Chapter 28

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 28

Chapter Title: Tea Time with the Count (10)

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"Master."

"...".

I examined Vincent, slumped against the door. I could feel the relentless thumping on the door, but he didn't budge.

The moment Violet's flustered voice had made his face flush beet red, he'd bolted from the drawing room. But in his rush to stand, he'd smacked his knee on the sofa, then tried to play it off and walk casually—only to crash face-first into the wall. That's when his nose started bleeding. Undeterred, he'd veered sharply and rammed his waist into the decorative cabinet right in front of him. The ornaments on top tumbled to the floor and shattered, but somehow, he made it out of the drawing room unscathed. And as promised, I'd taken his hand and led him back to his room.

The instant we entered, he locked the door. Violet arrived late, pounding on it, but he wouldn't open up. All I could do was crouch in front of him, helpless. The hand I still held felt ice-cold, giving me a faint sense of his turmoil.

"Vincent! Vincent!"

Violet screamed for him until her voice cracked. I'd seen something like this before—and just like then, he wouldn't open the door.

"Master. Lady Violet keeps calling for you."

"...I know."

"Shouldn't you open the door?"

He shook his head.

"The practice was pointless. Pretending to see when you're blind was the mistake. This was inevitable. The end was set. It's over. All over..."

"Vincent! Open the door! Please!"

His voice, steeped in despair, clashed with hers and faded away. I racked my brain, unsure what to say.

Moments later, footsteps approached—Ethan, probably. I heard him soothing Violet. Soon, their footsteps receded.

Silence crashed in. Even knowing they'd left, Vincent kept his head bowed. I tilted his face this way and that, checking on him, then gently cupped his cheeks and lifted. Shame had painted his face, but now it was pale; his eyes drowned in despair. Blood smeared messily around his nose—he hadn't even had time to wipe it properly.

I released him, stood, and headed to the bathroom. I grabbed a clean towel, soaked it thoroughly, and returned. Gently, I wiped the blood from his face.

"Not yet... It can't end yet. You can't break yet..."

"Lady Violet will understand."

"Not yet. It has to be."

What did he mean? I tilted my head. He fell silent again. The room hung heavy with unspoken weight, not even his mutterings breaking it.

On my way out after tucking him in—he seemed exhausted—I ran into Ethan. His wry smile carried fatigue.

"I'm sorry."

"Why should you apologize? It's not your fault, really."

Still, my words had sparked this mess. No wonder Isabella warned me to watch my tongue. Irreversible moments leave only regret.

"It'll be okay."

He patted my shoulder. His usual light demeanor felt comforting somehow.

The next day, the mansion was quiet. Ethan was nowhere in sight, and Violet, who'd pounded on the door all night before, didn't show. I'd expected her return, but Ethan must have calmed her down well.

I tidied the room as usual and checked on him. Lately, he'd been eating properly, getting out of bed and walking—his stamina building up, no seizures. But his nightmares all night? That was our little secret.

Handing laundry to Lenika and picking up fresh linens, someone called me.

"Paula."

It was Violet.

As I approached, her eyes were red and puffy—like she'd cried all night.

"How's Vincent? Still really angry?"

"It's a misunderstanding. Master's not angry."

"That's a relief."

She smiled weakly. Her slumped shoulders tugged at my heart.

"I heard from Ethan. You knew too, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, no need for that from you."

She waved it off. But her face was ashen—she looked unwell. Pounding and calling late into the night must have worn her out. I worried she'd collapse. I bunched my apron, set it in a shady spot nearby, and sat her down. Then I joined her.

"You should rest here a bit."

"Thank you."

Violet forced a smile. Leaning her head against the wall, a breeze cooled her.

"Paula, will you listen to my story?"

"Of course. Go ahead."

She moved her lips slowly.

"I've always been a lacking fiancée, you see. I hated all the ladylike accomplishments and etiquette. Tomboy through and through. I'd rather hike up my skirts and run wild than sit primly."

Lost in fond memories, she laughed happily. Her gloom lifted briefly.

"My mother scolded me plenty for it. 'A lady doesn't do that,' she'd say. 'No man will ever like you.' Whenever she did, Vincent comforted me. He said he liked me for showing my honest, unfiltered charm. That adjusting to each other brings more joy than sacrificing for someone."

That bratty master saying something so wise? Hard to picture. I shot him a skeptical glance without thinking. Luckily, she was too immersed in warm recollections to notice.

"That's the Vincent I loved. I wanted to be by his side, the one who saw my true self. So when our engagement was set in childhood, I was secretly thrilled. We'd spend our lives together."

"...".

"Even if he saw me as a friend or family, it didn't matter. I'd love him—my husband—with all my heart. Until my love consumed me, even if everyone else turned away, I'd stand by him. That's my vow."

Her resolute voice revealed her conviction. Her uplifted face held no hesitation. Whispering her love, she was beautiful. A woman expressing her passion shone radiantly. Watching her made my eyes ache with adoration.

"So... I thought I could accept him no matter what. But honestly, Paula... that moment I learned his true condition, I had a fleeting ugly thought."

The light faded, darkness returning. She laughed through tears, shoulders slumping.

"That's what a pathetic person I am. If I'd been perceptive, I'd have noticed his struggles sooner. I was so excited to see him, I missed how awkward he felt. Must have been tough with me here. Scary, even... And I didn't realize, just whined about why he wouldn't meet me. I'm not fit to be his wife."

"That's not true."

"A proper wife wouldn't flinch at his state—she'd embrace him calmly, whisper it's okay, that she still loves him."

I shook my head firmly. It wasn't about right or wrong so simply. Her reaction was natural—even an immature girl like me knew that. And Vincent did too.

"Lady Violet. If I may be bold, this isn't about blaming anyone. How could you know what Master and Lord Christopher hid? It'd be grateful if you'd sensed it and played along, but not knowing doesn't deserve blame. I think your reaction was perfectly natural."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. Honestly, spotting it when they hid it so deliberately would be the amazing part. As someone who's watched closely, they concealed it meticulously. If I hadn't known his condition, even I wouldn't have noticed."

Shaking my head emphatically, I added they'd even practiced. She laughed. When she asked what, I explained—from walking to lifting teacups and conversing. She smiled sadly, saying they'd worked hard.

I swept away her sorrow.

"What I mean is, you don't need to blame yourself. Hiding it from a future wife is the worse offense, frankly. So feel free to whine. As I said before, ignoring someone's feelings can sometimes lead to good outcomes."

"Really? Will good come of it?"

I nodded decisively. Not all results are good, but they needed this chance to face each other. This was it. Efforts for another's sake always bear fruit, I believe.

"Do what you want, Lady Violet."

"What I want..."

She whispered low, tilting her head to the sky. Life sparked in her violet eyes. A firm smile of resolve softened her thoughtful face.

"Yeah. I'll whine more. Call me selfish if you want. If that's what it takes to see Vincent, I'll do it. I want to be by his side."

She turned to me, beaming. Stray locks danced in the breeze.

"Paula, cheer for me."

Her determined eyes sparkled. No—she shone entirely. I couldn't look away from Violet, burning with love. Beautiful. She was lovely, but that unyielding heart, facing him head-on from the start? Even more so.

Would I shine like that if I loved someone? A bitter smile crossed my lips. No such person would ever come for me.

A noble girl my age would keep her hands soft and smooth forever. Mine would stay rough and worn. My looks wouldn't change. No dazzling moments awaited my life.

"Yes."

But this time, I could answer gladly.

From that day, she camped by Vincent's door, calling for him. But he wouldn't open it. The door wasn't locked. Still, she stubbornly waited for him to open it himself.

Ethan said she'd skipped meals again today, rushing to his room—he'd broken a sweat calming her. He'd tried talking to Vincent since, persuading him, but failed each time. This wasn't something force could fix like before.

'Maybe the maid could try talking to him.'

His weary smile was so unfamiliar, I couldn't refuse.

While Vincent ate, I hesitated, then broached gently.

"Master. How about seeing Lady Violet?"

"Enough."

He cut me off sharply, setting his bowl on the side table. Barely half-eaten.

"No appetite. I'm done."

I grabbed him as he moved to lie down.

"Lady Violet said she'd accept you no matter what."

"Stop."

"She's waiting by your door. She'll collapse like this."

"Enough! Don't say another word. That's an order."

He gripped my wrist. His tone was unyieldingly firm—unlike before. Don't cross the line. The warning rang clear.