Chapter 91
“The sea… sleep… hurry…”
The song, which hadn’t produced a single proper note, dragged on for a long while before gradually fading away. Mary, who had been nodding off, finally slumped over the bed with her arms pillowed beneath her, fast asleep.
Angela, watching this scene that had repeated itself over the past few days, let out an incredulous chuckle.
Had it been about three or four days since Mary had stepped in to watch over Angela’s bedtime in place of the busy Kalian? Mary had boldly declared she’d sing lullabies all night until Angela fell peacefully asleep, but each time, she ended up lulled to sleep by her own singing. Just like now.
It didn’t matter that she’d boasted about putting Angela to bed only to fall asleep first. It was better for her to conk out early rather than stubbornly fight off sleep with those dark circles under her eyes from all the nodding.
Yet, Angela couldn’t help but marvel every time at how Mary could sing such a dreadful tune with her own mouth and then sleep so soundly, breathing softly in her slumber.
Even as these thoughts crossed her mind, Angela quietly climbed down from the bed and fetched a thick blanket to drape over Mary’s back.
“Mmmph.”
Mary whined lightly in her sleep, smacking her lips before sinking back into deep slumber. Only after watching the whole thing unfold did Angela let her smile fade and move over to the sofa.
By now, the effects of the stimulant she’d given Dominic should have worn off. It was time to spy on his dreams.
Leaning back against the sofa, Angela stared into the void before gently closing her eyes. She thought of Dominic. She’d expected the face filling her mind to be the familiar profile she’d known all her life, but instead, her gaze first met the obsessive stare she’d seen from him not long ago.
In that instant, a fierce current pushed at her back, guiding her somewhere. When she felt she’d arrived, she peeled away a layer of pitch-black darkness.
“Urgh, ugh!”
Dominic’s space opened up, filled with agonized groans.
“Father…?”
The moment she stepped in, Angela began scanning her surroundings for Dominic upon hearing the ominous groan. And she found him not far away.
“Father.”
Angela spoke the title Dominic so desperately wanted her to call him as she approached. She hoped her voice might reach him that way.
But as she drew near to check on his condition, Angela realized something. Unlike with Anette, there was no barrier blocking her. She could reach out and touch Dominic as much as she wanted.
This must be Grace’s doing as well.
With that suspicion in mind, Angela still extended her hand toward the groaning, pained Dominic. There was no other way.
“Fath…”
It was when her icy, rigid fingers grasped Dominic’s arm. For some reason, Angela couldn’t finish her words and was swept right into the illusion Dominic was seeing.
“Angela.”
It was a young Angela who lifted her head at the voice calling her name. Her face was pale as a sheet, on the verge of tears. That wasn’t strange—back then, Angela was always melancholic, so tears were only natural.
But the moment she spotted Dominic, who had called her, a brilliantly joyful smile spread across her small face? This… this was odd.
To the child Angela, Dominic was her father in name only, always someone distant and intimidating. For her to smile so brightly at the sight of him—it made no sense.
“Angela, come here?”
Yet, regardless of Angela’s denial, the young Angela acted as if this affectionate Dominic was utterly familiar. She spread her arms wide and began toddling toward his call.
When the young Angela was just a couple of steps away, Dominic’s gaze hardened fiercely. It was because of her limping leg.
As if he couldn’t bear her unsteady steps for even a moment, Dominic strode forward in an instant and scooped her up.
“Who did this? Whose doing is it?”
Dominic pressed Angela against his chest, spitting out each word laced with fury.
Soon after, as if he’d found the answer himself, he muttered savagely.
“Who else? It must be Yvonne, that damned woman’s work. Right?”
Angela, who had been staring at the two in a daze, snapped to attention at those words. If this continued, Dominic would wake up and go after the real Yvonne in reality.
“No, it’s not.”
Angela shook Dominic’s arm, which she held tightly in her grip, and said firmly.
“Snap out of it. This is all just a dream.”
She kept whispering into the ear of Dominic, who believed he was holding his young daughter.
How much time passed like that? The young Angela nestled in Dominic’s arms suddenly smirked mockingly at the real Angela.
The instant she saw that scornful sneer, as if to say “not a chance,” Angela realized it was Grace. Without hesitation, she thrust her hand into the illusion Dominic was seeing.
She tried to pry that thing clinging to Dominic’s chest like a leech.
“…!”
That was when Angela was flung far away without even a scream. It happened in an instant, without warning. Thinking it was the same barrier as with Anette, Angela staggered to her feet.
But when she finally straightened up, what she faced head-on was Dominic, wearing a terrifying expression.
“How dare you… try to take my daughter away…”
In Dominic’s hand, as he muttered through gritted teeth, was a sword smeared with red blood. Drawn by an intangible force, Angela looked down at her own body.
“Ah…”
A hollow gasp escaped her. Her chest had been slashed long and deep. Only after seeing the bloodstain spreading across her front did the pain crash over her.
Clutching her sliced chest from Dominic’s blow, Angela curled in on herself. There were no screams, no tears, but her trembling body wretchedly poured out its agony.
Yet, it seemed Dominic couldn’t see that. He approached with heavy steps and drove the sharp tip of the sword into Angela’s abdomen.
“Die…”
As he said, her body, pierced through by the longsword, felt like it would die just like this. The pain was so intense she couldn’t imagine surviving. She even longed for that quiet subsidence of agony in death’s moment.
Just endure a little longer, and it’ll be over—that weak thought bubbled up from her pierced gut. In that split second, Angela suddenly flung her eyes open.
The space lingered with Kalian’s soft scent, like air itself, waiting for Angela. Mary’s soft breathing came in regular rhythms.
It was a complete contrast to Dominic’s world from moments ago. The vicious blade that had ravaged her insides was gone without a trace.
“Haa.”
Angela exhaled sharply, as though she’d just surfaced from underwater. It was a breath that confirmed she was alive.
* * *
“Pass it to the maid named Rita.”
Angela handed a letter to one of the servants from the Florence estate, issuing her instructions. The letter carried a directive: if Dominic showed any strange signs toward Yvonne, they were to inform her immediately.
Even though the Bilton estate’s staff would likely rush to summon Angela if such a thing happened, the vision from the dream gnawed at her, leaving her too restless to stay idle. Despite the deep blue pre-dawn hour—an inconvenient time to send someone on an errand to another household—the servant accepted the task without a hint of complaint, striding out of the estate with brisk determination to deliver the message and return.
Watching the servant’s retreating figure, Angela didn’t head back to her room. Instead, she turned toward the garden. Once, she’d thought the sprawling, maze-like garden would confound any assassin who dared enter. Now, even Angela navigated its paths with ease. Her steps naturally led her to the pergola.
Though there was no light to avoid, Angela settled onto a bench beneath the tall roof, her fingers absently brushing the spot on her abdomen where Dominic’s blade had pierced her in the dream.
If it wasn’t Grace’s doing, perhaps wounds from dreams didn’t carry into reality—Angela’s body bore not even a scratch the size of a fingernail. It was almost too pristine, rendering the pain she’d endured in the dream feel hollow.
And yet, why did her mood sink so heavily?
She felt as though she’d been stabbed for real. It was as if, beneath her dress, there’d be long, deep gashes waiting to be revealed.
Isn’t the heart Angela’s too?
Kalian’s question stirred her mind, circling once before settling. Only then could she acknowledge it. Though her body was unharmed, somewhere deep inside—some invisible part of her—had been wounded in Dominic’s dream and returned bruised.
How could someone capable of such tenderness have failed to show it to her when she was a child? The blade that had pierced and cut Angela was the small question mark sprouting within her.
Seeing a past she might have had, even knowing it was merely Grace’s manipulation, left a bitter ache in her chest. If Dominic had ever held her just once as he did in the dream, Angela might have embraced the man now burning with longing for her. If there had been even one good memory tucked into the crevices of her past, she would have opened her arms to him, leaning on that single moment.
If only that had been true…
Angela’s head drooped in quiet despair.
“Eep!”
A large hand slipped beneath her chin, tilting her head up before lips pressed against hers. Startled, Angela froze, unable to even blink.
The tip of a tongue teased her stiff lips, and her small fists clenched the fabric of her dress tightly. The lips against hers curved smoothly, as if smiling. Only then, as if a spell had broken, did Angela close her eyes and lift her arms to embrace the unexpected intruder.
“Kalian…”
The tender call of his name slipped through the space between their lips, and the kiss deepened instantly, lush and fervent, like a green fruit ripening red and ready to fall. Kalian’s hand, which had been holding her delicate chin, slid to her nape, drawing their already close bodies even nearer. Angela, greedily drinking in the reckless breaths they shared, let out a soft moan.
Reading the faint distress in her sound, Kalian eased back ever so slightly.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
But it was a fleeting moment of consideration. After Angela gasped a few ragged breaths, Kalian surged forward again, kissing her as though to fill the brief time they’d been apart. He didn’t let their lips part, as if unwilling to lose even a second.
Though his fervent, almost desperate approach overwhelmed her, Angela didn’t dislike it. She tightened her arms around him, pouring strength into the embrace. The relentless kiss ended abruptly in that moment.
Angela gazed up at Kalian, who had pulled back just as suddenly, her eyes dazed.
“Why…”
Her heat-flushed lips managed only that single word. A troubled expression flickered across Kalian’s face.
Seeing that look, Angela’s foggy mind cleared, and she shot up from the bench with uncharacteristic haste. Though Kalian had initiated the kiss, the situation made it seem as if she were the one pleading for more. Her cheeks flushed a warm, rosy hue, hot enough to feel if touched.
Afraid of him noticing her embarrassment, Angela tried to slip past Kalian and flee the garden. She knew her avoidance was more awkward than the sudden kiss itself, but it was better than letting him see her flushed face.
She’d taken only a few steps when—
“…I’m deliberating.”
Kalian’s even, uninflected voice caught her like a hand on her ankle. Though his tone carried no particular emphasis, it strangely pricked her ears, making her forget her羞耻fueled escape. She turned to look at him.
Kalian was already watching her, their eyes meeting. With that same troubled expression, he spoke again.
“Mary’s asleep in the room.”
Only then, hearing his words, did Angela understand why his steady voice felt so provocative.
“I’m wondering where I should take you.”
It was because he was barely holding back the heat rising within him.
“I’m deliberating.”
Because Kalian, of all people, was speaking with lips trembling from restraint.
His gaze, fixed on Angela, showed patience chipping away drop by drop. It was as if he were shouting that he wanted her right then and there.
And Kalian didn’t seem ashamed of it. His eyes, locked on her, didn’t waver or flee.
That bold demeanor finally gave Angela courage.
“Anywhere.”
The words he wanted to hear.
“As long as it’s with you.”
She’d drawn them out at last.
