Chapter 70

There are moments when, even knowing it’s foolish, you can’t help but move.
My life had been a chain of such moments, but never had I been so reckless as today.

I couldn’t stand by and watch Grandmother’s portrait burn, as if she were watching me from it.
I wasn’t even sure if Laila would try to stop me, because I was already walking forward like I was possessed, facing Father.

Father’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction when he saw me.

That same tired yet pleased look—satisfied that I still obeyed him.

“Laila won’t step in now. I came out on my own. She won’t save me.”

Laila was never the type to coddle anyone.
I would have to face Father alone.

He was a 6th-class mage, while I was only 3rd-class.
I couldn’t summon spirits—those required specific commands and weren’t useful in close combat.
I hid the anxiety that was eating me alive and asked:

“How did you know I would come here?”

“Where else would you go? You loved your grandmother. I knew you’d come sooner or later.
When I heard you’d disappeared, I set up an alarm spell on this place. So I would know the moment you arrived.”

“Speak plainly. That false kindness is unsettling.”

When had he ever spoken so gently to me?

He narrowed his eyes at my cold voice.
It even sounded strange to me—I had always been like a tail-wagging dog, desperate for the smallest glance or pat.
I had groveled, humiliated myself, begged for scraps of affection.
It must have been disgusting to him.

“You’ve changed, Florence.”

“…”

“I thought you’d never change… but you’ve learned something, haven’t you?”

“I only gave up.”

He didn’t ask what I gave up.
Because he didn’t care.
I wasn’t worth his attention.
I couldn’t accomplish anything anyway.

That carelessness… was my only chance.
He didn’t see me as a threat.

“Linus is searching desperately for you. Come home now.”

“Hah.”

“Even if you aren’t the ‘real one,’ isn’t it a waste to throw away the man who loves you?”

I am the real one.

I almost screamed it, but I forced myself to stay calm.
I didn’t need his acknowledgment anymore.
I wouldn’t lose focus because of anger again.

All I needed was Grandmother’s portrait and the heirloom she had left me.
That sealed box.

I have to take it.

Father noticed my gaze fixed on the sealed box and smiled faintly, holding it out.

“Do you know what this is?”

“…Grandmother’s inheritance, isn’t it?”

“Correct. The Seymour family heirloom, your grandmother’s legacy. She wanted to give it to you.”

“…”

“But it’s wasted on someone who can’t even use magic.”

“She could use magic…”

“She wasn’t Seymour, was she?”

“…”

“Unlike you, she was lovable and charming.
She knew how to be loved—bright, sweet, talented.
Her greatest achievement was winning Linus’s heart, but even aside from that, she greatly elevated the family’s honor.”

His expression softened.

Ah. He truly loved Jang Hyunji.

He really thought she was adorable.

And yet… because she wasn’t Seymour, he couldn’t pass down the heirloom.
I let out a bitter laugh.
I wanted Grace to hear those words.
Did Father even know the things Grace had done, craving that heirloom?

Of course he knew.
And ignored it—because he loved her.

“She was a big help, but she wasn’t Seymour.
So I hid this away all this time.”

“To give it to Grace?”

“No. This will go to Blake.
When he has a child, he’ll pass it down. It’s our family’s treasure.
Now, Florence, come here.”

He extended his hand.

That hand… the hand I had wanted all my life.

I had dreamed a thousand times of him looking at me warmly, reaching out his hand.
I had been so stupid.

I approached slowly, hoping my hesitation looked like trust.
My nerves were raw; even the air brushing my skin felt sharp.
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
To me, Father had always been impossibly large and terrifying.

I hypnotized myself:

No matter how scary he is… Laila is scarier.
I can do this.

Just before his hand touched mine, I ducked low, planted my hand on the ground, and kicked his ankle.
The unexpected attack made Father stumble clumsily, dropping the sealed box.
I lunged for it.

“Ahhh!”

But before I could reach it, he yanked my hair.
I didn’t even look back—I shouted:

“Shield!”

The sound of shattering ice rang out.
A spear of sharp ice had rushed toward me, meant to kill me.

Father’s eyes flared with something strange, then immediately hardened.

“That is my mother’s property!”

“Grandmother left it to me!”

He lunged at me, huge hands glowing with ice magic.
But I remembered Laila’s lessons:

Magic is most vulnerable before it’s fully cast.
Mages are weakest in close combat.

This wasn’t about honor.
Even a bad fall can kill.
I had trained for a month to strike fast and dirty.

I threw my whole body forward and slammed my shoulder into Father’s solar plexus like a bull.
He crumpled more easily than I expected.
I quickly cast the spell I had used countless times against Laila:

“Lightning!”

It was only a 1st-class electric spell, but enough.
A person hit by a small lightning bolt suffers burns and is paralyzed for several minutes.

I grabbed the sealed box and, by instinct, swung my arm and cracked it against his head.
If it were Laila, she would’ve dodged, but Father didn’t.
Something shattered.

Grandmother’s portrait.

I looked up, panting.
Laila had already removed the portrait and was waiting.
I grabbed her hand.

“Your mother never loved you!”

Father screamed, his voice untouched by paralysis.

“She only worried about the family and me!
She left that thing for you out of pity, to make it easier for me to give up on you!
Your only value to her was your bloodline!”

“I know.”

My voice was calm.
Laila pulled me, urging me to move.
I looked back and smiled coldly at Father’s stunned expression.

Of course I know.

Grandmother—the only one who ever loved me.
The one who gave me a name when no one else cared.

But the person she loved most was him.

He had never imagined I’d defy him.
That I’d attack him.

Now he lay paralyzed on the floor, choosing his words like weapons, just as he always had.
He must have been glad when I disappeared and someone else took my body.

The man I had loved.
The man I had begged for affection, even once.

He had always hated me.

Grandmother had loved me only out of guilt—because she didn’t want him or Grace or Blake to commit a sin.
Her final moments had shown me her true heart.
And it was despairingly clear.

I had never truly been loved by anyone.

“That’s mine!
Give me the Seymour heirloom, you thief!”

How ironic.
I had once screamed those exact words when my things were taken.
Now he was the one screaming.

“This is mine.”

I clutched the sealed box tightly.
I couldn’t throw away the last trace of her, no matter how bitter the truth.

I’m sick of being the one who only gets things stolen away.

Even if this wasn’t the path Grandmother wanted for me.