Chapter 117
Angela continued to gaze at Kalian’s hand, still enveloping her own, before shifting her eyes to his face, which was growing pallid and cold.
His eyes, devastated like a forest ravaged by excessive logging, stared blankly at the tragedy he had wrought, as if no more emotions could be felled from them.
Then, in an instant, his lips twisted as if they might crumple. The corners of his mouth trembled faintly. Regret came flooding in.
When Grace, wearing Dominic’s face, had stared at her blatantly, asking if she would kill her again—that’s when she should have turned and run without looking back.
Wasn’t that what she had promised Kalian? To become a coward and flee if danger seemed imminent.
But instead of showing her back, Angela confronted the loathsome misfortune that clung to her relentlessly. She wanted to sever it completely. It felt like her duty. She hadn’t realized the price would be this…
‘Hmm…? Answer me… Will you… kill this mother… again…?’
Facing Grace, who urged her for a response, Angela gritted her teeth before speaking clearly and deliberately.
‘As many times as it takes.’
With that, she fumbled at her waist and drew the dagger Kalian had given her. The raised blade was ready to strike down Grace at any moment—if only she weren’t wearing Dominic’s face.
Grace stared at the hand trembling in the air, then burst into laughter as if she had expected as much.
‘Ye… s… If you can… do it… Try… killing me… Go ahead… Try killing… your mother and father… all at once…’
Grace spread her arms wide toward Angela, as if knowing full well she could do nothing. It was a display of utter confidence.
Afterward, just as she anticipated, when Angela stood frozen, unable to act, Grace began to cackle in that unpleasant way, as if to say she knew it all along. But it didn’t last long.
‘Born… from my womb… Do you think… I don’t know you…? You are… weak… and pathetic… and stup… id, stup… Ah!’
Her mouth, which had been berating Angela, suddenly opened and closed wildly on its own—then rough hands abruptly seized Angela’s shoulders.
‘Quick… ly… Kill… me…’
The face contorted in agony was Dominic’s. Undaunted by the death looming before him, he urged Angela to act. To end his life immediately, before that woman could reappear.
Meeting Dominic’s gaze as it reached toward her, Angela hesitated. Unaware of what consequences it might bring, she wanted to find a way to detach Grace, who clung like a parasite, from that body—if such a method existed.
Though she held the knife now, Dominic’s blood was still dried on her hands. It had stained them when she had recklessly stanched his bleeding, determined to delay his death.
She didn’t want this to be the end. The wish that had long lingered regarding Dominic continued to swell within her chest.
‘Enough with the nonsense… Our good child wants to be by her mother’s side… Don’t you…?’
In that instant, Grace shoved Dominic aside and reemerged, gripping Angela’s shoulders tightly and pulling her into a fierce embrace.
Her coarse palms gently stroked Angela’s hair. As if filled with profound love, as if brimming with affection, she soothed Angela.
Angela pushed against the large body to escape the false embrace, the feigned affection. But Dominic’s form bound her even more tightly, eventually wresting the dagger from her hand. That was when Kalian rushed toward her.
Kalian had been fending off enemies not far away, securing a safe space for the injured Dominic and Angela tending to him. But the moment Angela was in danger, he turned toward her as if nothing else mattered.
The gap allowed an attack to pour in from behind. Enduring it fully, Kalian saw Jamie hastily filling his vacancy before charging toward Angela.
‘Get away.’
Kalian pressed his unwavering sword blade firmly against the neck of Dominic—or Grace—who was on the verge of swinging the dagger seized from Angela.
‘It would be wise to hurry if you don’t want your head to fly off.’
The straight edge had already drawn a red line on his neck. It was no mere threat.
Grace—no, Dominic—no, Grace… The being with an ambiguous expression, impossible to identify, staggered to its feet and backed away from Angela.
Angela stared obsessively up at the retreating face. The compliant withdrawal suggested Dominic, yet it also seemed like Grace scheming again.
As she watched in confusion, the slight upward curl of the lips struck her vision sharply.
It was Grace.
In the moment Angela realized it with certainty, Grace lunged at Kalian—regardless of the sword at her neck—and plunged the dagger deep into his chest.
‘Kalian!’
Angela’s scream came too late. Grace savagely twisted the dagger, embedded precisely in his heart, and yanked it out. Then she repeated the same act once more.
The sharply torn wound gushed blood in spurts. The metallic scent of Kalian’s blood assaulted Angela’s nostrils intensely.
‘Your distorted face… Hoo, I so wanted… to see it just once… Perfect… tim… ing!’
Grace, mocking Kalian, froze stiff before finishing her words. The dagger she held had stabbed into her own abdomen.
‘Ah…! Do… minic…!’
Grace shrieked in fury. But her hand wouldn’t move as she wished; clutching the dagger’s handle, she collapsed to the floor, thrashing about.
Angela focused solely on Kalian, as if the commotion were invisible and inaudible. It was only moments later that she managed to take steps toward him—after seeing Kalian attempt to approach her, only to crash his knees to the ground.
Each step was unsteady. His stride was narrow, his balance wavering. Approaching him with such faltering steps, Angela knelt down beside him as well.
And now this. Kalian had collapsed. She couldn’t believe it. It had to be a lie. He wasn’t the kind of man to leave her like this. How could…
Angela pulled Kalian into her arms. She placed him on her thigh and caressed his cheek. Her stroking fingertips trembled. The body heat she had always found warm in him was no longer the same. The body that should never cool was growing cold. Why…
Had it been a mistake to try saving Dominic? A mistake to believe Grace was dead? Or was it a mistake from the beginning for Angela to covet Kalian?
‘If something like this happens again, I’ll ignore it even if news of the young lady’s death comes.’
‘I will request to break off the engagement with the Bilton family.’
‘This is my limit. I can’t go on anymore.’
‘The young lady is truly… a difficult person to give one’s heart to.’
She should have let him go when he disliked her so much. She should have coldly severed ties, saying that if he hated her, she hated him too.
If she had, she might not have had to witness this sight now.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I’m sorry, Kalian…”
Angela held Kalian close and begged for forgiveness. It pained her that she had turned even him into a piece of her misfortune.
How dare she, an ominous existence from birth, aspire to happiness? She resented the heart that had clung to hopeless faith. Every minute, every second of the past was stained with regret.
It was astounding that she had begged others to love her when she could make no one happy. What shameless selfishness it was to ask them to stay by her side when all she could give was misfortune. Grace had been right. She was weak, pathetic, and stupid.
“I won’t like you anymore. I won’t say I love you again, so please don’t go like this.”
Angela clung to Kalian and pleaded. In that moment, a sharp pain struck her from behind. Angela twisted her neck back, gasping for breath, and turned around.
Grace, who seemed to have regained consciousness at some point and completely driven out Dominic, was staring at Angela with a chilling smile.
She had precisely pierced Angela’s heart with the longsword Kalian had always used to protect her.
“Do you remember what your mother said, Angela?”
Grace twisted the sword sharply to the side as she asked. Angela’s body jerked and convulsed violently. Grace’s voice echoed over her drooping head.
“I said you’d be unhappy your whole life. That if a moment came when you felt even a little happy while alive, another misfortune would begin right then.”
“…”
“Isn’t it happening just as I said? Believe your mother now, Angela. Unless you become my blood and flesh, you’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life.”
She couldn’t refute it. Because it was truly unfolding as she had said.
Happiness came fleetingly like rain in a drought, only to vanish, leaving behind an even greater thirst.
Even so, insisting she wanted to live on—in her arms lay Kalian, fading away.
* * *
“Me, Mary! Mary!”
The doctor, who had dozed off after tending to the young maid all night, snapped awake at the voice screaming almost in agony.
He sprang up from the uncomfortable chair he’d been sitting in and headed straight to the bed.
“Oh no!”
Alarm burst involuntarily from between his lips. The young maid, who had shown no major issues aside from a high fever, was now rolling her eyes back and fainting.
The doctor roughly threw back the neatly tucked blanket and began examining the young maid. Her pulse was excessively slow. He had seen her breathing normally right before he dozed off, so why this sudden…
In his shock, the doctor tossed off his jacket and began scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. He handed it to Jo, the maid who was fidgeting anxiously nearby.
“Decoct these herbs and bring them.”
“Yes, understood.”
Jo hurriedly flung open the door and dashed out.
Hilda, who had been fetching fresh water in a basin to cool Mary’s fever, saw her and quickly entered the room. Water sloshed over, soaking her maid’s uniform, but that wasn’t important right now.
“What’s happened?”
“Shh!”
As Hilda approached closely to ask, the doctor silenced her and continued listening with his stethoscope all over the body. Then, at some point, he jerked back from Mary.
“Wh-why? What’s wrong?”
Unable to contain her anxiety, Hilda pressed the doctor. But he remained tight-lipped, saying nothing. Only an ominous tension thickened in the air.
The doctor maintained that silent vigil for a long while before approaching Mary again, pressing his ear precisely to her heart. Soon after, a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
Finally, the doctor brought a thin piece of cloth to Mary’s nose. Hilda, her eyes wide, snatched the cloth away and stood blocking the doctor.
“What are you doing!”
She knew what it meant to hold a piece of cloth to the nose tip.
This was the procedure to confirm death. The final checkpoint to verify breathing. If the cloth didn’t flutter, the doctor would pronounce death.
Hilda couldn’t understand why this was necessary for Mary. What was this absurd action toward a child who had been sleeping peacefully until she went to change the water…
“…The child’s heart isn’t beating.”
Hilda’s thoughts halted abruptly.
“What do you mean by that?”
Jo, who had just returned after delivering the doctor’s instructions to the kitchen, entered the room and demanded fiercely. The doctor, as if reluctant to say it himself, bowed his head and replied.
“Just as I said. The heart has already stopped.”
