Chapter 14

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 14

Chapter Title: The Count's Strange Guest (4)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"No."

I'm the lowest in rank around here. The bottom of the pecking order, if you will.

"Shall I go talk to Isabella?"

"She's on Vincent's side. I've asked her several times already, and she turns me down every time."

"I'll ask the Master again."

"No."

He waved his hand dismissively. He let out a sigh, but his face looked much more lively than it had moments ago.

"If I knock a hundred times, he'll open it once, right?"

"You're putting in the effort."

"I have to. My friend's doing the same."

Suddenly, he flashed a bright smile, sweeter than a spring day. It gave me chills. His gaze felt sticky. What was that about? Why was he looking at me like that? I rubbed my arms for no reason.

"It'd be convenient if you fell for me."

"Can I answer in advance? I'll pass."

And no matter if he knocked a hundred or a thousand times, that door stayed firmly shut.

"You didn't sleep here, did you?"

I spotted a figure crouched in front of Vincent's door and freaked out. It was the guest who'd barged in yesterday. They'd shown him to his room—why was he here like this?

"Mm, morning already?"

"Yes. What on earth are you doing?"

"I thought if I knocked all night, he'd get mad and open up. My mistake."

I couldn't believe it as he yawned and stretched casually. Did he seriously stay up all night trying to get Vincent's door open? It'd be faster to snatch my keyring and force it.

"Want me to open it for you?"

I rummaged in my apron pocket and asked. Ethan's eyes went wide.

"You said no yesterday."

"You'll hate me for it, but you don't like me anyway. No skin off my nose if you hate me more."

"I can't put you through that kind of trouble."

Refused again. It sounded like consideration, but still.

"You can't just camp out here forever. Who knows if it'll take days or months for that door to open? You know how stubborn the Master is."

Ethan pondered for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'll try a bit longer."

"If you insist."

I pulled my hand from my pocket and turned away. Knocking echoed behind me. I shook my head. He'd have to bruise his knuckles before coming to his senses. That door didn't open for persistence.

But apparently, Ethan figured it out quicker than I'd thought.

When I brought Vincent's lunch up, Ethan said with a troubled look,

"Can I trouble you after all?"

"Sure."

I brushed past him and slid the key into the locked door.

"Will he be mad?"

"Stand by the door. Don't come in."

I couldn't say no.

Click. The door swung open. A stale stench hit me immediately. Weird—today's smell was extra foul. I grimaced and headed straight to the window, yanking the curtains aside. Sunlight flooded the dark room. I opened the window, and a breeze wafted in, muting the odor.

Ethan obeyed, staying by the door. I approached Vincent.

"Master. Time for lunch."

"...Go."

His voice was hoarse. Too hoarse for just sleepiness.

"Master?"

"..."

He wasn't one for replies, but something felt off. I drew closer and lifted the sheet. His face was slick with sweat. Vomit soaked the pillow.

"Master!"

I slapped his cheeks to rouse him, but his eyes stayed shut. Something was wrong. I glanced back at the door in alarm—Ethan spun on his heel. Urgent footsteps pounded down the hall.

The physician arrived soon after. His shirt buttons were misaligned, pants rumpled, shoes barely on. His crooked glasses told the tale of his haste.

"You've got indigestion."

"Pardon?"

"I heard he'd started eating lately, but he must've overdone it. Gorging after so little food does more harm than good. He must've been suffering all night."

No way. How much could he have eaten? He skipped breakfast, refusing to budge from bed. I'd forced a bit more porridge last night since he barely touched it—and now this? He'd taken it as a feast and paid for it.

"Honestly... he's so fragile."

"His body's very weakened. You need to be careful."

"...Yes."

I got a scolding from the physician. As he left after the checkup, I bowed and sneaked a sigh. Scolded even when feeding him properly. Great.

Back in the room after seeing him off, Ethan sat by the bed. His eyes fixed on Vincent, unblinking. But Vincent said nothing. He knew who was there, yet spared Ethan not a glance.

"Why are you so thin?"

Ethan murmured at the end of the silence, like a sigh.

"Thinner than last time I saw you... Take care of yourself..."

He buried his face in his hands, head bowed. How am I supposed to face the late Count if you act like this?... He seemed lost in pity, unsure what to do.

But Vincent was ice-cold.

"Get out."

Ethan lifted his head, as if catching his breath. Vincent's gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling.

"Vincent. Come out. I'll help."

"How?"

"Anything. Whatever I can."

"Then make me see."

"..."

"Can't? Then quit yapping and leave."

Cold as steel. The hostility cut like a blade. Listening from behind, holding my breath, I clicked my tongue inwardly. Vincent's sharpness made Ethan's worry seem pointless. He bristled like a porcupine, leaving only pricks for anyone approaching.

But Ethan didn't back down.

"How long will you hold out? Rumors are flying. It's not just that Count Bellunita got injured at the party and is recovering—they say you're hiding some affliction."

"..."

"You can't live like this forever."

"What then?"

"Time to come clean."

"You want me dead."

"Vincent."

"If Count Bellunita's declared blind, it won't be assassins next—it'll be whoever did this to me, coming personally with a knife."

Vincent scoffed. Ethan shook his head.

"Whoever did this already knows your state."

"..."

Vincent's smirk froze at the sharp jab. His piercing eyes still aimed ceiling-ward, but they might as well have stabbed Ethan.

No rebuttal. Silent agreement.

Silence fell again. Their gazes didn't meet. Vincent clammed up—no more talk.

This was pointless.

Ethan sighed deeply, getting it.

"Vincent. If you keep this up... I'll go public with your condition."

Vincent whipped his head around at the bombshell. Shock widened his eyes. I felt the same—forgot to pretend otherwise and stared at Ethan.

"Are you insane?"

"Maybe."

"Ethan!"

Vincent bellowed fiercely. Ethan held firm. His calm voice chilled.

"Vincent. You're my dear friend—I can't leave you like this. This can't stay hidden forever. We need to prepare. You know that. Pretending otherwise is just sulking."

"..."

"I'll drag you out of here somehow, even if it endangers you. Staying cooped up is poison too. And your feelings? Won't factor in."

"Shut up."

"Whether I'm talking nonsense? You'll see."

Ethan shot to his feet. Vincent didn't twitch. The shock seemed to choke him. His sheet-gripping hands trembled. I worried he'd seize.

"Choose. Convince me, or don't."

"..."

Silence after the ultimatum. Vincent glared ferociously, no easy answer. Ethan stared back. Sparks seemed to fly between them.

With the guest here, my workload doubled. After tending Vincent, I'd head to the guest room. I'd change pillowcases, bedsheets, duvet covers, and clean. The maids kept all rooms in the mansion tidy on schedule, but disuse let dust build in corners.

I started with the dusty window. Ethan watched me intently.

"How's Vincent?"

I wiped the window with a dry cloth, glanced at him, and replied.

"Why not check yourself if you're curious?"

"I'd appreciate it from you."

His sly smile irked me. I sighed.

That day the blowup happened—making his advice ring hollow—Ethan stormed out after turning everything upside down. His unyielding resolve as he left left even me speechless.

'Show me. That you're trying. Make me feel it's okay to leave you be.'

'You're stubborn, but I lack patience. You get two days.'

Vincent's fists trembled. Blind, he couldn't rise to stop his friend. Instead, he convulsed. I rushed over, fitting the breathing tube. His face twisted in misery as he gasped the beeping air. His pride must've shattered.