TDAF 17

“I think it would be best for you to come back to my house.”

“What?”

“You.”

Scarlett frowned at Victor’s words.

“Me? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You’re living like this.”

Victor gestured toward her workbench with his chin, making Scarlett pause. Then she looked up at him and asked,

“Do I look more unhappy now than when I lived with you?”

“Is that even a question? Do you seriously think this life compares to living in my house?”

“I was unhappy in the Dempelt household!”

Scarlett, who was always composed, suddenly raised her voice. Victor frowned and answered,

“You said you were happy.”

“I was happy because I had someone I loved. But attending parties and luncheons every day with people I didn’t want to be around, pretending not to notice while they looked down on me from head to toe—I wasn’t happy at all. Even in our marriage, I was always the only one clinging on, and you…”

Victor’s expression twisted at her words.

“Are you saying I never made any effort?”

“You call that effort?”

“I think I tried enough.”

“You were only trying to turn defective goods into a wife suitable to present to others.”

At the bitterness in her voice, Victor fell silent for a moment.

Because of the harsh light, Scarlett couldn’t clearly see his face, but he probably could not understand how she could possibly be happier here, handling tiny parts barely visible without a magnifying glass, than living the glamorous life at the Dempelt estate.

“Why?”

“….”

“Yes, you lacked things, so I adjusted you to fit my standards. To improve you. Isn’t that effort?”

Hearing that answer, Scarlett stared at him helplessly before quietly shutting her mouth.

Hearing him say so plainly, in that dry voice, that she had been defective—it drained all strength from her. It felt impossible to explain to someone so self-centered that she had only wanted to be loved exactly as she was.

“…….”

“…….”

Silence lingered for a long while.

Since she no longer answered, Victor said nothing either.

Eventually, Scarlett looked up at Victor, who merely gazed down at her calmly without moving, and spoke first.

“Any other questions?”

“The gaslights from the street shine through the window beside your bed.”

“I know.”

“And you still prefer it here?”

“Yes.”

To Victor, who had lived in a mansion surrounded by vast gardens, the idea of hearing street noise indoors or having outside light seep into the house was probably unimaginable.

Scarlett looked toward the window as she spoke.

“I’ve always been anxious around strangers. Here, Andrei greets customers for me, so I like it.”

“Then you should have said something.”

“How could I?”

Scarlett let out a hollow laugh and buried her head into the sofa.

“You told me yourself. The one thing I had to do was help your success. So how could I tell you I couldn’t even do that?”

In the early days of their marriage, noble gatherings had terrified her so much she couldn’t sleep. On nights like that, she would sit on the bed hugging her knees, trembling until dawn came.

She spoke again.

“Could you please leave now? You make me uncomfortable.”

“I’m not a stranger.”

“You’re not a warm person either.”

Trying to soothe her anxiety, she pulled both knees up onto the armchair, buried her face between them, and muttered,

“And you’re definitely not someone I love anymore.”

Curled up like that, she listened as, after a long while, the sound of Victor’s shoes gradually faded away.

“…….”

She heard the wooden door creak and Victor descend the stairs.

The moment he left, Scarlett climbed down from the chair.

If even one gear was crooked, a clock would stop working. Maybe it was an occupational illness, but lately Scarlett became intensely stressed whenever anything was out of place. She tried to push the armchair back where it belonged, but it wouldn’t budge, making her sigh.

“How did he even move this?”

Worse still, ever since returning from the interrogation that day, Scarlett had occasionally lost her memories, only for them to return days later.

She had endured that terror completely alone. The instability kept feeding her compulsions more and more.

Unable to bear it, she ran down the stairs—and for the first time in her life, Scarlett was grateful that Victor was a heavy smoker.

Standing right outside the shop, Victor was smoking when Scarlett grabbed his coat and yanked it.

“Put the chair back.”

Victor turned around with the cigarette still between his lips.

Scarlett struggled to steady her ragged breathing as she continued,

“The chair. You moved it, so put it back where it belongs. Don’t interfere with my daily life. Don’t try to fix anything!”

“Scarlett Dempelt.”

Why are you calling me Dempelt? I’m Crimson. I’m someone who makes watches using Crimson family technology.

She wanted to say it, but the words would not come out.

Anxiety was swallowing her whole.

Victor dropped the cigarette and wrapped an arm around Scarlett’s waist as she nearly collapsed to the ground.

Within his arms, Scarlett forced herself to keep taking deep breaths through the crushing tightness in her chest. Victor lifted her into his arms and rubbed her back.

“…Not even navy personnel.”

Clicking his tongue as if recalling the panic symptoms some of his subordinates occasionally showed, Victor carried her upstairs, sat her on the bed, and returned the chair to its original place.

Perhaps exhausted, Scarlett couldn’t even remain sitting upright. She fell sideways onto the bed and watched Victor reposition the chair.

As she drifted into a haze—whether losing consciousness or falling asleep, she couldn’t tell—she muttered,

“I’m never living with you again. So don’t appear in front of me anymore. Ever again.”

She tried to read the look in his eyes, but she was too tired.

Scarlett murmured weakly,

“I’ll kill you… if you show up again…”

Then she fell asleep as though fainting.

For a long while, Victor stood there expressionlessly, looking down at Scarlett.

The alarm rang, and when Scarlett sat up, she noticed the curtains were closed. Apparently, the streetlights had bothered Victor that much.

“Ah… what do I do…”

Still half asleep, Scarlett rose unsteadily and pressed both hands to her forehead, feeling as though all the blood had drained from her body.

“I threatened Victor Dempelt’s life…”

Pale-faced, Scarlett first opened the curtains.

Only after the soft dawn light poured into the room did she notice that the built-in safe was open. She rushed toward it in panic.

Checking inside, she quickly realized several of her blueprints were missing.

They were all biplane designs.

Even the miniatures she had built were gone. While she had fallen asleep in panic, Victor had taken the evidence.

Scarlett collapsed in front of the open safe, her face turning deathly white.

People already claimed even trams were demonic inventions, so airplanes were beyond unthinkable. The king had declared that nothing should ever fly above his head. If her biplane designs were discovered, it would truly be a crime punishable by death.

Scarlett shut the safe and covered her face with both hands.

The problem was that she had let her guard down, believing he had overlooked the tram repairs and wondering if perhaps he still retained some lingering affection for his ex-wife.

The only one still clinging to old feelings while pretending otherwise had been herself.

Victor had ignored the tram repairs not out of sentiment, but simply because he had been using bait to catch a bigger fish.