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chapter 8
Did you enjoy your meal, Miss? The room is almost ready.”
“Thank you, Julie.”
When Grace returned to her room, her personal maid, Julie, who had been tidying up the bed, greeted her.
With a completely drained step, Grace flopped onto the neatly made bed.
Even with her eyes closed, her stomach churned.
Though she lay in a quiet room on a comfortable bed, she felt as if she were on a tossing sailboat amid rough seas. There was no doubt—she had an upset stomach.
Grace let out a soft sigh and sat up.
“Julie, could you bring me a glass of plum juice? I’m not feeling well.”
“Do you think you’ve upset your stomach, Miss?”
Julie dimmed the lights slightly and studied her mistress’s pale, languid expression.
“Yes… I think so.”
Seeing Grace’s tired smile, Julie immediately understood the situation.
‘She must have heard something unpleasant at the table again.’
The men of the Oelin household seemed desperate to torment Grace.
Why they were so eager to trouble such a beautiful, intelligent, and lovely young lady was beyond comprehension.
‘The Oelin men are doomed to torment women. Absolutely useless bloodline,’ Julie muttered with a pout, hurrying out of the room.
The Oelin father and son were especially harsh toward women.
They were just as harsh to their daughter as they were to the female servants.
So much so that even Carol, who had served as head maid since the time of Grace’s late mother, would need to take a break to chop firewood after merely exchanging a few words with Marquis Oelin.
And, like father, like son—Norman often treated the female servants as if they were nothing but insects.
Julie believed that growing up between such a father and brother was why her mistress had become physically weak.
Had it not been for such a harsh environment, Grace could have accomplished so much more.
The constant suppression from her father and brother stunted her like a flower that could never fully bloom.
The real problem wasn’t the Marquis—it was Norman.
‘A brother who can’t even be happy for his sister’s success. Pathetic.’
Grumbling, Julie poured Grace a glass of plum juice, secretly retrieving a cube of ice from the storage room and dropping it in the cup.
On her way out of the dining area, she discreetly spat on the fork and knife used only by Norman and Marquis Oelin.
“Phew, what a day.”
After Julie left, Grace shifted in bed before sitting up.
Being scolded by her father had become routine, so it no longer felt significant.
Even Norman and her father ganging up on her could be ignored with a half-listening ear.
Her self-esteem wasn’t so low that such treatment could wound her.
The only person who could genuinely unsettle her was Lucas Black.
She closed her eyes, feeling the wind stir around her.
Recalling the tip of Lucas Black’s blade, which had once been held high, made her stomach churn even more.
Her whole body trembled as if thrown into a freezing lake.
“Calm down, Grace.”
She took a deep breath and forced herself to suppress the fear.
Consciously pushing away the lingering image of the blade, she recalled Lucas’s piercing blue eyes.
Eyes like jewels of the sea, embedded atop a sculptor’s masterpiece.
Gradually, the chill that had gripped her began to dissipate.
Grace wasn’t afraid of Lucas Black himself.
She wasn’t afraid of his intimidating expression or his massive, seemingly one-handed strength.
What frightened her was the vivid memory of the blade that naturally came with him.
That memory was unbearable.
The gleaming edge reflecting red blood and moonlight struck at Grace’s deepest vulnerability.
Aichmophobia—the fear of sharp points.
Grace had suffered from this phobia since childhood.
Needles, knife tips, any sharp edge made her lose her appetite and shiver.
When she was young, it had been tolerable.
But as she grew older, the phobia intensified.
And the peak came the day she first met Lucas Black.
The sharp tip of the sword reflecting the moonlight.
The spattering blood.
The stifled screams that slipped through clenched lips.
Grace had no chance to endure it.
For nearly a year afterward, she couldn’t even handle holding a fork properly due to the heightened fear.
Marquis Oelin looked upon Grace with disdain as if she were half-formed.
“Too embarrassing to show in public,” he’d think.
Even under the harsh eyes of her father and brother, Grace didn’t break.
Fortunately, unlike her cold family, the servants in the mansion treated her kindly.
Perhaps they pitied her for being oppressed by her father and brother.
Compassion or solidarity—whatever it was, their care had helped her phobia improve.
She had only needed to avoid needles and sharp objects to remain comfortable… until now.
“…To think I’d meet him again like this.”
And during marriage negotiations, no less.
Grace pressed her aching head with her hand, noticing it tremble.
‘Ugh… look at this, again…’
She clenched her trembling fingers into a fist and took a deep, steadying breath.
The only saving grace was that Lucas Black, as she had seen firsthand, wasn’t truly a terrifying man.
Of course, his appearance was still intimidating.
But his manner of speaking and his gaze were the most polite she had ever encountered in a man.
Granted, the only men she had experienced before were her father and Norman—her comparison pool was extremely harsh.
“That doesn’t mean I can tolerate him,” she muttered doubtfully.
She wanted to avoid this marriage by any means necessary.
Even if her father found out, she would rather remain single if given the chance.
But she had no idea what the man himself might think.
“…Lucas Black.”
She stared at the spot where he had seen her off.
A man breathtakingly handsome, terrifyingly imposing.
The one who had draped his coat over her shoulders while she was in pajamas and insisted she return it in person.
Grace could not read Lucas Black’s intentions.
He had been furious at her father’s rude words, yet still invited her to his mansion.
Why not just send a servant?
“I just don’t understand him at all.”
Grace’s expression hardened.
She was smart, but around men, she felt helpless, like a lost child.
And considering the men around her were all such specimens, it was even worse.
That’s why she interpreted Lucas’s invitation as more likely hostile than kind.
“Maybe… he wants me to bring something?”
Grace’s head snapped up.
“Yes. Perhaps as a token of thanks or apology.”
Come to think of it, her father and Norman had always operated this way.
Whenever she made a mistake, they would seize on it.
Her father would scold, Norman would take something from her or destroy what she had.
Lucas Black was probably different from Norman, but he must want something if he asked her to come.
Grace brightened as though she’d found the solution.
Alright, that made things simpler.
Prepare a gift he might like, return the coat, and converse. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Next, she needed to decide on a suitable gift.
Then—
“Miss, I brought the juice…”
Julie hadn’t even closed the door behind her.
Bang!
“Grace Oelin, you insolent girl!”
Norman burst in, shoving Julie aside.
Grace, seated by the window, immediately jumped to her feet, startled.
More precisely, she froze at Julie’s wide-eyed look over Norman’s shoulder.
“…!”
Julie quickly nodded at Grace and rushed to the vanity.
The moment Julie’s hand touched something on the vanity, Norman’s large hand struck Grace’s cheek.
Smack!
He hit so hard her head snapped to the side.
The previously calm and quiet room instantly felt heavy and tense.
“Behave yourself, you wanton girl.”
Norman’s mocking voice rang in her ear.
Grace drew a slow, steady breath and turned to face Norman.
“Didn’t I tell you not to hit me, Norman Oelin?”
Her gaze was astonishingly calm, neither terrified nor resentful.
‘Hah.’
As if to mock her, Norman growled.
“The wayward girl is being corrected by her brother—what’s wrong with that?”
He sneered but could not make even a single eyelash of Grace flutter.
‘Damn girl!’
Those who didn’t understand her called her a fragile lily, but they were completely mistaken.
Grace was not a flower to be broken on a whim.
She was like a statue with iron core, immovable.
She stood as though mocking him, the man who had tried to break her for years.
And that made him hate her all the more.
This seemingly delicate yet unbreakable, fragile yet indestructible girl.
He wanted, someday, to twist that proud neck, barely a handful in distance, at least once.
