and even all that were too overwhelming for her.

But more so was how she was still alive.

At the least, she should be punished.

That's what she kept thinking. After what she'd done yesterday—attacking that woman named Helena, nearly killing that woman, causing chaos—she should be beaten, starved, or worse.

But none of them had blamed her.

Not the young lord. Not the women. Not even the boy.

It made no sense.

She sat up slowly. The nobleman's words from this night echoed in her mind, twisting and turning until she didn't know what to believe anymore.

'Do I really need to believe him?'

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