#16. How Did I End Up Liking a Woman Like You
At those words, Ophelia, who had been bowing her head with her face covered, lifted her gaze.
Through the gaps of her fingers, her icy blue eyes gleamed. Eyes as cold as glaciers. Idren flinched for a moment—it was a shade of blue that seemed like it could freeze his entire heart.
Then, Ophelia spoke.
“I hanged myself.”
“…What did you just say?”
“Are you deaf? I said I hanged myself.”
And with that, Ophelia lowered her hands from her face. She wiped away the cold sweat and blood on her skin.
She had definitely hanged herself from the bedpost. It was the perfect height to die.
But.
But when she opened her eyes, she was in this damned room.
The moment she saw her reflection in the mirror—herself seated at the vanity while a maid brushed her hair—Ophelia screamed with all her might.
She grabbed a bottle of perfume from the vanity and hurled it at the mirror. Oil and shards scattered everywhere.
The maid recoiled in terror, trembling, and shouted that she was possessed by a demon.
Ophelia shoved a basket of wilted flowers into the girl’s arms and pushed her out the door. The noise was unbearable, and she had a feeling the maid would do something reckless if she remained any longer.
After all, Ophelia had a record of pushing people to their deaths.
The room, now silent and empty, was just as she remembered. Familiar curtains, a familiar bed, a familiar vanity—everything, familiar.
And that familiarity was like finely ground glass. Sharp, painful, seeping into every crevice.
So Ophelia grabbed a chair. She swung what she held, smashing that damned familiarity to pieces.
The chair leg eventually snapped, splinters tore into her skin and clothes—but she felt nothing.
She only stopped when she heard a familiar voice.
Idren Yggdrasil’s voice pulled her back to reality. There was urgency in his tone. It was the sound of someone proving she hadn’t completely lost her mind.
Recognizing that, Ophelia dropped the broken chair. She opened the door and hurriedly let in the man—the only proof she hadn’t gone insane.
But after letting him in, it only made things worse.
Idren was someone far too different from her. And yet, what he knew wasn’t very different from what she knew.
In other words, he was no comfort. No help at all.
Ophelia shook off the man’s hand, his eyes blinking like morning stars. As she staggered toward the bedpost, scarred from where she had tried to hang herself—
“…Did you just say you attempted suicide again?”
His voice was cracked and trembling. Ophelia paused, but that was it. She neither turned back nor answered.
Yet even that much seemed to be enough for him.
She heard the crunch of glass and wood beneath his feet as he stepped closer. The sound growing louder made her realize he was about to become a bother.
And Idren did not disappoint. He grabbed her wrist.
“How could you do that!”
He spun her around, shouting like a scream.
Ophelia met his widened golden eyes, his trembling lips, his pale face—each one a clear sign of pain. Pain she simply couldn’t understand.
While she struggled to make sense of it all, Idren kept yelling.
“We agreed to talk again tomorrow! You said we’d have one more conversation!”
Then how, how could you do this the moment I walked out the door…
Idren hung his head. Something dropped to the floor between them with a soft thud.
Ophelia realized it was a tear running down the man’s delicate jaw. And all at once, irritation surged within her.
What was his problem?
She pushed him away. She hated people who imposed uninvited emotions on others. Hated those who got hurt on their own and cried about it. And Idren Yggdrasil was doing exactly that.
His golden eyes, wet and shining, looked down at her. The shock and hurt in them were so vivid, Ophelia suddenly wanted to take an axe to his heart.
He kept projecting expectations onto her—expectations she neither deserved nor wanted to bear.
It wasn’t fair. She had treated him kindly. She had clearly explained why they should remain strangers.
But Idren Yggdrasil acted like he’d never heard a word she said.
With a shallow sigh, Ophelia looked up at the man with eyes that could have seemed pitiful.
“I told you very clearly, that there was no need for this.”
“You’re saying that now…?”
Ha. The man let out a breathless laugh of disbelief. Ophelia held back her rising emotions toward him. If she spoke more honestly now, she didn’t know how he’d react. And she was already tired—she didn’t need more anxiety on top of that.
While she considered the most efficient way to end the situation, he asked,
“Is that what you really think you should be saying to me right now?”
Idren was truly, utterly bewildered.
He couldn’t believe the way she was treating him. And he felt pathetic for worrying about a woman like this.
He knew what kind of person she was. And yet, he’d been blinded by a moment of kindness, a brief flash of tenderness—and acted like a fool.
Anger at his own ignorance, and her cruelty, surged. Idren’s face twisted.
“Do you not have any emotions?”
Ophelia looked at him with her signature cold eyes.
Before Idren could register the fury in her blue gaze, she sneered.
“No emotions? Of course I have them. This annoyance I feel toward you right now—if that’s not an emotion, then what is?”
And she realized her words had hit their mark. The man’s face went ghostly pale.
He didn’t even try to hide the wound. He took a step back as if looking at someone who never should’ve been born. But Ophelia didn’t blink.
And that seemed to shock Idren even more. He stared at her with trembling eyes and muttered,
“How did I end up… liking a woman like you…”
Ophelia had never asked him to like her.
But before she could say anything, he stormed out of the room.
As soon as he opened the door into the corridor, Idren was met with countless staring eyes.
The swarming gazes made his stomach churn. As he looked at the royal palace of Reden with a pale face, Penrel approached him.
“Your Highness, what on earth…”
But the loyal knight quickly realized they were surrounded by eyes and ears. He closed his mouth.
Idren clenched his teeth and pushed through the crowd. The knight tactfully followed him back the way they came.
As he passed swiftly through the palace halls, Prince Mahanas approached. A man who resembled his father more than his younger sister—he looked anxious.
“Are you leaving now? Without finishing the conversation—”
Idren saw the forced smile on the prince’s face, trying to mask his displeasure. It was, as always, repulsive.
The prince had to know what state his sister was in.
Yet he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was preserving the deal between families.
Feeling disgusted at Ophelia’s family, Idren also realized—once again—he was being stupid. Worrying over a cruel woman like that.
Had time not turned back, Idren knew exactly what would have happened to him. Left alone again, drowning in despair.
Asking himself over and over what he had done wrong.
Even knowing how foolish that was, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.
He knew how painful it was. That’s why he now hated the woman who tried to drag him back into that hell without hesitation.
How could she?
The fury welled up inside him like he’d been punched. Trying not to spill any of that anger aloud, Idren came to a stop. He had always known—never show a reaction when you’re hit.
When he stopped, the prince and Penrel also halted. Idren then realized he was standing in a royal garden that smelled faintly of spring. Petals drifted in his view.
Amid this warm, beautiful scene, he wondered what would happen if he rejected the prince here and left. That would mean the engagement between him and Ophelia would be called off. Reden would have to return the dowry they had already accepted.
He knew it would deal a massive blow to the kingdom. Perhaps even bring about its fall, just as Ophelia had said.
She had claimed that was exactly what she wanted—and that it would be enough for her.
But what would he gain?
And for the first time, Idren felt the urge to ruin what Ophelia was trying to do.
Until now, he had tried to be on her side. Tried to grant her every wish.
Even if it went against his own desires, if it could make her happy—if it could keep her alive—he had been willing to give up everything.
But Ophelia hadn’t shown him the slightest courtesy in return. Her impulsive suicide proved that.
She simply did whatever she wanted.
Then why couldn’t he do what he wanted?
Finally, Idren realized what he had to do. He turned to the prince, who stood beside him with an anxious face.
“I was hasty. Let’s go back and finish our conversation.”
