Reborn as the Nightingale: Escaping the Duke's Poisoned Marriage

The shock on Kian's face lasted ten full seconds before curdling into a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

"An annulment?" He shook his head, a smirk twisting his lips. "Adeline, have you lost your mind?"

"I know exactly what I'm saying. It means I will no longer be Lady Ferguson."

Her calm was a match to his short fuse. He paced like a caged wolf, his angry energy filling the room. His eyes landed on her writing desk, on the neat stacks of papers she'd been studying for weeks. He snatched up the top sheet—a list of her dowry properties.

His smirk widened into a sneer. "Ah. I see. You count your pennies, then threaten to leave. This is your new strategy? A new way to get my attention?"

She remained silent, watching him. Her silence infuriated him more than any argument.

He slammed the list down. "Don't you forget, Adeline! It was you, your family, who moved heaven and earth for this marriage!" He jabbed a finger at her, voice dripping with contempt. "You think I don't know? Your father, begging the King, trading his military victories for a marriage contract with my house. Don't pretend you were innocent."

Her fingernails dug into her palms. It was the truth, a gilded cage her entire adult life.

Seeing the flicker of pain, Kian pressed his advantage, his words turning crueler. "You got exactly what you wanted. The title, the prestige of being future Duchess of Blackwood. And now you want to back out?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper beside her ear. "But what did you really get, Adeline? A husband who doesn't love you. An empty bed."

He straightened, raking his eyes over her body. "Honestly, you should look at yourself for the reason. You're like a cold fish in bed. No passion. No life. A chore, not a pleasure."

Each word struck like a blow. A cold numbness spread through her limbs.

"Without me, without the Ferguson name, what are you? Nothing. The disgraced daughter of a minor lord, practically exiled. You have nothing."

The insults found no new wound to open. Adeline had already remembered where this marriage ended: with poison in her throat and Kian watching her die. For three weeks, the same cold anger had carried her through every missing coin and falsified account. It was still there now—controlled, deliberate, and far more useful than pain.

She lifted her chin, eyes meeting his with a hard clarity he had never seen before.

She did not call him Kian.

"Are you finished, Duke Ferguson?"

The formal title, chillingly polite, made him flinch as if she'd slapped him. She addressed him as an outsider, a peer, not a husband.

"Let me be certain I understand you," she continued, her voice composed. "I am cold, unwanted, talentless, and worth nothing without your name. Sharing my bed is a burden. Looking at me is apparently an offense to your taste."

A faint, elegant smile touched her lips.

"And yet, the moment I offer to relieve you of this unbearable wife, you become remarkably distressed."

His expression hardened.

"How curious," Adeline said. "I had no idea my worthlessness was so indispensable to you."

"Do not twist my words," he snapped.

"There is no need. You have made them admirably clear."

She moved one step back and executed a flawless formal curtsy. "So allow me to correct my request, Your Grace. I am not asking you to surrender anything valuable. I am offering to remove a woman you claim to despise from your home, your bed, and your distinguished family name."

She raised her head, the mockery in her gaze impossible to miss.

"Surely a man of your rank does not need to imprison a worthless woman merely to prove that she cannot leave him."

Her submission was a declaration of war. It enraged him more than any open defiance.

He lunged, hauling her to her feet by her upper arms. "You wish!" His face contorted with fury. "This marriage, this alliance, is not over until I say it is!"

He shook her slightly. "You want to leave? Two ways out, Adeline. In a coffin, or with my explicit permission. And I will grant you neither!"

He shoved her away. She stumbled back, her hip hitting the sharp corner of the vanity. A dull ache spread, but she didn't cry out.

Kian didn't look at her again. He spun on his heel, strode out, and slammed the heavy oak door. The room shuddered.

Adeline stood listening to his retreating footsteps echo down the hall, then slowly pushed herself upright, one hand pressed against her aching hip. No tears. No surprise.

He had just admitted the truth: this was no longer a marriage he intended to preserve. It was possession.

Good.

Now she knew freedom would not be negotiated. It would have to be taken from him.