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Chapter 6
Mother is dead.
Repeating only those words over and over, Eleanor climbed up to the ground floor. Bright sunlight streamed in through the window, pouring straight down onto her blood-stained body. It was dazzling, but no tears came.
They say that when grief is too great, even tears won’t fall. It felt as though Eleanor’s tears had completely dried up. When she saw the displeased look on the man standing at the top of the stairs—her father—the boiling emotions inside her only scorched her tear ducts further.
“Tch, is she dead?”
No… there was no longer any need to call him father.
The only reason she had ever treated him as one was because of her mother. Though he had never given her even a scrap of affection since childhood, she had shown him proper respect simply because he was her mother’s husband.
“I didn’t expect her to die so suddenly either.”
After all, he wasn’t even her real father.
Eleanor had learned the truth shortly before her coming-of-age ceremony, when her mother confessed it to her.
Back when her mother had been troubled by not being able to conceive even long after marriage, she had passed through a forest near a villa and found Eleanor for the first time.
The moment she saw the abandoned newborn in that remote forest, she decided she would become the child’s mother.
And she did. She raised Eleanor with unwavering devotion and care, embodying the very meaning of “a child born from the heart.”
Eleanor had always been grateful, believing that even a biological daughter could not have received better care. No matter what anyone said, the Marchioness was her true mother.
That was why she endured the coldness—and even the physical punishment—of the man she called father, staying in this house all this time. For the sake of her mother, she had tried to fulfill her duty as a daughter to the man her mother loved.
In other words…
“Your mother was such a weak person. Truly pathetic—”
“Shut up.”
There was no longer any reason to remain in this house. No reason to play the role of the daughter of the Marquis of Crain.
Eleanor cut him off sharply, her eyes blazing.
“How dare you insult my mother with that filthy mouth of yours.”
“Eleanor, you… have you lost your mind?”
“I told you. If not for my mother, there’s nothing left for me to fear.”
As Eleanor strode toward him, the Marquis flinched and instinctively stepped back.
Seeing him subtly take a defensive stance, Eleanor let out a cold sneer.
He knew it too—that just as he saw her as a stranger, she also saw him the same way.
Which meant…
Even if she killed him here, the man who was the enemy of her mother, it wouldn’t be strange at all.
“You never thought of me as your daughter anyway, did you?”
A hollow laugh escaped the Marquis. He seemed incredulous, but his eyes and expression betrayed that he could not deny it.
Eleanor understood that much. Why would a man cherish a child his unloved wife had brought from outside?
To him, the Crown Prince Cosimo—the son of his mistress—must feel more like his real son.
“To me, you’re no longer my father either.”
“You insolent brat.”
Grinding his teeth in anger, the Marquis snapped,
“Do you want to be locked in the basement again to come to your senses?!”
“Do as you please. If you’re planning to marry a corpse to the prince, that is.”
“You shameless—!”
Just as the Marquis’s expression twisted and he raised his hand out of habit—
“Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!”
Eleanor screamed sharply, glaring at him. He visibly flinched.
“Does my saying I’ll die sound like a lie to you?”
“You ungrateful wretch. We took in a mere orphan girl, fed you, raised you—and this is how you repay us?”
Perhaps embarrassed by his own hesitation, the Marquis’s face contorted further.
“And you dare try to negotiate with me? This is why you shouldn’t bring in something of unknown origin into your house.”
“The greatest mistake my mother ever made was marrying you—the youngest son of a baron’s family—and handing this entire household over to you.”
Lifting her chin, Eleanor twisted her lips into a crooked smile.
“You shouldn’t bring something of unknown origin into your house.”
—Smack!
A thick hand struck Eleanor across the cheek. She wasn’t surprised; her words had hit the Marquis’s deepest inferiority.
Being struck by him was nothing new. Maintaining the same dignified expression as before, Eleanor glared at him.
This man did not understand her anger. Nor her grief, nor her resentment.
After all, he had never cared for her mother even a tenth as much as she did.
To him, her mother had been nothing more than a means to gain a respectable title—nothing more, nothing less.
“Steward! Lock this girl in her room. Keep strict watch so she can’t go anywhere!”
Then the Marquis grabbed Eleanor by the chin and threatened her.
“Know this—now that you’ve lost your mother, the only way you can maintain any standing is through marriage.”
He had completely missed the point. For Eleanor, who stood at the crossroads of whether to kill him or not, the status of a noble lady meant absolutely nothing.
In fact, she had never once desired to be treated well by him.
With a chilling smile tugging at her lips, Eleanor made her decision in that moment.
I’ll repay him with a pain worse than death.
Her mother had died after suffering terrible humiliation from the husband she had loved all her life—and from his mistress.
For her mother, that moment must have been far more miserable and painful than the act of taking her own life.
So it had to be repaid. Her mother’s enemy was hers to avenge.
The overwhelming rage threatened to tear her apart, but Eleanor refused to be swept away by it and recklessly attack him.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Eleanor was immediately confined to her room.
She understood the Marquis’s anxiety. He had lost the means to control her like a chess piece.
It wouldn’t have been strange at all if she attempted to run away overnight.
But Eleanor had no intention of fleeing. She even intended to go through with the marriage.
Without even attempting to escape, she stayed quietly in her room, just as the Marquis wished.
Several days passed before she saw the light outside again—on the day of her mother’s funeral.
The steward brought her a black dress and a mourning veil. Eleanor put them on and stepped outside.
As she descended to the parlor, she saw the Marquis—looking not the slightest bit gaunt.
Who would think he was a grieving widower?
If anything, he looked almost relieved.
Eleanor stopped midway down the stairs.
Soon, the Marquis noticed her and frowned.
“What are you doing? Come down.”
“……”
Clenching her dress tightly, Eleanor resumed walking. After getting into the same carriage as him, she immediately turned her gaze out the window.
Her silent refusal to meet his eyes made the Marquis let out an incredulous laugh.
“It seems you’ve finally learned your place over the past few days. Good. Where do you think you’d be treated well if you left this house?”
“……”
“I’ve arranged for your mother’s cause of death to be recorded as illness, not suicide. Fortunately, she had been unwell.”
Even at a time like this, he referred to her as “your mother.”
Eleanor felt as though she herself had been wounded, but she showed nothing and kept looking outside.
The Marquis didn’t seem to expect a reply, continuing on his own.
“Members of the imperial family will be attending, so behave properly.”
At most, it would be someone from the Empress’s faction.
Eleanor’s expression turned cold.
Before long, the carriage arrived at the Arno Temple, where the funeral was being held.
The Marquis stepped out first and extended his hand as if to escort her. Eleanor glanced at it briefly—then ignored it and got down on her own.
A flash of irritation crossed his eyes, but she paid it no mind.
Just then, a carriage bearing the imperial crest came to a stop beside theirs.
“They’ve arrived.”
At the Marquis’s murmur, Eleanor’s brows knit slightly.
Surely the Empress hadn’t come in person.
Fixing her gaze on the carriage, she watched intently—
But the person who stepped out was entirely unexpected.
Eleanor’s expression froze in shock.
