Chapter 62
“What?”
The maid who had sided with Yvonne earlier shot back sharply. Rita stared straight at her and spoke once more.
“You’re mistaken, Mary. It’s not a misunderstanding.”
Her voice grew a little louder, sharpening the sting that reached everyone’s ears. They all turned to Rita with unwarranted tension. Some even swallowed hard, their throats bobbing audibly.
“Mary’s right. The mistress did terrible things to Miss Angela.”
Rita continued, meeting each gaze one by one.
“Ha! What nonsense.”
The maid snorted derisively and strode right up to Rita.
“Rita, have you lost your mind?”
“No, I haven’t.”
She almost wished she had.
Rita bit her lip hard before releasing it, then added quietly.
She truly meant it. It would be better if she weren’t in her right mind at all. Recalling Angela’s life with full sanity was the absolute worst.
At least now, there was some hope that Angela might still be alive. Until recently, Rita had been wasting away so much that people kept asking her if she was ill.
It seemed that when sickness took hold of the heart, the body followed suit. Rita would think of her young mistress’s petite frame—smaller than average—and dissolve into tears every night.
She sobbed so relentlessly that rumors began circulating in the maids’ quarters: a ghost haunted the place after dark. Some even whispered that it was Angela’s spirit.
“Is… that true?”
One of the servants, who had been sneaking glances at the burly maid backing Yvonne, asked Rita hesitantly.
“Yes, it’s true.”
Rita replied firmly.
“That’s why Miss Angela treated the mistress and the young miss so harshly.”
A heavy silence descended. Everyone was just eyeing one another warily. Even amid that, the maid facing off against Rita wore an expression of utter disbelief. Rita, noting her defiantly tilted head, spoke up.
“You got hit by Miss Angela once before, didn’t you? That’s why you’re like this.”
At Rita’s words, the maid let out a hollow laugh. It grated on her that Rita made it sound like that was somehow wrong.
Who would ever like someone who raised a hand against them? Until just recently, Rita herself had been right there among them, badmouthing Angela with all her might—she couldn’t fathom why she was acting this way now.
“Do you remember why you were hit?”
Why? The maid began dredging up the memory.
It had probably been right after a maid she was close with had been driven out of the mansion by Angela.
‘Ugh, that wicked miss. No wonder no one loves her. She’ll be alone forever.’
She’d been muttering to herself when she was overheard. Realizing she’d been caught, she’d gone pale as Angela approached with terrifying intensity and slapped her cheek with the fan in her hand. As her head rang with the impact, Angela had stared at her in silence before turning and walking away.
She’d been lucky not to get fired, but it had hurt, and she’d been so furious that she’d rushed straight to the other maids to tattle on Angela.
‘I just got hit by Miss Angela. Look at this.’
‘Oh my, it’s completely swollen? Why?’
‘I don’t know—I was just standing there, and she suddenly hit me. Ha, that nasty temper.’
‘Why on earth does she act like that? She’ll get what’s coming to her from heaven.’
As the maid recalled the conversation with her colleague, her expression gradually hardened. Sensing what that shift meant, Rita spoke again.
“You did something wrong first, didn’t you? You only remember the hit, but you conveniently forget what you did to deserve it.”
No, she wanted to protest, but her lips wouldn’t part—as if something were sealing them shut.
Back then, she hadn’t thought she’d done anything particularly wrong. Angela had always been violent; it was her defining trait, after all.
She’d even heard stories of servants in other households having their tongues cut out for speaking ill of the young lady, yet she couldn’t understand how she’d let herself think that way.
Come to think of it, why had her close friend been chased out?
‘Wouldn’t I make a better match for His Lordship the Count? It’s such a waste on Miss Angela. A wicked woman like her should marry the devil himself. Someone like Lord Blueby—that would suit her far better.’
As the maid racked her brain to unearth the past, the moment that buried voice surfaced in her memory, she bit her lip inward, clamping down hard.
“If you get it now, just wait for the miss to return safely.”
Rita said it coldly, then walked past the dazed group and headed to her room.
Today, for the first time in a long while, the empty bed beside hers would be occupied. It would be fine to share tears together—or even better if just being there helped her swallow them back.
* * *
Angela had laid bare her very depths. There was nothing left to conceal.
Kalian was calmer than she’d expected. After hearing her entire story, he embraced her with steady, unshaken hands. It was only Angela’s body that trembled.
“I’m sorry for making you share such a painful story. Thank you for telling me.”
Kalian soothed her with a tender voice. His breath settling atop her head felt like a warm spring breeze, and Angela gradually steadied herself.
The moment her ceaseless tears finally stopped, Kalian pressed a kiss to her eyelids. It felt like a reward for a job well done.
In her childhood, when Kalian mastered something she’d taught him, Angela would secretly kiss his cheek away from prying eyes. He’d blush crimson and bow his head low to hide it—just like Angela was doing now.
“Don’t look.”
“Alright, I won’t.”
He answered smoothly, but it was a lie. When Angela slyly lifted her head, Kalian was still gazing at her intently.
“Deceiving a lady is the act of a scoundrel.”
Angela responded with a pout. At that, Kalian squeezed his eyes shut tightly and said,
“I really won’t look. I’ll stay like this, so let me know when it’s safe to open them.”
Angela gazed at Kalian’s closed-eyed face.
Her eyes traced the smooth forehead, the straight brows, the gentle curve of his eyes, the proud ridge of his nose, the full lips, and the sharp jawline, her fingers hovering just shy of touching.
“You can touch me.”
As if sensing her hesitation, Kalian, eyes still closed, took Angela’s hand and guided it to his cheek. The sudden warmth of his skin startled her for a moment, but emboldened by his permission, Angela began to explore his face with delicate care.
True to the face that had captivated her at first sight, Kalian possessed a refined, almost ethereal beauty. Yet this same face had clashed with her so fiercely before.
They’d always been at odds, baring their teeth, sparring as if to prove who was stronger. His jet-black eyes had always felt like a darkness ready to swallow her whole.
Angela had longed to mend their fractured bond but had never been skilled at defending herself. It was something she’d never been taught. All she knew was to thrust the thorns that pierced her back at others, unable to express herself any other way.
But now, at least, things were like this…
Angela pressed her lips to Kalian’s. His breath was sweet as it mingled with hers.
“Ah!”
As their breaths intertwined, like savoring a piece of candy, Kalian gently grasped the nape of Angela’s neck and eased her back onto the couch. The moment felt oddly familiar, but there was no time to dwell on it. The kiss deepened, fierce and consuming.
A short while later, Kalian, who had obediently kept his eyes closed as Angela had asked, spoke with a voice that bordered on pleading.
“How much longer must I wait for permission? I want to see you now, Angela.”
Barely five minutes had passed since he’d closed his eyes, yet Kalian sounded as if he hadn’t seen her in five years, his voice thick with longing.
“You can look.”
She’d thought to tease him a bit longer, charmed by his impatience, but Angela herself couldn’t resist the urge to see his eyes. She gave in and granted permission.
Kalian opened his eyes at once, gazing down at her. Meeting his stare head-on, Angela reached up and brushed back the dark hair that had fallen over his face. Kalian, like a tamed beast, softened under her touch, his expression languid as he savored her gentleness.
“If I’d known you could be this sweet, I would’ve spoken up sooner. I took the long way around for nothing,” Angela said.
At that, Kalian caught the hand that was stroking him and pressed a kiss to her palm. A flicker of light danced in the eyes that held hers.
“That’s my foolishness, not yours. Nothing is your fault, Angela.”
A life filled with being hated. Hearts that always slipped through her fingers, no matter how she tried. Attention only gained through venom. Cold indifference, all too familiar.
Yet even amidst all that, Kalian, who had every reason to despise her like everyone else, never once looked away from her.
Through countless moments of anger, shouting, and wounding each other, Kalian had always faced her squarely.
He was the only one who treated her like a human being in this world. His gaze, unreachable to anyone else, always found her. That was why she clung to him so desperately, holding on tightly.
And he had never let her go. He had confessed that he’d loved her all along, that every glance had been one of love.
Angela’s eyes softened with affection. They sparkled as if holding the most precious thing in the world.
Even the brightest star or the most priceless gem couldn’t shine like this. Only Kalian could bring such radiance to her eyes.
Meanwhile, Kalian thought of Angela’s gaze as a swamp. One step in, and he was already submerged up to his head. But what did it matter? Even if he could never escape, he didn’t care.
As Kalian leaned closer to Angela, his face drawing near—
Knock, knock!
A sharp rap at the door broke the moment.
“Oh…”
Vigo.
Only then did Angela remember the presence she’d forgotten. She tried to slip out of Kalian’s embrace, realizing with a start that this felt familiar because it had just happened moments ago.
She’d left Vigo waiting outside, thinking they’d only talk briefly, and then completely forgotten about him. The absurdity of it struck her.
“Stay right there.”
But Kalian held her firmly, keeping her from leaving the couch, and rose himself. He headed straight for the door.
Instead of giving permission, he cracked the door open slightly. Vigo, assuming it was an invitation to enter, stepped forward.
But Kalian stood firm, blocking the doorway.
“This conversation will take a while,” he said decisively.
Vigo blinked, saying, “Yes?” before quickly correcting himself with, “Oh, yes, of course.”
With a subtle smile that felt oddly out of place for the urgency of the moment, Vigo stepped back. His gesture, as if urging Kalian to go ahead, carried a hint of mischief.
* * *
Kalian began walking alone through the garden well past midnight. In the pitch-black night, he wandered aimlessly through the colorless garden, lit only by pale moonlight.
If he didn’t keep moving, it felt like something inside him would explode. His chest burned so fiercely it seemed his heart might burst out of his mouth.
How… how could they do that? How could they force that child to bear everything…!
If he could, Kalian wanted to tear the blood from his veins. The flesh and blood Yvonne had passed down to him felt repulsive.
Angela had said Yvonne apologized, but Kalian couldn’t comprehend how a mere apology could resolve such a thing.
They had trampled a person’s life. Angela kept insisting she was fine now, but Kalian hated himself for making her say that.
They had all pushed her into a corner, forcing her to forgive with just words. And Kalian had been complicit in it.
Damn it. Damn it all.
Kalian bit down hard to stifle the scream rising within him, shouting silently in his chest. Angela mustn’t hear this.
She was already someone who couldn’t bear to burden others—if she saw him faltering, she’d be sadder for him than for herself. He knew her now.
Grace, Dominic, Yvonne… there had been no proper adults by Angela’s side. No one to teach her how to grow.
Yet she had smiled so brightly. She had taught him everything.
Even though she herself hadn’t been allowed to grow, she had helped Kalian do so.
He wanted to ask her.
How could you smile at me like that?
