3. Don’t Look Back at Me
2023.11.03
She began sprinting across the endlessly long hallway in a daze.
Her heart felt as if it might leap out of her chest. The pressure was so intense that it whitened her vision.
She was running away from Eugene Evergale.
“Hah… hah…”
Amid it all, the sound of her heels striking the marble echoed sharply. It was a path she had always walked with careful, small steps so that her appearance remained pristine. Now, the distance that had always felt endless seemed surprisingly short.
Her skirt flared out wildly as she ran, and the passing servants watched in shock, but she didn’t slow down.
She was too overwhelmed just by the air thick with years of suppressed emotions.
She had spent more than a decade living quietly under the shadow of the Evergale name.
How much of her life had been wasted chasing such futile hope?
Helena finally felt a sliver of liberation.
She pushed aside the strange disquiet she had felt moments ago.
She kicked off her high heels and ran barefoot up the stairs as if returning to her childhood.
As soon as she reached her room, she threw off the cumbersome dress, along with her earrings, necklace, and bracelets, tossing them all onto the bed.
She put on the plain empire dress she had worn when she first arrived. Compared to the one Eugene had gifted her, it was simple to the extreme, but she preferred it now.
‘One by one, I leave them behind.’
Adjusting her dress and standing before the mirror, she saw her hair, intricately braided and pinned—a style she had always insisted on for Eugene’s preference for neatness.
For that reason, Helena had always woken an hour earlier. Maintaining her naturally wavy hair in a straight style left no other choice.
She had devoted that time entirely to him, with never a trace of annoyance.
But now, she yanked out the hairpins without hesitation. As each decorative piece fell, the carefully pinned hair loosened.
When she faced the mirror again, crimson waves cascaded down to her waist.
“Phew…”
She exhaled deeply.
The woman in the mirror, though not smiling, looked alive.
“Your Highness, the lady has just left. Shall I have guards follow her?”
“…No. Leave it.”
Despite his butler Gordon’s concerned question, Eugene shook his head. His jaw, pressed against the window, was firm.
In the distance, his wife walked steadily, hair loosened and flowing freely instead of the always-perfectly pinned style.
She didn’t look back and calmly exited the mansion.
Eugene simply watched her retreating figure. He did not stop her.
Clinging to a momentary whim would be foolish. Lately, she often could not control sudden emotional swings.
‘She went out unarmed. Left the maids and carriage behind.’
Her natal family had long since fallen and lived off him. She had tried to act sensible after marriage, but for how long?
She was a woman who came to him, sold off by her fair looks. Even if she wandered outside without money, extra clothes, or a place to go, it wouldn’t last long. Surviving a few hours would already be impressive.
“She’ll come back when she wants to.”
When she returned, he would receive her as if nothing happened, instead of scolding her.
He would make her understand deep in her bones that the only place she could find comfort was here.
A gentle yet clever woman, she would grasp the meaning behind his actions. That was not a bad realization.
If her mood softened today, he could not repeat such a decision.
‘Go ahead, play above my head, Helena. I’ll let you have that illusion.’
But contrary to Eugene’s wishes, her actions were not impulsive.
Having left the Evergale estate, Helena walked briskly toward the city. This was a day she had planned months in advance.
Her hesitation until now had been merely her attachments holding her back, but she may have waited more than ten years for this day.
Every time, it felt as though the guillotine’s blade would fall, yet she had lived to see the third year of her marriage.
Two years later, Eugene took Natasha, a woman who had fled her ruined country, as his mistress.
Two more years passed, and Natasha died from a villa fire, a carriage accident, or an unknown illness.
No matter how much she struggled through each rebirth, Natasha always died, and Helena always became the guilty one.
It was a sinful love, yet Helena had repeated that foolishness three times.
Because she loved him so intensely, because she hoped that if she became the perfect duchess he might change, because she was exhausted by her own helplessness.
He was an unchanging man to a terrifying degree.
Making her relive the same love, giving her false hope, and during all those years of rebirth, never once did he trust her innocence.
Everything in the world was killing her.
Every love was killing her.
Even now, five years into it, she woke with the same realization.
‘Eugene inevitably saw Natasha.’
She already knew he had been spending more time in the sparsely populated forest under the guise of hunting.
At the villa he reserved for the beloved woman, he likely whispered to her the very same things he had said to Helena.
Soon he would claim superficial protection, saying Natasha was his mistress for convenience, that there were no other feelings—such nonsense to justify himself.
‘I must leave before she becomes his mistress.’
She no longer felt the desire to fight Natasha. What value could her life gain from that?
Nor did she want to remain trapped in this opulent mansion any longer. She could not stay by Eugene’s side as if it were her destined fate.
‘So, you too… don’t look back at me.’
Helena finally left Evergale.
A soft hum floated through the beautifully decorated room.
The woman in the large mirror at the vanity hummed with her eyes closed.
A maid gently brushed her hair, narrating quietly as she worked.
When the maid finished, the woman finally opened her eyes.
“Is that everything that happened at the mansion?”
Her green eyes sparkled beneath long lashes. Brighter than the emeralds adorning the mirror, the maid paused in awe before answering.
“Yes. Lady Helena, who had been guarding the mansion year-round, suddenly left, so it was a bit surprising.”
The maid continued brushing, letting the hair ripple like a golden wheat field.
The woman picked up a letter from the vanity and smiled. The letters, elegantly written and addressed “To Natasha,” were her pride.
“Was there any sign that he would leave with her?”
“The business meetings will resume tomorrow. Since he ordered the reception room to be ready at all times, I believe His Highness will stay at the mansion.”
“I see. Then have all my night dresses properly prepared. He will be here soon.”
Natasha’s smile widened. Seeing her mood improve, the maid, Aida, hesitated before speaking cautiously.
“Miss…?”
“Yes? Do you have more to say?”
“Since I have reported everything, my brother may work at the mansion as promised, correct?”
Natasha smiled through the mirror at Aida.
“Of course. No need to worry. Becoming the duchess’ most beloved mistress is just a matter of time, and I know how to treat someone I trust to be my eyes and ears.”
She ran her delicate white hand over the comb moving through her hair, brushing against Aida’s rough hands.
Startled, Aida flinched, but Natasha held her hand firmly.
“Even in the mansion, you will continue to be my companion, right? Without you, I would be so lonely. I trust only you, Aida.”
Aida’s cheeks flushed. Though clumsy, her rapid response carried unwavering loyalty. Such a tone always brought a thrill of satisfaction.
Natasha continued examining Aida’s freckled face through the mirror.
‘If poor, either your face must be pretty, your mind sharp, or you must have some skill. Otherwise, it looks pitiful.’
A life etched into a face was always a messy thing.
“Aida, how is your mother these days?”
“She has improved greatly thanks to your care. I’m truly grateful.”
Aida had an ailing mother she cared for. Natasha understood when loyalty is strongest—born from desperation.
Nothing was easier to manipulate than loyalty born of need.
‘Manipulating people is so easy… That woman is naive. If she can’t abandon her desperate situation, I will use it to climb over her.’
Natasha took the comb from Aida’s hands and replaced it with a chosen hair ornament.
It was a high-end hairpin set with a tiny ruby. A gasp escaped Aida.
“Ah, Miss…!”
‘See? Just one hairpin and she’s obedient.’
Natasha shifted her gaze from Aida to the mirror, focused, unwavering. Her vivid green eyes met her own reflection.
“Don’t be satisfied with so little; this is just the beginning. Whatever you desire, you will have more than that.”
I will make it so.
The blonde woman in the mirror answered with a dazzling smile.
