Chapter 94
“What… did you just say?”
Marsha’s eyes widened in pure shock. Petricks smiled, clearly satisfied with her reaction.
“Your father,” he said slowly, savoring every word, “was killed by Lucas.”
Marsha’s breath grew shallow. It felt as though someone were pressing a boot down on her chest, choking the air from her lungs.
No. That’s impossible.
Lucas had been a gentle boy—so kind he’d earned praise from her mother for refusing to crush even an ant. He’d pitied wildflowers too fragile to survive, cupping the drifting petals in his small hands so they wouldn’t fall to the ground.
Lucas… you…?
As she tried to reject the truth, fleeting memories rose like ghosts—the way Lucas had looked down on her coldly when she’d told him she was leaving four years ago; the sharp tone he’d used when he cornered her at the Gloria estate party; those strange, unfamiliar expressions she’d ignored before.
Could she still trust him? Could she truly say Petricks was lying?
“Ah…”
Marsha pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, struggling to breathe.
“My lady,” Petricks drawled, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Of course you’re in shock. The boy who always smiled so meekly, who never raised his head—turns out he’s the one who killed your father. And not even for the title, mind you. No, he did it because he wanted you. Tsk, tsk.”
He watched her small shoulders quake in anguish, his grin widening in satisfaction.
“But don’t feel guilty,” he went on smoothly. “None of this is your fault. The bastard was insane, that’s all.”
Petricks stood, took a tray from the table behind her, and held out a cup of tea.
“Here, drink this. It’ll calm you down. Hmm?”
His tone was falsely gentle, almost mocking.
But Marsha didn’t even glance at the tea. Her mind was spinning so fast she thought she might faint right there.
Lucas… killed Father. Because of me. If I hadn’t existed… Father would still be alive…
Her vision began to blur.
Marsha!
A voice echoed in her head—Claudio’s voice.
When had he last called her like that? Oh, right… it was when she’d had that nightmare.
And this… isn’t much different from a nightmare, is it?
Maybe that was why his voice came to her now—because she wanted to wake up.
…Breathe. Think.
She steadied her breath and forced her thoughts into order.
Why is this man telling me all of this?
What could Petricks possibly gain from revealing that Lucas was her father’s killer?
Besides… he was there that night.
He hadn’t said it outright, but she was sure of it. He must have helped in some way—he hadn’t gone there just to watch.
Revealing Lucas’s crime was as good as revealing his own.
Marsha clenched her jaw, forcing herself to speak calmly.
“…Why are you telling me this?”
“Hm? Because I pity you, of course—”
“Now, all of a sudden?”
Her cold tone made Petricks frown.
“I’m giving you the answers you’ve wanted for years, and instead of thanking me, you’re questioning me? Or are you saying you never cared how your father died?”
One look at his face told her the truth—this wasn’t pity. It was entertainment.
Marsha let out a soft, bitter laugh. Petricks scowled.
She could smile in a moment like this? What kind of woman was she?
“And another thing,” she said. “You didn’t even know what I looked like. So how did you know I was Count Emelide’s daughter?”
“…”
Petricks flinched ever so slightly. Marsha’s lips tightened.
“Lucas told you, didn’t he?”
Petricks sighed in irritation.
“Fine. Yes, Lucas told me. But so what? You think I was working with him? Please. I only told you because I thought you deserved to know the truth—that he’s still obsessed with you.”
Marsha cut off his rambling with a sharp, steady voice.
“If you truly cared, you would have just invited me properly. Not lured me here like this.”
“Ha!”
Petricks let out a laugh that was more of a scoff. Look at her—talking like a duchess, when she had the temper of a commoner. He’d known it the moment he heard she’d dared to hurt Lady Beatrice. This woman had no grace, none at all.
Marsha met his eyes directly.
“Invite me properly next time,” she said coolly. “Then maybe I’ll believe a word you say.”
His smile twitched, the corners of his mouth trembling as he forced it into something resembling politeness.
“I’m telling you the truth. Just drink some tea and—”
Marsha knocked the cup from his hand.
Crash!
Porcelain shattered. Hot tea splattered across the floor.
“If you want me calm,” she said evenly, “then let me go.”
“…Ha.”
In an instant, Petricks snapped. His hand shot out, grabbing her face and twisting it harshly to the side.
“That’s not happening.”
“Ugh—let go!”
She kicked and struggled, but his grip only tightened.
“You asked why I’m telling you now?” he hissed. “Well, that’s obvious…”
He pulled a bottle from his coat pocket. The liquid inside sloshed dangerously.
“…Because that bastard wants you to wake up in hell, despising him forever.”
He bit the cork out with his teeth and spat it aside.
“Now, drink up.”
“—!”
He forced her mouth open and poured the liquid down her throat. Marsha struggled desperately, even driving her knee into his stomach, but Petricks was far stronger.
“Stop fighting,” he growled, clamping his palm over her mouth and nose.
Her air was cut off. She couldn’t breathe. The bitter liquid burned its way down her throat.
No… no!
Her body went cold. All strength drained from her limbs as her vision dimmed. Through the haze, she saw Petricks grinning down at her.
“Heh. When you wake up, tell Lucas exactly what you think of him.”
What… does that mean?
Marsha wanted to live long enough to confront Lucas herself, to demand the truth. But when you wake up—what did he mean by that?
Her mind slipped toward darkness, and one last thought surfaced.
Dio…
Claudio’s words echoed in her mind.
“You seem to attract danger wherever you go.”
She’d wanted to deny it. But here she was, once again trapped in another dangerous mess.
What should I do…
Even as her consciousness faded, she worried—not for herself, but for him.
He would go mad with worry if she disappeared. That man who had fretted over a mere scraped foot from a pickpocket would lose his mind if she never returned.
And if she truly couldn’t go back to him—
How could I ever face him again…
If only I hadn’t let him confess.
If only I’d pushed him away, just once more—so he could forget me easily.
***
Two days earlier.
At lubanan Port, Claudio stood on the terrace of the Marquis of West’s seaside villa, gazing out at the horizon.
He wasn’t admiring the sea—Claudio wasn’t the type to find beauty in scenery. He was simply wondering what she would think of it.
Would Marsha like this view?
He almost smiled.
Yes… she would.
Her green eyes would shine brighter than the rippling sunlight on the waves. Her lips would part slightly in wonder before she realized he was watching, and then she’d blush and pretend nothing had happened.
A faint chuckle escaped his lips.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Well, well. I meant to arrive first and wait for you, but you’ve beaten me here. Did you ride through the night without rest?”
“I assumed you’d already made up your mind,” Claudio replied, leaning casually against the railing.
The Marquis of West waved off his attendants and sank into the sofa.
“So, you want my answer now? What’s the rush?”
“I’d like to return as soon as possible.”
“Oh? Left honey waiting at home, have you?”
“Yes,” Claudio said lightly. “And I’m rather worried some bees might find it while I’m gone.”
The Marquis frowned. He’d heard rumors—Claudio keeping some Lady Railford or another close by, showing affection far too openly. He had assumed it was a ruse, a political façade. But seeing Claudio now, with that faint, wistful expression—no, this was not an act.
“I heard the Earl of Beveridge had proof,” said the Marquis.
“Of course.”
Claudio took out an envelope and handed it to him. Inside were documents stamped with the royal seal.
The Marquis’s face darkened as he read.
“I told you, didn’t I? That weak fool of a king would become a problem someday. Best to deal with him now—it’s for everyone’s good.”
“You’re right,” Claudio agreed mildly. “But since he confessed his own crimes, I thought it fitting to show some leniency.”
The Marquis grumbled under his breath, then sighed.
“Fine. No need to stain our hands further. But if we spare him, won’t the Marquis of Hermes try something foolish later?”
“They won’t have the courage—or the means.”
“So you’re saying… we dismantle their house entirely?”
Claudio’s lips curved in a sharp, knowing smile.
“Given how much they’ve already stolen under the guise of ‘royal relations,’ yes. It’s about time.”
He straightened and looked the Marquis squarely in the eye.
“Now then—have you decided?”
The Marquis let out a low chuckle.
“I decided the moment I heard the story. It just took longer to convince my wife. She finally agreed, though.”
“I understand. My request must have wounded her pride,” Claudio said quietly. “But as I promised before—I’ll set everything right, and soon.”
He knew well that what happened today would scar the Marchioness for life. But she had agreed nonetheless—because her hatred for the royal family ran deeper than any pride.
“Pardon the interruption, my lord.”
Their conversation was cut short by a butler rushing into the room, his voice urgent.
“What is it?” the Marquis asked, clearly irritated.
“A guest has arrived… asking for the Duke of Gloria.”
Unlock soon!~