41. Front and back
The moment she heard the doctor's advice that she would rather become a fallen lady and require absolute stability, Erna made up her mind. Rather than shock her grandmother with a litany of truths, she would rather remain, for the time being, misunderstood as a foolish granddaughter steeped in the city's debauchery.
Erna let out a long sigh and leaned her tired body against the windowsill.
Erna rushed to the hospital and found her grandmother unconscious. For a moment, she couldn't breathe properly. Memories of the day she found her grandfather collapsed flooded back, choking her.
Grandfather collapsed on the study floor, dead. Erna, who had gone to announce tea time, was the first to discover him. The cause of death was cardiac arrest. Grandmother's collapse was also attributed to a strained heart.
What if it hadn't happened in the middle of a crowded city? What if she had arrived at the hospital just a little later? What if my grandmother's heart had been just a little weaker? What if, like my grandfather, she had suddenly passed away one day, without even saying goodbye?
Just that assumption alone brought tears to her eyes. If that had really been the case, Erna would never have forgiven herself for the rest of her life.
Love your destiny.
Erna suppressed the tears welling up in her eyes as she recalled the faith that had sustained her life. She didn't want to wallow in self-pity. It was times like these that she needed to be strong.
For now, let's focus on getting Grandma back to health. Once she's well enough to travel the distance, they can return to Burford together. Then, with the money they agreed to borrow from Pavel, they can rent a house, forget about this city, and start a new life there...
“Absolute stability.”
The doctor's advice, which flashed through her mind, cut off Erna's desperate hope.
Can absolute stability exist in a life of moving from one rented house to another after losing a precious mansion filled with lifelong memories?
Erna's eyes, looking at her face reflected in the window, became clouded again.
It would undoubtedly be a huge burden on Grandma. But what else could she do? There was no other way to protect the country house anymore.
If this was going to happen, should she have just accepted Thomas Baden's proposal?
The thought that perhaps that was the easiest path made her feel infinitely pathetic and miserable. Her best efforts had yielded results worse than resignation. She didn't want to admit it, but the reality unfolding before her eyes was clear.
Erna, who had stood there like a statue, only left the window as evening approached. The corridor in front of the hospital room, once bustling with visitors, was now deserted.
Erna sat on a bench in the far corner of the hallway, retouching her makeup. No matter how hard she tried, it never seemed to work as well as Lisa's. The more she tried, the worse it got, a reality that seemed to be right in front of her.
Erna slowly caught her breath, resisting the urge to wipe off her foolish makeup and standing up. The shadows of the lengthening evening followed her heavy steps toward the hospital room.
Before opening the hospital room door, Erna smiled as if wearing a mask.
Even though she felt suffocated by the overwhelming, overwhelming reality, she still wanted to love this life. As she felt ashamed and upset about herself, Erna's smile grew brighter.
Erna. Erna. Erna.
Even as summer, past its peak, drew to a close, her name remained ardent. Here, there, Erna. Biting that woman had now become a kind of madness, a game bordering on madness.
Bjorn slowly opened his eyes, as if trying to erase the name that lingered like tinnitus. The card game, now nearing its end, was cooling down. It was only natural, as dawn was already breaking.
Bjorn, resting his chin on the table, stared blankly at the thin ray of morning sunlight filtering through a crack in the curtains. "Erna." Just as the name of the woman he'd heard more than his own over the past few days surfaced again, the waiter entered. He set down his teacup, making minimal noise, and retreated with the same quiet steps he'd come.
Bjorn lowered the hand that had been running his reddened eyes and took the cup. As he drank the tea, which was so strong it was almost bitter, his dazed mind finally cleared. Erna. The woman's name also became clear.
He heard that she is still in the hospital, taking care of her grandmother.
If he were conscious of the public eye, he might at least pretend to help, but Viscount Hardy seemed to have reached a point of despair and was completely ignoring Baroness Baden. The one paying the hospital bills was Pavel Lore, the painter who had attempted to run away with her in the middle of the night.
They're all playing around.
Bjorn smiled slightly as he remembered the woman who had explained with a serious expression that she was like family to him.
Money, most likely, doesn't lie. There's no fool in this world who would spend money on a woman who doesn't care.
Friends, family, lovers—whatever they were, Bjorn no longer cared. He was determined to give the desperate woman the money she desperately needed and end this game. If it weren't for his father's absurd orders and the scandal that had escalated to the worst, he would have done so long ago.
When his turn came, Bjorn calmly laid down his cards, ending the game. Those already in a state of despair meekly accepted defeat.
He won.
Sighing, Bjorn dismissed the fact that it didn't bring him much joy, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. As the bustle of people leaving the card room subsided, the clear silence characteristic of the early morning enveloped him.
“Hey, Bjorn.”
Peter, who had remained until the end, cautiously called out to him. Bjorn answered with a slow nod.
“I mean, Miss Hardy. Well, um... she’s not a bad woman.”
"So?"
When Bjorn, who had opened his eyes, turned to him, Peter flinched and tensed. He knew he might offend the Prince, who was like a fierce beast, if he was not careful, but his debt to Erna was too great to ignore.
His mother, a self-proclaimed fan of Letzen's living romance novel, Prince Bjorn and Princess Gladys, was now devoting all her energy to vilifying Erna Hardy. Her grandmother, her sister, and even her young nephew—all united in their determination to defeat the villain who suddenly appeared.
Of course, the men were no different. Especially those who didn't particularly like Bjorn, yet didn't dare confront him, unleashing all their suppressed malice on Erna. It was almost a relief that Bjorn wasn't truly sincere to her. If he had been, more than a few would have been in serious trouble.
"So, how about we just do it moderately? Well, that's what I mean. If we keep going like this, we'll be driven to a point where we can't recover. It's pathetic."
Peter muttered, "Haha," and muttered an awkward laugh, smoothing over the awkward conversation.
Bjorn looked up at the ceiling without confirming or denying.
The words people had been hurling at him for days, their ears tingling with the name Erna Hardy, were no different. "Just get over it." Of course, their reasons were quite different from Peter's. Louise, who had barged into the Grand Duke's residence, tearfully pleaded with him to break up with her.
The bottom line is Gladys.
Everyone except for her father and mother, who had suddenly given Erna Hardy permission, and Leonid, who had heard the news, harbored the same yearning as Louise: to get rid of that worthless woman and show her the happy ending they all long for.
The round, which had been repeated countless times and would continue to do so, suddenly became unbearably tiresome to Bjorn. This tedious summer day, the meaningless commotion, the days of life that lay before him—everything was like that.
Bjorn sighed and stared at his pile of poker chips with narrowed eyes. The clear, innocent face of the woman, the unkempt knights, the red-haired painter, and Gladys briefly floated above him, then vanished.
Even if Erna disappears, this song will not stop.
He'll continue on, targeting another woman, and then another. Unless either he or Gladys remarries or dies. Perhaps his father, who issued the absurd order to marry Erna Hardy, felt the same way.
Well, there was no love in his first marriage either.
They married without love, and divorced without love. It was a marriage of convenience, so personal feelings weren't excluded. For Bjorn, love was meaningless from the start.
Rather than those vague notions, he trusted simple, clear sensations and numbers. Like it or not, gain or loss. He had no desire to indulge in the emotional luxury of deceiving himself by wrapping it up in something plausible. This was true not only for Gladys, but for all women. Erna Hardy was no different.
So, just as she married without love and divorced without love, there was no reason why she couldn't marry again without love. As long as the benefits she would bring outweigh the losses.
So then, what about Erna?
Bjorn focused quietly on the scale of consciousness that held his name.
The woman was beautiful. He readily acknowledged the utility of the time he spent enjoying her. Even if it was a miserable, insolvent account, devoid of any other benefit. But if the position of Grand Duchess was filled, at least he wouldn't have to hear Gladys's name again. That peace felt worth risking Walter Hardy.
If he adds and subtracts like that, he'll be back to square one.
With a hand slowly running through his disheveled hair, Bjorn picked up one of the chips on top. It had started on the deck anyway, so ending it here wasn't a bad idea. The frustration of this absurd situation was growing, and his patience was reaching its breaking point.
Front and back.
After calculating each case in detail, Bjorn tossed his chips high. Peter, who was about to leave the card room, stopped and stared blankly at him.
The chip, which had soared into the sunlight-dappled air, soon returned to Bjorn's grasp. He slowly spread his fingers, revealing a number. It was ahead.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at the chips in his hand, got up with a chuckle and picked up his jacket.
“What are you doing, Your Highness?”
Peter asked the question with a look of complete incomprehension.
"Organize."
After giving that short, vague answer, Bjorn leisurely left the card room.
The carriage carrying the Grand Duke began to travel on a different route than usual. It was heading towards the center of the bustling city.
The moment she heard the doctor's advice that she would rather become a fallen lady and require absolute stability, Erna made up her mind. Rather than shock her grandmother with a litany of truths, she would rather remain, for the time being, misunderstood as a foolish granddaughter steeped in the city's debauchery.
Erna let out a long sigh and leaned her tired body against the windowsill.
Erna rushed to the hospital and found her grandmother unconscious. For a moment, she couldn't breathe properly. Memories of the day she found her grandfather collapsed flooded back, choking her.
Grandfather collapsed on the study floor, dead. Erna, who had gone to announce tea time, was the first to discover him. The cause of death was cardiac arrest. Grandmother's collapse was also attributed to a strained heart.
What if it hadn't happened in the middle of a crowded city? What if she had arrived at the hospital just a little later? What if my grandmother's heart had been just a little weaker? What if, like my grandfather, she had suddenly passed away one day, without even saying goodbye?
Just that assumption alone brought tears to her eyes. If that had really been the case, Erna would never have forgiven herself for the rest of her life.
Love your destiny.
Erna suppressed the tears welling up in her eyes as she recalled the faith that had sustained her life. She didn't want to wallow in self-pity. It was times like these that she needed to be strong.
For now, let's focus on getting Grandma back to health. Once she's well enough to travel the distance, they can return to Burford together. Then, with the money they agreed to borrow from Pavel, they can rent a house, forget about this city, and start a new life there...
“Absolute stability.”
The doctor's advice, which flashed through her mind, cut off Erna's desperate hope.
Can absolute stability exist in a life of moving from one rented house to another after losing a precious mansion filled with lifelong memories?
Erna's eyes, looking at her face reflected in the window, became clouded again.
It would undoubtedly be a huge burden on Grandma. But what else could she do? There was no other way to protect the country house anymore.
If this was going to happen, should she have just accepted Thomas Baden's proposal?
The thought that perhaps that was the easiest path made her feel infinitely pathetic and miserable. Her best efforts had yielded results worse than resignation. She didn't want to admit it, but the reality unfolding before her eyes was clear.
Erna, who had stood there like a statue, only left the window as evening approached. The corridor in front of the hospital room, once bustling with visitors, was now deserted.
Erna sat on a bench in the far corner of the hallway, retouching her makeup. No matter how hard she tried, it never seemed to work as well as Lisa's. The more she tried, the worse it got, a reality that seemed to be right in front of her.
Erna slowly caught her breath, resisting the urge to wipe off her foolish makeup and standing up. The shadows of the lengthening evening followed her heavy steps toward the hospital room.
Before opening the hospital room door, Erna smiled as if wearing a mask.
Even though she felt suffocated by the overwhelming, overwhelming reality, she still wanted to love this life. As she felt ashamed and upset about herself, Erna's smile grew brighter.
***
Erna. Erna. Erna.
Even as summer, past its peak, drew to a close, her name remained ardent. Here, there, Erna. Biting that woman had now become a kind of madness, a game bordering on madness.
Bjorn slowly opened his eyes, as if trying to erase the name that lingered like tinnitus. The card game, now nearing its end, was cooling down. It was only natural, as dawn was already breaking.
Bjorn, resting his chin on the table, stared blankly at the thin ray of morning sunlight filtering through a crack in the curtains. "Erna." Just as the name of the woman he'd heard more than his own over the past few days surfaced again, the waiter entered. He set down his teacup, making minimal noise, and retreated with the same quiet steps he'd come.
Bjorn lowered the hand that had been running his reddened eyes and took the cup. As he drank the tea, which was so strong it was almost bitter, his dazed mind finally cleared. Erna. The woman's name also became clear.
He heard that she is still in the hospital, taking care of her grandmother.
If he were conscious of the public eye, he might at least pretend to help, but Viscount Hardy seemed to have reached a point of despair and was completely ignoring Baroness Baden. The one paying the hospital bills was Pavel Lore, the painter who had attempted to run away with her in the middle of the night.
They're all playing around.
Bjorn smiled slightly as he remembered the woman who had explained with a serious expression that she was like family to him.
Money, most likely, doesn't lie. There's no fool in this world who would spend money on a woman who doesn't care.
Friends, family, lovers—whatever they were, Bjorn no longer cared. He was determined to give the desperate woman the money she desperately needed and end this game. If it weren't for his father's absurd orders and the scandal that had escalated to the worst, he would have done so long ago.
When his turn came, Bjorn calmly laid down his cards, ending the game. Those already in a state of despair meekly accepted defeat.
He won.
Sighing, Bjorn dismissed the fact that it didn't bring him much joy, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. As the bustle of people leaving the card room subsided, the clear silence characteristic of the early morning enveloped him.
“Hey, Bjorn.”
Peter, who had remained until the end, cautiously called out to him. Bjorn answered with a slow nod.
“I mean, Miss Hardy. Well, um... she’s not a bad woman.”
"So?"
When Bjorn, who had opened his eyes, turned to him, Peter flinched and tensed. He knew he might offend the Prince, who was like a fierce beast, if he was not careful, but his debt to Erna was too great to ignore.
His mother, a self-proclaimed fan of Letzen's living romance novel, Prince Bjorn and Princess Gladys, was now devoting all her energy to vilifying Erna Hardy. Her grandmother, her sister, and even her young nephew—all united in their determination to defeat the villain who suddenly appeared.
Of course, the men were no different. Especially those who didn't particularly like Bjorn, yet didn't dare confront him, unleashing all their suppressed malice on Erna. It was almost a relief that Bjorn wasn't truly sincere to her. If he had been, more than a few would have been in serious trouble.
"So, how about we just do it moderately? Well, that's what I mean. If we keep going like this, we'll be driven to a point where we can't recover. It's pathetic."
Peter muttered, "Haha," and muttered an awkward laugh, smoothing over the awkward conversation.
Bjorn looked up at the ceiling without confirming or denying.
The words people had been hurling at him for days, their ears tingling with the name Erna Hardy, were no different. "Just get over it." Of course, their reasons were quite different from Peter's. Louise, who had barged into the Grand Duke's residence, tearfully pleaded with him to break up with her.
The bottom line is Gladys.
Everyone except for her father and mother, who had suddenly given Erna Hardy permission, and Leonid, who had heard the news, harbored the same yearning as Louise: to get rid of that worthless woman and show her the happy ending they all long for.
The round, which had been repeated countless times and would continue to do so, suddenly became unbearably tiresome to Bjorn. This tedious summer day, the meaningless commotion, the days of life that lay before him—everything was like that.
Bjorn sighed and stared at his pile of poker chips with narrowed eyes. The clear, innocent face of the woman, the unkempt knights, the red-haired painter, and Gladys briefly floated above him, then vanished.
Even if Erna disappears, this song will not stop.
He'll continue on, targeting another woman, and then another. Unless either he or Gladys remarries or dies. Perhaps his father, who issued the absurd order to marry Erna Hardy, felt the same way.
Well, there was no love in his first marriage either.
They married without love, and divorced without love. It was a marriage of convenience, so personal feelings weren't excluded. For Bjorn, love was meaningless from the start.
Rather than those vague notions, he trusted simple, clear sensations and numbers. Like it or not, gain or loss. He had no desire to indulge in the emotional luxury of deceiving himself by wrapping it up in something plausible. This was true not only for Gladys, but for all women. Erna Hardy was no different.
So, just as she married without love and divorced without love, there was no reason why she couldn't marry again without love. As long as the benefits she would bring outweigh the losses.
So then, what about Erna?
Bjorn focused quietly on the scale of consciousness that held his name.
The woman was beautiful. He readily acknowledged the utility of the time he spent enjoying her. Even if it was a miserable, insolvent account, devoid of any other benefit. But if the position of Grand Duchess was filled, at least he wouldn't have to hear Gladys's name again. That peace felt worth risking Walter Hardy.
If he adds and subtracts like that, he'll be back to square one.
With a hand slowly running through his disheveled hair, Bjorn picked up one of the chips on top. It had started on the deck anyway, so ending it here wasn't a bad idea. The frustration of this absurd situation was growing, and his patience was reaching its breaking point.
Front and back.
After calculating each case in detail, Bjorn tossed his chips high. Peter, who was about to leave the card room, stopped and stared blankly at him.
The chip, which had soared into the sunlight-dappled air, soon returned to Bjorn's grasp. He slowly spread his fingers, revealing a number. It was ahead.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at the chips in his hand, got up with a chuckle and picked up his jacket.
“What are you doing, Your Highness?”
Peter asked the question with a look of complete incomprehension.
"Organize."
After giving that short, vague answer, Bjorn leisurely left the card room.
The carriage carrying the Grand Duke began to travel on a different route than usual. It was heading towards the center of the bustling city.
Comments
Post a Comment