TDAF 47

Chapter 47

Early in the morning, Scarlett opened her eyes and was startled to find Viktor sleeping beside her. Her eyes widened. She hurried to get out of bed, but Viktor grabbed her wrist.

He almost never touched her suddenly, so Scarlett flinched at the unexpected grip. When she turned back, Viktor asked:

“Are you running away because you remembered?”

Scarlett, flustered, asked back:

“Remember what? Running away?”

“Then where are you going?”

“Oh, I think I have a fever. I didn’t want you to catch it.”

In all their married life, she had never once seen Viktor fall ill. That made her feel all the more that if he caught even a cold, it would be her fault.

Viktor sat up and cupped her forehead with his hand. His hand was colder than she expected, and Scarlett shrank back from the chill.

When Viktor withdrew his hand and straightened, Scarlett rose with him. His behavior, somehow different from usual, felt unfamiliar to her.

She brought both her hands up to touch the spot on her forehead he had just held. Even the faint trace of his cool hand made her heart race. Then, meeting his eyes, she quickly dropped her hands. Viktor spoke.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Huh? Of course I do. Very much.”

And yet—it was a question he had never asked before. Now that the day he would be formally recognized as royalty was near, perhaps he finally had the space to give her a bit of himself. That thought made her smile without realizing it.

Viktor gave a short laugh at her smile.

“Looks like it.”

“……”

His words left Scarlett at a loss for a reply, and she blinked rapidly in embarrassment.

“How on earth do you forget that you’re divorced?”

“Maybe the Dumfelt estate has some sort of charm that drives women crazy.”

“Ugh, that’s creepy…”

The workers of the Dumfelt household whispered all sorts of rumors about “the woman who forgot she was divorced and went back to her ex-husband.” But in front of Scarlett, they kept their mouths shut.

The servants prepared breakfast exactly as they had when Viktor and Scarlett were still married. Throughout the meal, Scarlett behaved as though she had been born a noblewoman and raised with perfect manners. So perfect that by the middle of it, no one could even sense she had a cold. But that very perfection unsettled the watching servants.

Viktor, on the other hand, showed no particular reaction to the situation. He had all the calendars in the house hidden and warned the servants. Then he simply let Scarlett act as she pleased.

Completely unaware of this, Scarlett kept herself busy all day—checking the dinner menu, preparing for a charity event. In her constant busyness, she even entered Viktor’s study. She had always made a point of being within his sight whenever he was home.

In the study, Scarlett began touching the roses from the greenhouse that had been arranged in a vase. Suddenly alarmed, she fetched scissors and laid the roses out on the table, cutting off the thorns. From the sofa, Viktor looked up from his book.

Scarlett, as if making excuses, said:

“I’ll be quick. It’s strange, there are thorns left. I’ll take them all off.”

Viktor returned his eyes to his book without a word, but Scarlett spoke again.

“They say among ladies these days, tending roses is the trend. Whoever grows the biggest, most beautiful bloom wins. I thought I’d try raising some in the greenhouse too.”

“Is there a need to do it yourself? You can have a gardener do it.”

“That would be cheating.”

Smiling, Scarlett glanced at Viktor and asked:

“Right?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s women’s business.”

“Well, I think so.”

With that, Scarlett put on impractical lace-trimmed gloves and continued snipping the thorns. Then, looking puzzled, she asked:

“But did I really put these roses here with thorns on them? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Leave them. I didn’t even know you were cutting them.”

Her hands paused for a moment at his words. Then, smiling again, she resumed clipping.

“Perfection suits you. If the thorns remain, it looks unsightly.”

But in mid-sentence, she suddenly stopped again. She was about to set the roses back when Viktor noticed blood seeping through her glove.

Viktor stood and pulled her arm toward him. Scarlett tilted her head at him, still wearing that painted-on smile—the same smile Viktor had forced into her from the early days of their marriage, crafted by the tutors he hired.

He pulled off her glove. A thorn had left a long scratch. She still had a fever from her cold. Staring at the hand for a while, Viktor finally wrapped it with his handkerchief and said:

“If it hurts, get treatment.”

“I will. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“You seemed angry…”

All throughout their marriage, Viktor had told her never to do anything that could be criticized—always to act in a way that would benefit him.

Scarlett had lived in constant vigilance to avoid fault. Not because she believed it was right, but because it was what Viktor wanted.

So now, she thought her injury and her cold were faults of her own. She thought she was no help to him. She thought this pathetic weakness was why he could never love her.

Scarlett forced another smile.

“I feel a little dizzy. I think I should lie down.”

At the beginning of their marriage, Scarlett had been unruly. Of course she had been—she had worked as a maid since the age of twelve, only to suddenly become the practical mistress of the Dumfelt household.

The only things she knew were how to light a fireplace or clean a room. She didn’t know how to manage money, or even do simple sums. She spoke like a maid, and behaved like one.

So Viktor believed that once he became royalty, Scarlett would be unable to fulfill her role as his wife.

And so, he fixed her.

He himself had been molded through near-torturous discipline into his mother’s ideal image of a royal, so he saw nothing wrong in the method. Scarlett Crimson, already eighteen and “spoiled,” could only be turned into Scarlett Dumfelt through harsh correction.

Ashamed of being ill, Scarlett fled the study.

Only back in her own room did she relax and breathe a long sigh. Then she called the physician to tend to her hand.

After the treatment, she said to Candice:

“Viktor has changed.”

“H-how so, milady?”

Candice asked nervously, and Scarlett answered with a grave look:

“He keeps staring at me.”

“Pardon?”

“He never used to. He always just focused on his work. But now he keeps looking at me, and it makes me nervous.”

“Well… that’s because he likes you, my lady…”

“No. It must mean I’m doing something wrong. I just don’t know what it is.”

Frowning in thought, Scarlett rose and looked at herself in the mirror.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong, I swear.”

“Hm…”

Scarlett still looked unconvinced.

The day felt strange to Scarlett, but to everyone else, it was stranger still.

She spent the day acting perfectly normal—normal enough that anyone would think her a perfectly sound person. It was Viktor who lived a different day.

For the first time since the divorce, he didn’t drink. And he once again fell asleep in the same bedroom as Scarlett.

The next morning, as always, Scarlett woke early. The sight of her ex-husband still asleep beside her made her leap out of bed in shock.

“V-Viktor?”

Viktor frowned and sat up. Scarlett, wide-eyed, glanced around in panic and asked:

“What’s going on? How… how did this happen?”

“You barged in here.”

“…I did?”

Scarlett’s face showed confusion. She fidgeted for a while before murmuring:

“These days I keep forgetting things… did I even forget the divorce…”

Viktor only looked at her, silent. Scarlett paced beside the bed, struggling to remember how she had ended up there. Then her lips, pale, whispered:

“There’s something I need to remember… Ah, right. Isaac. Something happened with Isaac…”

But the more she tried to recall, the more the memory slipped away. The effort brought on a crushing headache, so severe it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She leaned against the wall, barely able to stand. Viktor clicked his tongue and stepped in front of her.

“The Count—what about him?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

She whispered weakly.

Viktor gave a short, incredulous laugh. She leaned her head back against the wall, looking up at him.

“Too bad. Now that we’re divorced, you can’t send me to a convent anymore.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Divorce only makes it easier.”

“What?”

“You think there’s anything stopping me from doing as I please?”

There was no emotion in his words. His eyes looked, she thought, like those of a beast she might encounter on a foggy dawn field.

You couldn’t tell what it was thinking. Was it about to devour you, simply watch you, or just walk away?

Scarlett’s fingertips trembled with fear. Viktor noticed, but didn’t comfort her.

Instead, as if offering compensation, he said:

“I’ll bring Isaac here. Just rest—you don’t look well.”

“…How do you know where he is?”

“I can bring him, wherever he may be.”

“……”

At those words, her trembling stopped.

Viktor smiled in a way that would make anyone sense his displeasure. He took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingertips.

“How touching, that you’d sell me out for Count Crimson.”