114. Tight and dense
The next day, Kalia sent Mitch and Charlotte to Hethel early, using the excuse that Mitch needed to do some last-minute house cleaning and Charlotte needed to get used to her new home, but she actually had a bigger purpose: to have a private conversation with her daughter.
“Emilia, how about we have a cup of tea together after a long time?”
Emilia also didn't refuse because she was waiting for her chance.
“Is that so?”
Kalia led Emilia into the backyard.
A bonfire was lit in the middle of the garden where the crickets were chirping beautifully. A picnic mat, a small wooden table, a kettle, and teacups were placed there.
“Do you remember? When your father was alive, we would sometimes light a fire like this and talk.”
The two sat facing each other with a wood fire in the middle.
For a long time, she just stared blankly at the burning firewood.
“Emilia, do you know when I became pregnant with Mitch?”
Kalia was the first to speak with a question.
“I was exactly your age. When I found out, I just... wanted to die.”
Emilia's hand, which was picking up the teacup, stopped.
“Manuel was my father’s gambling buddy. He would come by our house every weekend and look at me strangely, but I didn’t know anything. I had no idea what to take it for, how to deal with it. I grew up without a mother, just like you.”
"Mother..."
“One day, he suddenly barged into my room. My father was completely drunk, so screaming didn’t help. The child that resulted from that was... Mitch.”
Emilia was completely frozen, unable to breathe. Callia seemed to be consumed by painful memories, unable to see or hear anything.
“My father was furious. Not at Manuel, but at me. He slapped me several times, saying how much I had to be so reckless to let something like this happen.”
Her hands were shaking. Emilia held them together to prevent the tremors from spreading throughout her body.
“My father dragged me into Manuel’s house. As soon as the door opened, he knocked him down without warning. He beat him until he was covered in blood and threw me next to him. Then he said, ‘Now, Kalia, he is your husband. Serve him with love and obedience.’”
Emilia's heart began to pound, pounding so hard it felt like it was going to pierce her bones.
“My father received 300 knots from Manuel on the condition that he would not make a fuss about what had happened to me. He sold me for the price of a horse.”
“...”
“That’s how I ended up getting married overnight. To the man who raped me.”
A cold wind blew drearily. Emilia stared at her stepmother's empty nape, where blue veins bulged out, and wrapped a shawl around her.
“I tried. I tried to accept him as my husband somehow, but it wasn’t easy. It was impossible from the start.”
The two eyes that were reflecting the blazing flame suddenly turned to Emilia.
“You know, Emilia, I don’t want you to feel the same pain.”
A shocking realization, different from the heart-wrenching pain, hit Emilia's head.
“You don’t have to get married if you don’t want to because of the child. If you don’t like it, you don’t even have to like the Duke; you even have to like the King.”
"Mother..."
“As I said before, I want you to meet someone as ordinary and kind as you. If... if you want, there’s a way to just leave. To a place where Master Meyer can’t find you.”
Only then did she understand why her stepmother had rejected her and why she had suddenly and painfully revealed her past to her.
Hardius was not kind to her and was not one to make excuses for his mistakes.
It breaks her heart to imagine how he would have described their relationship before they had a child.
He would have clearly only said that it was his fault. He would have been very blunt and confessed that he had done it against her will.
And the stepmother saw her ex-husband in that young master.
The moment she realized that Hardy Meyer was being compared to a man who whips women, Emilia's heart sank so hard that she thought she might vomit.
“No, Mother. That’s not true.”
Emilia shook her head vigorously, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Young Master, he is not that kind of person. He would never... do something like that...”
“Yes, I know. Master Meyer wouldn’t have been that evil. I can guess that much. But Emilia,”
Kalia gently held Emilia's trembling hand.
“I’m not saying this to make you hate Master Meyer. When I was pregnant with Mitch and on the run, I thought my life was over. You know, the world is not kind to a woman who gets pregnant alone. But then what happened? I met your father. Just before I was about to fall off the cliff, a miracle came to me.”
Emilia looked at her mother. Between them, a cloud of smoke mixed with ash rose into the night sky.
“Life isn’t that simple. There are so many forks in the road, like those tree branches. So, Emilia...”
“No, Mother.”
Emilia firmly stopped her.
“I have absolutely no desire to meet another man or run away.”
Through her blurred vision, Emilia could see her stepmother's reddened eyes.
“But Emilia, can you really handle it? You know... marriage is completely different... of all things, becoming a Duchess...”
All that appeared on Kalia’s face was fear. It was the exact same emotion that blocked Emilia’s path whenever she thought of Hardius.
“That’s why you pushed him away and rejected him, right? You said you were afraid that your child would be called a ‘bastard’ in the master’s world. Do you think you can endure it when nothing has changed except for the child?”
Emilia found herself having difficulty answering.
“If you loved the young master irrevocably, you would never have said such things. You would have supported and helped him in some way, as Charlotte said. But you don’t, do you? I remember clearly how much you hated the young master. Don’t you?”
“Mother, I...”
“Whatever decision you make, your heart comes first. I repeat, Mitch, Charlotte, we are ready. We are on your side, no matter what.”
After that, Kalia continued to say something earnestly, but Emilia couldn't hear a single word.
'But you don't? I remember very well how much you hated the young master.'
The words echoed.
Yes.
She hated it.
She had burned herself with all sorts of extreme emotions. She had completely burned away all the emotions that were going back and forth between excitement and hatred, longing and loathing, shame and desire.
So, what's left?
A child born out of nowhere, a desire to see him several times a day, and...
“I would like to gouge out your eyes and rip out your intestines.”
Hutton spat and muttered.
“Of course, that can’t be. You’re just the tail, and the real body is something else.”
Across from him, Jetson was gasping for breath and writhing in pain, his mouth gagged and hooded.
Of course, it was no use. His arms and legs were completely tied to the chair, as if they were one body.
“Shall I tell you some sad news? All those who helped you have been caught. They are all tied up and locked up in some unknown place, just like you.”
“...!”
Jetson's body flinched as he struggled.
“Do you know what that means? Your master is now completely finished. And so are you. So you’d better give up quickly and cooperate with me.”
An animal-like groan leaked out through the dirty cloth covering his face. Hutton sneered at Jetson.
“Your master, Kaitlyn Meyer, will soon be identified as the mastermind behind the carriage robbery.”
Jetson was motionless, just putting all his strength into his body.
“Of course I know. Your master won’t be destroyed so easily. This damned world won’t dare hold the Duchess accountable for killing a mere woman and child.”
Hutton gritted his teeth, but smiled coldly at the same time.
“But do you know what the good news is? My master is much more thorough and meticulous than yours.”
“...”
“The charge that will truly bring down your master is not a petty murder charge. The Duchess will be brought to trial for the continued poisoning of the 11th Duke of Meyer. We have already planted enough evidence over the past few months while the Duchess has been distracted by various events.”
Jetson's body, which had been sagging, suddenly flinched as if in a seizure.
“My master had the perfect plan in place to have Duchess Meyer sentenced to prison and rot away in it for as long as possible. That’s why you and your goons have been caught one after another.”
Jetson struggled, gasping for breath.
“So please cooperate obediently. So that I don’t have to use these things.”
Hutton approached the table. There was a dark cloth covering it. The moment Hutton's hand lifted the cloth and took something out, Grojean felt a hair-raising fear. His wobbly legs involuntarily took a step back.
Hutton began to approach Jetson, clutching tightly at something he 'never knew the purpose of'.
“...!”
Grojean, astonished, turned around and ran outside. He gasped for breath and slowly raised his head.
Outside the shooting range, a completely different world unfolded.
Blue sky and clear air.
The winter trees, hit by early frost, were shining in the sunlight, turning the surroundings silver. The mansion, which had entered winter, was quiet and peaceful.
“Ah, Sir Grojean is here. The young master is looking for you.”
The servant who spoke to him with a smile also made the events taking place in the basement of the shooting range seem like a dream. The sense of dissonance made Grojean blink his eyes repeatedly.
“Where... is he?”
“You can go to his room.”
Grojean wiped his face with his dry hands and walked diligently.
When he knocked and entered the room, the owner was preparing to go out with the help of the butler.
He was a flawless gentleman in a white bow tie and a tuxedo. He didn't look like the kind of person who would set up an underground bunker and give permission to torture people.
“...Did you say ‘Billionaire’?”
Grojean snapped out of his daze as he realized that the unexpected question was directed at him.
"Yes."
“Who was invited?”
Grojean quickly took out his notebook and recited the list, while Hardius put on the cuffs on his wrists himself.
“What’s your schedule after this?”
“I left it empty in case the drinking party goes on for a long time.”
The moment Grojean answered, Tobias, who had tied his shoelaces, stood up. He helped him put on his jacket and handed his master a stick.
Hardius hated cumbersome things so much that he didn't usually carry a stick with him.
But it was a long-awaited social gathering, and the stick was a symbol of the man who frequented the clubhouse. Hardius climbed into the carriage with Grojean, holding a shiny stick with a small crystal in it.
"Master,"
As the carriage entered the street, Grojean could no longer hold back his words.
“I’m worried about Hetton. What if he loses his temper and kills the guy?”
"I don't care."
Hardius answered without taking his eyes off the newspaper.
“I made a promise to him. I wouldn’t get involved in personal vendettas. Now that I’ve successfully tracked him down, there’s plenty I can use. He’s worthless now.”
Grojean felt as if he couldn't breathe in front of his master, who said such things so casually.
A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of the newly built clubhouse, Billionaire. As soon as he entered the entrance, thick cigarette smoke obscured his vision.
“Ha! Who is this? Young Mayer has finally returned!”
“Welcome, hero of Eringer.”
“No, no. Now that you’ve graduated from Elport, you should be called Ensign Meyer. Even though you didn’t attend the commissioning ceremony.”
Hardius shook hands with each of them with a pleasant smile on his face.
Lighthearted talk followed, such as the latest bets and gambling.
Hardius was never the type to lead or take the lead in a conversation. He usually just listened silently from the back, but he was the one who eventually became the main character. This was especially true when the conversation turned to heavy topics such as business, politics, and diplomacy.
It was only natural, in a way, that he was the one who inherited the family business the fastest among the young nobles of his age.
As the conversation went on, the glasses emptied quickly.
Perhaps because the heir of the Meyer family had not been to a social gathering for so long, the noble youths were excessively offering drinks.
Dozens of whiskey bottles had been left lying empty in a matter of hours. One of the servants who was clearing the place quickly found Grojean as he had been asked.
The moment he heard that an entire bottle of whiskey had apparently gone down Master Meyer's esophagus, Grojean hurriedly headed out into the hall.
"Master,"
In front of him, who was looking worried, Hardius raised his hand to indicate that it was okay. There was no sign of being drunk in his eyes, speech, or posture.
Grojean had no choice but to fall back again.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here, so should we play a game?”
The man who hosted the meeting had his servant open the gambling room.
Alcohol, cigarettes, cards, and more alcohol.
In less than two hours, more than half of the attendees had completely lost their senses. Grojean waited quietly, watching Hardius, whose expression had not changed at all.
It was the role of the aide to step in so that the master could leave when the time was right. It was the moment when he approached Hardius while reciting an excuse he had prepared in advance in his mind.
“Oh, did I mention that? Nathan Malvin.”
He couldn't help but pause at the familiar name that suddenly came out.
The next day, Kalia sent Mitch and Charlotte to Hethel early, using the excuse that Mitch needed to do some last-minute house cleaning and Charlotte needed to get used to her new home, but she actually had a bigger purpose: to have a private conversation with her daughter.
“Emilia, how about we have a cup of tea together after a long time?”
Emilia also didn't refuse because she was waiting for her chance.
“Is that so?”
Kalia led Emilia into the backyard.
A bonfire was lit in the middle of the garden where the crickets were chirping beautifully. A picnic mat, a small wooden table, a kettle, and teacups were placed there.
“Do you remember? When your father was alive, we would sometimes light a fire like this and talk.”
The two sat facing each other with a wood fire in the middle.
For a long time, she just stared blankly at the burning firewood.
“Emilia, do you know when I became pregnant with Mitch?”
Kalia was the first to speak with a question.
“I was exactly your age. When I found out, I just... wanted to die.”
Emilia's hand, which was picking up the teacup, stopped.
“Manuel was my father’s gambling buddy. He would come by our house every weekend and look at me strangely, but I didn’t know anything. I had no idea what to take it for, how to deal with it. I grew up without a mother, just like you.”
"Mother..."
“One day, he suddenly barged into my room. My father was completely drunk, so screaming didn’t help. The child that resulted from that was... Mitch.”
Emilia was completely frozen, unable to breathe. Callia seemed to be consumed by painful memories, unable to see or hear anything.
“My father was furious. Not at Manuel, but at me. He slapped me several times, saying how much I had to be so reckless to let something like this happen.”
Her hands were shaking. Emilia held them together to prevent the tremors from spreading throughout her body.
“My father dragged me into Manuel’s house. As soon as the door opened, he knocked him down without warning. He beat him until he was covered in blood and threw me next to him. Then he said, ‘Now, Kalia, he is your husband. Serve him with love and obedience.’”
Emilia's heart began to pound, pounding so hard it felt like it was going to pierce her bones.
“My father received 300 knots from Manuel on the condition that he would not make a fuss about what had happened to me. He sold me for the price of a horse.”
“...”
“That’s how I ended up getting married overnight. To the man who raped me.”
A cold wind blew drearily. Emilia stared at her stepmother's empty nape, where blue veins bulged out, and wrapped a shawl around her.
“I tried. I tried to accept him as my husband somehow, but it wasn’t easy. It was impossible from the start.”
The two eyes that were reflecting the blazing flame suddenly turned to Emilia.
“You know, Emilia, I don’t want you to feel the same pain.”
A shocking realization, different from the heart-wrenching pain, hit Emilia's head.
“You don’t have to get married if you don’t want to because of the child. If you don’t like it, you don’t even have to like the Duke; you even have to like the King.”
"Mother..."
“As I said before, I want you to meet someone as ordinary and kind as you. If... if you want, there’s a way to just leave. To a place where Master Meyer can’t find you.”
Only then did she understand why her stepmother had rejected her and why she had suddenly and painfully revealed her past to her.
Hardius was not kind to her and was not one to make excuses for his mistakes.
It breaks her heart to imagine how he would have described their relationship before they had a child.
He would have clearly only said that it was his fault. He would have been very blunt and confessed that he had done it against her will.
And the stepmother saw her ex-husband in that young master.
The moment she realized that Hardy Meyer was being compared to a man who whips women, Emilia's heart sank so hard that she thought she might vomit.
“No, Mother. That’s not true.”
Emilia shook her head vigorously, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Young Master, he is not that kind of person. He would never... do something like that...”
“Yes, I know. Master Meyer wouldn’t have been that evil. I can guess that much. But Emilia,”
Kalia gently held Emilia's trembling hand.
“I’m not saying this to make you hate Master Meyer. When I was pregnant with Mitch and on the run, I thought my life was over. You know, the world is not kind to a woman who gets pregnant alone. But then what happened? I met your father. Just before I was about to fall off the cliff, a miracle came to me.”
Emilia looked at her mother. Between them, a cloud of smoke mixed with ash rose into the night sky.
“Life isn’t that simple. There are so many forks in the road, like those tree branches. So, Emilia...”
“No, Mother.”
Emilia firmly stopped her.
“I have absolutely no desire to meet another man or run away.”
Through her blurred vision, Emilia could see her stepmother's reddened eyes.
“But Emilia, can you really handle it? You know... marriage is completely different... of all things, becoming a Duchess...”
All that appeared on Kalia’s face was fear. It was the exact same emotion that blocked Emilia’s path whenever she thought of Hardius.
“That’s why you pushed him away and rejected him, right? You said you were afraid that your child would be called a ‘bastard’ in the master’s world. Do you think you can endure it when nothing has changed except for the child?”
Emilia found herself having difficulty answering.
“If you loved the young master irrevocably, you would never have said such things. You would have supported and helped him in some way, as Charlotte said. But you don’t, do you? I remember clearly how much you hated the young master. Don’t you?”
“Mother, I...”
“Whatever decision you make, your heart comes first. I repeat, Mitch, Charlotte, we are ready. We are on your side, no matter what.”
After that, Kalia continued to say something earnestly, but Emilia couldn't hear a single word.
'But you don't? I remember very well how much you hated the young master.'
The words echoed.
Yes.
She hated it.
She had burned herself with all sorts of extreme emotions. She had completely burned away all the emotions that were going back and forth between excitement and hatred, longing and loathing, shame and desire.
So, what's left?
A child born out of nowhere, a desire to see him several times a day, and...
***
“I would like to gouge out your eyes and rip out your intestines.”
Hutton spat and muttered.
“Of course, that can’t be. You’re just the tail, and the real body is something else.”
Across from him, Jetson was gasping for breath and writhing in pain, his mouth gagged and hooded.
Of course, it was no use. His arms and legs were completely tied to the chair, as if they were one body.
“Shall I tell you some sad news? All those who helped you have been caught. They are all tied up and locked up in some unknown place, just like you.”
“...!”
Jetson's body flinched as he struggled.
“Do you know what that means? Your master is now completely finished. And so are you. So you’d better give up quickly and cooperate with me.”
An animal-like groan leaked out through the dirty cloth covering his face. Hutton sneered at Jetson.
“Your master, Kaitlyn Meyer, will soon be identified as the mastermind behind the carriage robbery.”
Jetson was motionless, just putting all his strength into his body.
“Of course I know. Your master won’t be destroyed so easily. This damned world won’t dare hold the Duchess accountable for killing a mere woman and child.”
Hutton gritted his teeth, but smiled coldly at the same time.
“But do you know what the good news is? My master is much more thorough and meticulous than yours.”
“...”
“The charge that will truly bring down your master is not a petty murder charge. The Duchess will be brought to trial for the continued poisoning of the 11th Duke of Meyer. We have already planted enough evidence over the past few months while the Duchess has been distracted by various events.”
Jetson's body, which had been sagging, suddenly flinched as if in a seizure.
“My master had the perfect plan in place to have Duchess Meyer sentenced to prison and rot away in it for as long as possible. That’s why you and your goons have been caught one after another.”
Jetson struggled, gasping for breath.
“So please cooperate obediently. So that I don’t have to use these things.”
Hutton approached the table. There was a dark cloth covering it. The moment Hutton's hand lifted the cloth and took something out, Grojean felt a hair-raising fear. His wobbly legs involuntarily took a step back.
Hutton began to approach Jetson, clutching tightly at something he 'never knew the purpose of'.
“...!”
Grojean, astonished, turned around and ran outside. He gasped for breath and slowly raised his head.
Outside the shooting range, a completely different world unfolded.
Blue sky and clear air.
The winter trees, hit by early frost, were shining in the sunlight, turning the surroundings silver. The mansion, which had entered winter, was quiet and peaceful.
“Ah, Sir Grojean is here. The young master is looking for you.”
The servant who spoke to him with a smile also made the events taking place in the basement of the shooting range seem like a dream. The sense of dissonance made Grojean blink his eyes repeatedly.
“Where... is he?”
“You can go to his room.”
Grojean wiped his face with his dry hands and walked diligently.
When he knocked and entered the room, the owner was preparing to go out with the help of the butler.
He was a flawless gentleman in a white bow tie and a tuxedo. He didn't look like the kind of person who would set up an underground bunker and give permission to torture people.
“...Did you say ‘Billionaire’?”
Grojean snapped out of his daze as he realized that the unexpected question was directed at him.
"Yes."
“Who was invited?”
Grojean quickly took out his notebook and recited the list, while Hardius put on the cuffs on his wrists himself.
“What’s your schedule after this?”
“I left it empty in case the drinking party goes on for a long time.”
The moment Grojean answered, Tobias, who had tied his shoelaces, stood up. He helped him put on his jacket and handed his master a stick.
Hardius hated cumbersome things so much that he didn't usually carry a stick with him.
But it was a long-awaited social gathering, and the stick was a symbol of the man who frequented the clubhouse. Hardius climbed into the carriage with Grojean, holding a shiny stick with a small crystal in it.
"Master,"
As the carriage entered the street, Grojean could no longer hold back his words.
“I’m worried about Hetton. What if he loses his temper and kills the guy?”
"I don't care."
Hardius answered without taking his eyes off the newspaper.
“I made a promise to him. I wouldn’t get involved in personal vendettas. Now that I’ve successfully tracked him down, there’s plenty I can use. He’s worthless now.”
Grojean felt as if he couldn't breathe in front of his master, who said such things so casually.
A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of the newly built clubhouse, Billionaire. As soon as he entered the entrance, thick cigarette smoke obscured his vision.
“Ha! Who is this? Young Mayer has finally returned!”
“Welcome, hero of Eringer.”
“No, no. Now that you’ve graduated from Elport, you should be called Ensign Meyer. Even though you didn’t attend the commissioning ceremony.”
Hardius shook hands with each of them with a pleasant smile on his face.
Lighthearted talk followed, such as the latest bets and gambling.
Hardius was never the type to lead or take the lead in a conversation. He usually just listened silently from the back, but he was the one who eventually became the main character. This was especially true when the conversation turned to heavy topics such as business, politics, and diplomacy.
It was only natural, in a way, that he was the one who inherited the family business the fastest among the young nobles of his age.
As the conversation went on, the glasses emptied quickly.
Perhaps because the heir of the Meyer family had not been to a social gathering for so long, the noble youths were excessively offering drinks.
Dozens of whiskey bottles had been left lying empty in a matter of hours. One of the servants who was clearing the place quickly found Grojean as he had been asked.
The moment he heard that an entire bottle of whiskey had apparently gone down Master Meyer's esophagus, Grojean hurriedly headed out into the hall.
"Master,"
In front of him, who was looking worried, Hardius raised his hand to indicate that it was okay. There was no sign of being drunk in his eyes, speech, or posture.
Grojean had no choice but to fall back again.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here, so should we play a game?”
The man who hosted the meeting had his servant open the gambling room.
Alcohol, cigarettes, cards, and more alcohol.
In less than two hours, more than half of the attendees had completely lost their senses. Grojean waited quietly, watching Hardius, whose expression had not changed at all.
It was the role of the aide to step in so that the master could leave when the time was right. It was the moment when he approached Hardius while reciting an excuse he had prepared in advance in his mind.
“Oh, did I mention that? Nathan Malvin.”
He couldn't help but pause at the familiar name that suddenly came out.
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