CH 12

“…But Sister, my father.”

The girl was speechless. She wasn’t sure whether she was afraid or uncomfortable, but it was clear that even Count Artes had not properly cared for the child.

“It’s okay.”

“Yes?”

“Well, at the very least, you don’t think I’ll be pushed around by your father, do you?”

That’s right. The woman in front of her would likely remain aloof even in the face of death.

As Ronell nodded, convinced by her calm confidence, Aicila giggled and raised her hand. She stretched out her fine hand and rested it on Ronell’s head.

A familiar gesture from yesterday, gently stroking her. Even though she couldn’t stop panicking whenever Aicila’s hand touched her head, she now understands that the gesture is a sign of affection and goodwill.

I… I’m scared.

Ronell reflexively glanced towards Teriot, who, upon receiving that look, chewed the broccoli on his fork.

“If you feel better, don’t be picky about broccoli.”

“Yes.”

“I heard she was a picky eater.”

The fork’s tip was aimed squarely at Aicila. The person in question snorted and turned her head arrogantly, admitting wordlessly that it was true.

Reinhardt, who had been watching all along, asked as he pushed the chair inside.

“Ash.”

“Why, Grandpa?”

“Will you let me follow you or will you go alone instead?”

“It’ll be easier if Grandpa’s not there.”

The head of the family lacking manners had a whole different meaning than that of the successor. The successor may be able to claim her lack of experience as a justification for her crude temperament, but he could not defend such discourtesy with the same rational reason.

“Win it.”

“Of course, Grandpa.”

Aicila smirked and looked back one last time.

In an effort to seem adorable, Ruby pressed its front paws against its master’s arm and moved its tail. Don’t cry, don’t cry, as if it were comforting her like that.

Her grandfather and father were also unknowingly paying attention to Ronell. She liked how they looked like a harmonious family.

Right, I brought Baby all the way here, so we should project a better family image. Instead of destroying her rotten, former family.

Her mind flashed back to the scenes she had witnessed at the Count’s manor the night before. The wailing of the child, the frenzied yelling of the Countess, and the unfathomable apathy of their son.

And Count Artes.

She couldn’t help but feel even more depressed at the sight of Ronell’s fear.

Three paces from the drawing room door, Aicila paused to let out a long breath. The more she moved, the more powerful her emotions became.

Rage filled every crevice of her consciousness. She wondered if she had ever been this angry.

Aicila placed her hand on her forehead, trying to analyze the reason.

Because Ronell could be Duncan? They dared to kidnap my blood relative, so I couldn’t stand the horrendous assault? Because it’s child abuse and nothing else?

That’s not it.

“The reason doesn’t matter for now.”

Aicila frowned slightly.

Right, the most important thing right now was the child’s miserable appearance that made one side of her heart ache. Along with the fact that the Count had the audacity to deprive Ronell of the happiness she deserved.

So I have to get revenge. Of course, Ronell deserves to get revenge herself, but as her family, I have an indirect right to avenge her…

After taking a deep breath, Aicila slowly opened the door. The man, who was looking out the window, slowly turned around, as if he sensed someone’s presence.

Count Artes.

Under the autumn sun, the man’s pale, weathered face and light green eyes were clearly outlined. The Count’s exhaustion was palpable; he seemed to bring down the mood of the things in his vicinity.

“It’s a pleasant autumn morning, Miss Duncan.”

Aicila couldn’t stop her lips from rising at his ostensibly ‘decent’ tone, which was markedly different from that of his wife.

If his wife had abused her with ‘violence’—

“I hope you have a great day today.”

—he abused her by ‘neglecting’ her, this b*stard.

She clinched her teeth at that moment, determined to hold back the flood of feelings that were rushing to the surface. Recalling the child sniffling in the closet, she felt her insides start to scorch. If the inside of her head could be a color, it’d probably have been pure white or bright red by now.

Aicila feigned calmness, trying to distract herself from her feelings.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Count Artes. I’ve wanted to meet you.”

Seriously, you b*stard.

Fortunately, no matter how she felt on the inside, she was able to maintain a calm voice.

“Would you like some refreshments?”

The Count was relieved to hear the woman’s generous offer, but he still turned her down.

…It was a relief. At the very least, Aicila Duncan seemed to be rather amiable towards him. I was told that she was obviously very upset when she found out Ronell was being abused, hm. Maybe Ronell put in a few good words.

Unlike his wife and son, he never used physical violence against Ronell.

The Count tried to organize the jumbled mess in his head by retracing the words he needed to say.

“Sit down, Count.”

The woman’s fingertips pointed to the colorfully embroidered sofa.

When he sat down, Aicila sat opposite of him with her legs crossed. Between the hems of her gown, her sensual legs gleamed a pearly white. Black slippers were draped over her feet, perhaps in a rush when she heard the news of his arrival.

Not exactly formal attire, but it flatters her figure so much that she can pull it off anyhow.

“What are you doing here all of a sudden?”

“Just as you came to the House of Artes as an uninvited guest, Miss Duncan, so have I.”

At his roundabout criticism, Aicila nodded with a drawn smile.

“I guess that makes us even.”

Her tone was smooth and not the least bit ashamed.

As the Count studied the beauty before him, he couldn’t help but think back on all the gossip he’d heard about her.

The only successor of the House of Duncan. The only lover of Prince Frederick, the Monarch of Siena Duchy. No, they’re ex-lovers.

But the Prince is still hung up on her.

That wasn’t all.

She had rendered a baron penniless through her schemes, or so the rumor mill said, and since she hadn’t been seen in the capital for a year, speculation grew that she’d inexplicably fled there out of boredom.

Surely she set up a house with a man. All of the nobles in the capital used to giggle and mock her in this manner…

“But Count.”

Aicila spoke in a soft voice.

“I had a reason to visit. As you know, my grandfather’s will contained a rather peculiar clause.”

“My… child, I heard that she was named as the estate’s third heir.”

The Count carefully chose his words.

“I apologize for showing you such an unsavory scene. My wife is a bit irascible and sensitive, so she may have gone particularly overboard that day.”

“I don’t think it was just ‘that day’.”

Incredulous at the unanticipated answer, the Count blinked. The perplexity on his face was obvious.

“Count, when is the child’s birthday?”

“……”

“Have you ever weighed the child?”

“……”

“How old is the child?”

“No one knows my child’s age better than I do. Anyway, Miss Duncan.”

He averted his gaze for a moment before returning it to Aicila. His palms were drenched in sweat.

Am I nervous now. No way, there’s no way. There was no way he would be shaken by the young successor, who was less than twenty years old.

The Count grimaced at the woman, as if to express his displeasure with her immediate way of speaking.

“Do you know the child’s name?”

“You thought I wouldn’t know that much?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it wouldn’t shock me if that were the case.”

Ah… she was hiding her hostility. The Count gritted his teeth and struggled with conflicting emotions.

“Miss Duncan. That’s all the nanny’s doing.”

“So who’s the nanny?”

“It’s Mary.”

Ah. She was the maid next to that naughty kid.

“So the nanny didn’t care if the child was beaten up and bloodied? How much does she get paid?”

The Count turned away, doubting that he could come up with anything.

“Hey.”

“Miss Duncan, you’ve been saying—”

“You know what I mean, you didn’t even realize that the child was dying. It’s a great example of how a household should run, isn’t it? It won’t be long before the House of Count Artes falls.”

“You talk too much!”

Aicila chuckled and rested her chin on her hand. The movement of her black eyelashes caught shards of sunlight, creating a breathtaking image.

Even a king would give in to its seductions if presented with such a bewitching and lascivious gaze. Her red lips curled as she spoke in a calm voice.

“What are you talking about? Are you trying to downplay the severity of the assault the child has suffered?”

“For our upbringing Miss Duncan—”

“Nice. I wonder if the Ederka socialites really know that the House of Count Artes’s level of upbringing is just like that.”

“Miss Duncan!”

As the Count’s face reddened in embarrassment, Aicila shook her hand as though she didn’t want to explore this topic any further.

“Get down to business, Count. Are we not in a position to smile at each other and be polite?”

“Where did you sell your manners off to—”

“We don’t want to see each other. Why don’t you just say what you have to say and get out of my house?”

A spark of resentment could be seen in the woman’s crimson eyes. The Count prepared a rebuttal, but when confronted with her unmistakable look, he was forced to withdraw his argument.

Right, I have to be patient. The most important thing right now is the child.

“Give me back Ronell. This is an outright kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?”

“It’s kidnapping. You took a child from a family, so it’s kidnapping. Ronell Artes is currently under the protection of the House of Count Artes. My request is legitimate, Miss Duncan, it is a fact that even you cannot deny.”

The Count slowly stretched his shoulders and met Aicila Duncan’s bright red eyes head on. No matter what kind of threat the woman’s eyes harbored, he was only making a reasonable request.

“I’m also curious to see how Ederka’s social circle would handle rumors about ‘Duncan’s successor’ kidnapping a child.”

“Aha?”

“I’m afraid it may sound like a threat…”

No matter what, the Duncans have to abandon the child. The Count carefully chose the words to finish the sentence.

“You musn’t sacrifice the honor of the prestigious House of Duncan for that poor illegitimate child—”

“Bullsh*t.”

At her excessively colorful language, the Count froze.