Chapter 49
Both Kalian and Angela yearned to draw each other closer, their hearts burning with the need to bridge the space between them. Reveling in the warmth of their touching bodies, they melded together as one. A feverish heat lingered in the air.
Angela, breathless, found euphoria in the ragged exhales she managed to release, wrapping her entire being around Kalian. Kalian, as if there were no other place for him in the world, burrowed ceaselessly into Angela’s embrace.
It wasn’t just Angela who was consumed by the exquisite sensation. Kalian felt intoxicated, as if drunk on wine. This moment was more exhilarating than when he’d planted the empire’s flag on a hard-won peak after endless struggle. Burying his nose in the curve of Angela’s neck, he inhaled deeply.
He wanted to be the only one to breathe in her scent. To know that Angela was a flower so fragrant, and to keep that knowledge to himself alone. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.
And he knew this flower had bloomed for no one else’s hand. Angela was his alone. From the moment they first met to this very instant, their eyes had only ever been on each other.
Kalian thought about how fortunate he was. A suffocating joy surged within him. Gazing into Angela’s crimson eyes, he pressed his lips to hers.
* * *
Yvonne couldn’t shake the image of Angela, who had once said she wanted to stay in her womb for ten months, from her mind. The Angela who believed that becoming Yvonne’s true child would earn her the same love as Beatrice was lodged in Yvonne’s heart, impossible to dislodge.
Even now, Yvonne found herself wishing she could be Angela’s mother. The Angela who spoke of forgiveness, saying she was enduring such punishment, was not the same Angela who had always faced Yvonne with venom in her eyes. Nor was she the Angela who had mercilessly punished Beatrice.
This was an Angela Yvonne didn’t know at all. An Angela hidden deep within her heart, never once revealed.
No, that was a lie. How could she claim to know nothing?
Yvonne had simply turned away. Angela had always been that kind of child—gentle, pure, stepping into the closet despite the pain Yvonne’s words caused her.
It was because Angela loved her. When Beatrice cried, Yvonne cried, and that hurt Angela’s heart.
Yvonne had exploited that heart to her satisfaction. And then, without a shred of guilt, she’d insulted Angela, calling her wicked. She must have had no other choice. There must have been no other way. Relentlessly, Yvonne had driven her down and broken her.
*“I’m telling you, Yvonne. Even now, I dream of curling up and sleeping inside your womb.”*
The Angela who had confessed such a deeply guarded sentiment was the wreckage Yvonne had shattered. The traces of Yvonne’s destruction. She seemed fragile enough to scatter with the slightest breeze. And once she vanished like that, Yvonne felt they would never meet again.
Biting her lip, Yvonne left the room. She set out to find Dominic.
He was feeding a massive dog used for winter hunts. Yvonne approached and spoke without preamble.
“I heard Count Florenche was released. Did she really agree to break off the engagement?”
Dominic glanced at Yvonne, tossing a large chunk of beef to the hulking dog as he nodded in affirmation.
“She said she would.”
Yvonne bit her lip hard. It felt as though it wasn’t her lip but her heart being crushed between her teeth. There was no way it could hurt this much otherwise. With the resolve of tearing out her heart, Yvonne opened her mouth.
“Does it have to be this way?”
Dominic’s face took on a hint of irritation. His gaze, sharp with reproach as if to say *Wasn’t this what you wanted too?*, pierced Yvonne painfully. But she could say with conviction: perhaps she had wanted it once, but now, absolutely not.
“Just let the two of them…”
“Anyway.”
Yvonne was about to ask if they couldn’t just let them marry, but Dominic cut her off coldly, continuing his own words.
“This was always meant to happen.”
His face showed no trace of emotion. It was as if he were merely executing a plan long prepared, without the slightest hint of hesitation.
Yvonne had sensed it before—the strange hatred directed at Angela. It was the only thing visible in him now. Back then, she had fled from it, but now she couldn’t avoid asking. With resolve, Yvonne spoke.
“What exactly happened between you and Angela?”
Dominic flung the bloodied chunk of meat he was holding and stood up. As he brushed the dirt from his clothes, a faint anger seemed to emanate from him.
Yvonne knew it wasn’t directed at her. Still, she swallowed dryly. But she had no intention of backing down. She wanted to know—she *needed* to know.
Dominic stared at her silently. Yvonne knew there was someone else in those eyes. She, too, had people she couldn’t forget, so that didn’t matter. Even if it wasn’t passionate love, there was a certain tenderness in the way he looked at his wife.
But why, when he clearly knew how to look at family with such warmth, did he…
“She’s not my daughter.”
Yvonne’s mind went blank. Every thought that had been flowing evaporated in an instant, leaving no trace.
She couldn’t even ask him to repeat what he’d said. Yvonne could only stare blankly at the mouth from which Dominic’s voice had emerged.
“My bloodline is Beatrice alone.”
Dominic spoke as if this were some grand revelation meant to thrill Yvonne. As if it were a tremendous gift he was presenting.
Not long ago—before she’d heard Angela’s innermost thoughts—Yvonne might have felt a flutter of excitement at these words. She might have embraced Beatrice, exulting that she’d finally surpassed Angela.
But that wasn’t what Yvonne felt now. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, barely managing to force out a single question.
“Does… Angela know?”
The answer came in Dominic’s expression. Yvonne realized Angela could not survive in this Bilton mansion. It was no place where she could breathe and live.
She should have taken Angela’s small hand and fled back then. Abandoned this wretched mansion and run far, far away.
* * *
Leaning against the bed, Kalian gazed somberly at the deep bruises marring Angela’s chest, then traced his eyes over the still-healing scars on her calf. Perhaps because her skin was so fair, the red marks stood out starkly.
Without warning, Kalian lowered his head and gently kissed the skin beside the scar. It was a wish for her to heal quickly.
At that, Angela, who had been in a light sleep, stirred and came to. Lifting her thick lashes as if awakening from a spell, she looked at Kalian, who gazed back at her as if in a dream.
It felt as though all the pain they’d inflicted on each other had been for this moment—so utterly fulfilling.
“What are you doing?”
“I was blowing on it to make it heal faster.”
Kalian answered Angela’s question playfully. It was unlike him to speak that way, and Angela looked at him with curious eyes, as if wondering if someone else had taken over his body.
“Did you learn that tone from Tristan?”
At her question, Kalian let out a soft laugh and pulled her closer.
“You’re lying here with me and bringing up another man?”
Angela, pulled swiftly into Kalian’s embrace, puffed out her lips in a playful pout.
“Even this way of talking.”
Kalian pointed it out, finding it endearing that she didn’t mention Tristan’s name. He pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“The only one who’s ever taught me anything is you, Angela.”
As he spoke, Kalian drew out a small memory they shared.
“When I got hurt during training, you did this for me.”
Handling weapons meant injuries were commonplace, not a matter of one or two days. Getting cut or bruised was just part of daily life. Blood would flow, and he’d let it clot on its own, day after day.
But whenever Angela caught sight of a wound on Kalian, her face would crumple with worry. Even a scratch no bigger than a fingernail.
That day, it was a cut near his eye. Since it was on his face, and so close to his eye, Angela had reacted with even greater sensitivity than usual.
“What’s this? You’re hurt again? I told you not to get hurt, didn’t I? Such a disobedient boy.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing or not, that’s for a physician to decide. Come with me.”
Angela had called for a physician to examine Kalian’s wound. After disinfecting and applying ointment, the cut felt as if it were burning hotter than before. When Kalian subtly winced, Angela’s large eyes widened with concern.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Don’t lie. Come here.”
Cradling Kalian’s face in both hands, Angela blew gently on the skin near his eye. The ticklish breeze made his eyes sting, and her soft breath fluttering against his lashes sent a thrill through him.
In that moment, he’d made a vow. If Angela ever got hurt, he’d do the same for her…
But it wasn’t easy for the cherished young lady of a ducal family to get injured, so he’d never had the chance to try it until now.
He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret, even as he thought this might be his chance. He’d rather never have the opportunity if it meant Angela stayed unharmed for a lifetime.
“We were both kids back then,” Angela countered, as if reading his thoughts, tucking her injured leg beneath the blanket.
“Even so, I wanted to do it,” Kalian insisted, sounding like a petulant child.
Angela indulged his whims, smoothing his hair with her hand. Kalian, in turn, toyed with her golden locks.
Her hair, once cascading past her waist, now barely brushed her shoulders. It had been trimmed to match the length cut during the kidnapping incident.
Not that Angela seemed to mind. She’d told the person wielding the scissors to cut it without a trace of regret.
So Kalian didn’t care about her hairstyle either. She was beautiful like this, in her own way.
“I don’t want to let you go. I wish you’d stay at my estate a little longer,” Kalian said, gazing at her steadily.
Angela seemed about to nod in agreement, a faint smile playing on her lips, but then she shook her head.
“My father’s here after so long. I can’t do that.”
Kalian knew well, having seen it often, that Dominic was cold toward Angela. Still, if that’s what she wanted, he couldn’t interfere and drive a wedge between father and daughter.
With no other choice, Kalian nodded to respect her wishes. Then, as if to compensate, he pressed his lips to hers.
His actions were like a horse freed from its reins, beyond his control. He felt it himself but couldn’t help it. It was Angela who had loosened the reins binding him. And Kalian had every right to hold her accountable for that.
Yet, no matter how long they stayed entwined, the ache of parting didn’t lessen—not by half, not even by a quarter. The warmth they’d shared made the moment it slipped away all the more poignant and tender.
He wanted to pull Angela down from the carriage and kiss her. To carry her in his arms to his bedroom, never letting her take a single step outside, whispering love to her. If he could, he’d bind their hands together and move as one.
Kalian hadn’t known he had such a possessive streak. This newfound emotion, taught to him by Angela, he embraced with joy.
In the end, unable to pull Angela from the carriage, Kalian stood rooted to the spot long after it left his estate, his eyes lingering on its path.
Then, imagining himself sprinting after it to stop it, he muttered to himself, “I’ve finally lost it.”
“Who? Your pretty lady?”
Turning at the voice behind him, Kalian saw Tristan standing there, gazing at the estate’s entrance alongside him.
“It’s Lady Bilton. Call her that with respect.”
“Tch. I call her Angela, Angela all the time.”
“I’m…!”
Tristan’s petulant tone made Kalian raise his voice, only to snap his mouth shut, embarrassed by what he’d nearly blurted out.
But even after Kalian closed his mouth, Tristan smirked as if he’d heard it all, teasing him relentlessly.
“Oh, so our esteemed Count Florenche is someone special to Lady Bilton? That’s why you get to call her by her name so casually?”
Kalian, uncharacteristically, let out a fake cough and started walking back toward the estate. Tristan trailed after him, taking unnecessary glee in continuing to tease.
Finally, Kalian snapped, asking if the envoy from the Taran Kingdom was always this idle. Only then did Tristan shift to another topic.
“We got a confession.”
