Chapter 47

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Clash on the Anniversary

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“That said, both of you are being too harsh with your words. From a certain perspective, I could even be like a mother figure to you, young lady and young master.”

Those words made Ivonne completely lose her reason.

Before Nils or Iona could stop her, Ivonne charged at Fleur with a fierce glare and grabbed her by the hair.

If the opponent had been a fighter like Iona, Ivonne might have held back, but with Fleur's slender wrists, she didn't seem capable of even basic defense, let alone fighting back.

Moreover, the woman wasn't even nobility. Ivonne figured she could beat her soundly until her anger subsided without facing any punishment.

“What day is today? Do you have any idea what kind of day this is for us, and you dare spout that nonsense in this house!”

Ivonne yanked at Fleur's hair and raised her nails threateningly.

Fleur was too busy shielding her face to block Ivonne's attacks at all.

Instead, she let out a shrill scream, pleading for help.

Iona strode over to them and pulled the two apart.

“Stop it, stop! Miss Fleur, come behind me.”

Ivonne, shoved back, whipped her head toward Iona with wild eyes.

“You crazy bitch, why! Do you think that commoner slut is your mother?! Do you feel sorry for her and want to coddle her? Is that why you're taking her side?”

“Calm down, Ivonne. I understand your anger, but you need to think about the count's position too.”

“Ha, what position? What more should I tolerate from the man who brings another woman into the house on Mom's death anniversary!”

Iona thought Ivonne was making a valid point for once in a long while.

Of course, Fleur had come here because of Iona's tutoring, but the root of Ivonne's rage lay in Hayden's messy history with women.

The brainwashing about 'family no matter what' wasn't just Hayden's doing.

Ivonne and Nils resented their father, yet they hoped he would make up for his wrongs toward them with affection and effort.

Even though Hayden was the one who had ruined their family, they couldn't escape his shadow.

Their anger would occasionally spike like a needle, pricking at Hayden, leaving him with minor scratches.

When Hayden showed signs of being hurt by his children's criticism, they felt a cheap thrill. It wasn't revenge that required great courage, but the momentary satisfaction was real enough.

And so, Ivonne and Nils spent their lives repeating this pathetic form of vengeance against their father.

“If you have any sense, get out of the way right now. Our mother isn't someone who deserves treatment like this from the likes of you.”

Ivonne spat through gritted teeth.

Iona found herself agreeing to an extent.

But she extended her arm to the trembling Fleur behind her and pulled her close.

“Calm down. We'll send this woman away right now.”

“You...! That filthy wench, I'll kill her! I'll kill you and her both today!”

“Ivonne!”

Nils hurriedly restrained Ivonne as she lunged at Iona.

He knew Hayden wouldn't stand idly by if Iona got hurt again, even if Fleur was fair game.

He desperately wanted to lay hands on Iona too, but if he did, it had to look unrelated to them. Now wasn't the time.

Nils shouted at the clustered maids.

“You there! Come and take Ivonne away. Lock her in her room and don't let her out for at least an hour!”

“Brother!”

“You go inside. There's no need for you to go this far over some woman like that. Ivonne, you're a noble lady—act like it and keep your dignity.”

With that, Nils gently stroked Ivonne's cheek.

Only then did Ivonne's momentum wane, and she let the tension drain from her body.

As if the suppressed grief had finally surged forth, she twisted her face in anguish.

The maids supported the staggering Ivonne, who looked like a sodden rag doll.

Iona watched Ivonne slowly recede into the distance, then turned to Fleur.

“Miss Fleur, I don't know what prompted this change of heart that brought you here, but this was far from wise. If your relationship with the count is precious to you, consider first how much trouble this will cause him.”

“I didn't mean to cause the count any trouble...”

“Your original intentions don't matter. Either way, the count won't welcome this visit.”

“...”

“Today is the death anniversary of the late countess. If you have any sense of propriety, please leave.”

It was the same message Nils and Ivonne had tried to convey, but delivered in an entirely different manner.

Only then did Fleur seem to grasp the gravity of what she'd done, her body shuddering.

Avoiding Iona's gaze, she said primly,

“Ahem, then I'll take my leave for today. Don't speak too ill of me to the count. I was just curious about the family of the man I love.”

Nils scowled darkly at the absurd excuse. But unwilling to bandy more words with a lowborn woman, he let it slide.

Fleur followed the maid's guidance and headed out obediently.

The moment she rounded the corner and vanished, Nils pressed a weary hand to his forehead.

“...You get lost too. I don't want to see your face for another minute or second.”

Instead of leaving as told, Iona crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, sneering as if offended by his rudeness.

“I should've just let you siblings keep bickering with that woman if I knew it'd turn out like this.”

Nils started to snap back with a flushed face but noticed the remaining servants and clamped his mouth shut.

He waved them off dismissively, and the people scattered quickly.

Confirming they were alone in the corridor, Nils finally pointed accusingly at Iona.

“Don't strut around after doing what anyone would've. To pay for what you did to Mother, you'd have to repeat things like this your whole life and it still wouldn't be enough.”

“What I did?”

Iona quietly took up Nils's words.

“Your father was the one who cheated and brought a child home from outside. How is that my fault?”

“You... You've got some nerve. A filthy bastard like you, who are you to blame Father? If you think that way, go ahead and say the same to his face.”

“You're the one whose tongue wags freely in front of me but goes silent before the count.”

Iona let out a soft chuckle and narrowed her eyes at Nils.

“You've always been like that, Nils. Tucking tail and running the moment you think you can't win. From Father... and from me.”

“Don't lump me in with a filial impiety like you. Did you ever swing your fist at Father just because you didn't want to yield? Shameless wench...”

“And you couldn't even do that much.”

Muttering that, Iona glanced down at the floor and curled her lip in amusement.

A moment later, she lifted her head and smiled gently.

“Nils, you're a cowardly, repulsive man. If you want to mourn your mother's death, the first thing you should do is stop calling that man 'Father.'”

“Watch your mouth.”

Nils's voice grew rough.

In contrast, Iona remained utterly composed.

As Nils advanced threateningly, as if ready to throw a punch any second, Iona asked softly,

“Shall I tell you what your mother said to me in her final moments?”

A flicker of unmistakable agitation crossed Nils's eyes.

He seemed intrigued by Iona's words, but his anger proved stronger.

Face reddened, he seized Iona's collar and bellowed,

“How dare you speak of Mother? How dare you?”

Pulled roughly by the collar, Iona's head naturally tilted back.

Lowering her gaze, she said,

“She was full of resentment.”

Iona could feel Nils's hand stiffen.

She peered intently into his wildly shaking eyes.