Chapter 85
It was a voice as thrilled as if she had gotten hold of a splendid toy.
“Shouldn’t I give you a welcome party for daring to appear before me again? I ought to show you that no matter how much that wench tries to interfere or block me, it’s useless, don’t you think?”
That was why she chose Jenna as the gift to display.
“You said it yourself. That I was so magnanimous and kind-hearted that I accepted a lowly thing like you as a friend. That even after losing my memory, I had been like that.”
“Hhh… ugh…”
She nudged Jenna’s twisted ankle with her toe, trying to elicit an answer, but Jenna, barely managing to breathe, couldn’t say a word.
“How does it feel, knowing that the master you so desperately longed to return to turned out to be someone else?”
“Uhh… uh… ugh…”
“Do you regret blabbering so much about that woman without knowing the truth? Does it hurt, thinking you endangered your master?”
Jenna’s body convulsed again and again. From pain and shock, she had already lost consciousness several times.
Riviere pressed down on Jenna’s head with her foot, tilting her head as if genuinely curious.
“And what was it like seeing her in person? Don’t give me the excuse that she was too far away. I know all too well how desperately you cried out for that woman.”
For that alone, Riviere had whipped her even more harshly upon returning to the mansion.
It wasn’t because Jenna dared to serve someone else as her true master despite Riviere being right beside her.
It was nothing but venting. The fact that the one who had stolen her body was so near, yet she couldn’t whip her, was unbearably frustrating. And the fact that it was Erdia who had forced her into that position only infuriated her more.
“Your master didn’t come to save you. Isn’t it obvious? She’s just another hypocrite, calculating her own gains while pretending to be good.”
Even when Riviere pressed harder with her toes, Jenna only let out pained groans.
Jenna had shut her lips tight ever since she learned that the Riviere of those five years had in fact been Erdia.
Realizing that everything they had ever exchanged could be used to harm her, Jenna had closed her mouth like a mute from that day onward. Such was her fierce loyalty.
Even though Riviere herself had been with her longer.
“A dog that bites its master never survives. Whether you speak or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ve already told me plenty.”
From her flawless bare feet spread a vivid golden light. From her toes, it crept slowly up Jenna’s head, wrapping her torn skin, soothing her twisted limbs.
It was holy power that healed wounds just enough to keep her alive. Jenna’s face contorted in renewed agony.
“So regret, and blame yourself. Blame yourself for betraying the true master you so desperately longed to see again.”
As her wounds closed and she regained just enough movement, tears streamed endlessly down Jenna’s face.
She didn’t weep because she couldn’t die, nor because of her wretched state. She despaired because she was alive—because she had become a hostage.
She knew all too well what her existence meant for Erdia.
Riviere stepped lightly onto the bloodstained carpet.
Lifting the hem of her sacred ceremonial dress just enough to reveal her smooth leg, she spun gracefully, like a dancer.
Joy shimmered in her lowered gaze. Her movements were more elegant and beautiful than any butterfly.
Her skirt caught the light, though pure white as a holy robe, it seemed to spread like blood. Wherever her toes touched, crimson stains appeared—an illusion. In truth, all that lingered were faint traces of radiant golden light, like pollen shaken free by a butterfly’s wings.
She danced slowly in rhythm with Jenna’s sobbing, her serene smile reminiscent of Bessia, the holy mother of mercy.
“Edmund.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think my gift pleased her?”
Gazing at her in rapture, Edmund dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
“I confirmed she was so overjoyed she collapsed.”
“Still, it’s a shame I didn’t get to see it up close. That wench wouldn’t break down so easily…”
Riviere recalled the glance they had exchanged in the plaza.
It had been just a fleeting look through the small window of a carriage, at a modest distance. Yet she had felt it clearly.
The burning fury in those black eyes.
Fwoosh—
Letting her skirts flutter, Riviere sank onto the sofa. She slowly caressed Edmund’s chin as he approached her.
“We’ll have to use the Southern thing. To recover these losses, there’s no other way.”
“Will you be all right? You’d kept that in reserve to check the duke.”
“Think carefully, Edmund. That wench destroyed my precious Canis Contentio entirely. Even though the sector had already been abandoned, she knew the laboratory’s location exactly. How do you think she found out?”
“Are you saying she learned it while inside your body, my lady?”
“Exactly. Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything from the time she possessed me. The only information I have is what I managed to wring out of that thing. But was that woman the same? She seems to know far too much.”
The thought alone disgusted her. Riviere slowly reached out, gripping Edmund’s chin tightly. Looking down, she found him, as always, docile, accepting her touch with closed eyes.
“She must know about Adam as well. So hasten production. There’s no other way to make up for our drained funds.”
“I’ll contact them at once.”
Riviere slowly released her grip. Edmund lovingly took her hand, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat.
“I’ll give you time. Prepare well. I want to hold a tea party.”
“Yes, I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Send her an invitation too. She won’t refuse.”
Riviere glanced at the collapsed Jenna and smirked.
“I can’t wait to see what she brings with her.”
Edmund kissed the back of her hand, his lips trailing upward to her wrist, her shoulder. Yet Riviere’s mind was consumed with only one thought.
Though she had clearly lost far more in this exchange, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Because the broken woman’s face kept resurfacing in her mind.
She was already looking forward to their next meeting.
Silence.
The only sound filling the room was breathing—shattered, uneven, like fractured glass.
Khalid gazed down at the fading warmth in his hands.
His faintly trembling fingers told him he had just been holding someone.
Even the deep scratches left by her nails felt numb.
The pain that mattered was elsewhere.
“Erdia.”
Her body, once convulsing with rage and tears, now hung limp.
Her unconscious face was pale, her eyelids twitching faintly as if trapped in an endless nightmare.
She looked like a broken doll, her consciousness abandoned.
Her wet lashes glistened, tears forming again and again no matter how often he wiped them away.
With every breath, Khalid felt a stabbing ache in his chest, enough to drive him mad. All the way to the marquis’ estate, holding her collapsed form, he had feigned composure—but inside, he was breaking.
“…Erdia.”
He whispered her name again and again.
He wanted to speak, to say anything, but in the end he could only close his mouth. Even gazing at her face brought him unbearable pain, made him breathless.
What if it was true? What if she had been her all along? He hoped for it, yet never shed his doubts.
The horrors he had suffered at Riviere’s hands still shackled him.
Had he let go of suspicion sooner, he would have realized it in no time. Had he only followed his heart a little more, he would not have taken so long like a fool.
But he had restrained his gaze, reined in his feelings. He had drawn lines, spoken harshly, distanced himself—because he feared being wounded again.
It was cowardice.
“…Ha.”
Her name had bothered him from the very start.
“There are times when… I don’t want to be called Riviere Arpin. I’d like to have a name of my own.”
Was that why she chose such a whimsical nickname and made it her name? So that even if her appearance changed, someone would still recognize her?
Khalid covered his dry, crumbling face with his hand. Again, he recalled her expression the first time they met—when she looked hurt, disappointed at his cold ‘Who are you?’
Regret consumed him.
Why—why had he only realized the truth when everything was utterly broken?
If only, when he had gained certainty back in Bellaniv, he had clung to her and asked. Then she might never have fallen into such deep despair.
At the very least, he could have spared her the anguish of confronting someone so dear to her in such a way.
How could he ever resent her for not confessing sooner, when she had always been unable to lie, when she had shown him everything from the start?
Her earnest eyes that never hid their affection, her strangely familiar manner, and above all—
the name that only he knew.
“You… had been telling me everything from the very beginning.”
Every moment had been so.
It was he who turned away from those sparkling eyes that sought only him.
Khalid gently touched Erdia’s wrist, marked with the clear imprint of fingers.
Drop.
On her pale skin, red marks stood out starkly, unlike Riviere’s pampered hands—hers were roughened, worn.
His tears fell onto her hand, one after another.
The bruises on her wrist burned into his eyes. His fingertips trembled.
He couldn’t bring himself to touch.
How could he, when he hadn’t recognized the woman he loved?
How much must she have blamed herself, how much pain must she have endured, thinking it was all her fault?
From the start, what he had felt toward Erdia was never discomfort. Never distaste.
It wasn’t that he had fallen for Riviere, his hated enemy. It was because she was inside. That was why he loved her.
Khalid closed his eyes.
Even as her face grew wet in his hands, he held desperately to her limp fingers.
“…It was you, from the very beginning.”
His voice faded into a trembling whisper.
