Chapter 93
The moment Marsha was dragged into the building, a rough sack was thrown over her head. She could sense people inside, but no matter how loudly she cried out, no one came to her aid.
Pulled along by unseen hands, she could feel the temperature shift each time she passed through another door. She counted them silently, yet she still had no grasp of what kind of place this was.
Finally, in a dark, warehouse-like room, the sack was yanked off.
“What are you!”
Marsha’s face was flushed from the lack of air, her breath ragged. She glared sharply at the man before her.
“Was it you? The child, the letter—was all of it you’re doing?!”
She looked ready to lunge at him.
Noisy little thing.
Petric knew subduing Marsha would be simple enough, but if he wanted to bleed Lucas dry, he couldn’t afford to harm her.
“Yes, yes. I arranged it all. Thank you for being so easy to fool.”
“How did you even get that ring?”
Her clenched fists trembled. Petric lifted both hands, as if to declare his innocence.
“Surely you don’t think I killed your noble father? That would be quite unjust.”
Marsha froze, her breath catching. It wasn’t impossible—perhaps he had come across the ring by chance, and only later, when the authorities announced its provenance, realized it had belonged to Count Emelide. But then, how had he known she was the count’s daughter? Unless…
Before she could press him, Petrix smiled thinly.
“My lady, don’t glare so. I only brought you here to tell you the truth.”
Yes. This man was connected to her father’s death—Marsha felt it in her bones. Her shoulders shook, her mind turned white, and her heart pounded with fury.
Petric’s voice cut through her storm.
“Do you remember why the Count left his estate that night, four years ago?”
How could she ever forget?
“That night, an explosion collapsed the entrance of the Soboda mine. That part was real. But the truth is, there was no need to collapse it at all. Still, that bastard insisted every little thing be perfect.”
Petrix clicked his tongue and slouched back on the sofa.
“Do you know how expensive dynamite is? Lucas is insane.”
Lucas?
Marsha’s eyes flickered. Petric smirked at her reaction.
“Do you remember Tom?”
“…”
When she stayed silent, Petric chuckled.
“Of course. Nobles rarely remember those beneath them. Perhaps if I showed you his face, you might recall?”
He considered ordering Tom brought in, but decided against it. Time was short, and Tom was hardly presentable. Better not to risk scaring her uselessly.
“Tom was a miner at Soboda, drowning in debt. Lucas sought him out.”
He explained how Lucas had offered to pay Tom’s debts, even provide for his family, if only he would bring the Count to him.
But why—why must I bring the Count?
Is that really something you need to know?
Lucas’s cold eyes bore down on Tom. The miner had understood—Lucas could easily find someone else.
Ah, forgive me. I spoke out of turn.
Then, as if he had never been that harsh man at all, Lucas softened, sighed, and donned a gentle mask.
The Count refuses to see me. This is the only way left.
The reasoning sounded almost pitiable. Tom, reassured, brightened when Lucas handed him a document—a confirmation his debts were erased. Overnight, the crushing weight had lifted.
H-how can I ever repay this?
Just bring the Count, gently. I’ll make sure your family’s needs are met.
Yes, sir. You can trust me.
Petric had distrusted Tom from the start. The man looked too cowardly—what if he lost his nerve and confessed everything? But Lucas never doubted.
Nothing is more useful than a desperate man who loves his family.
Repeating Lucas’s words, Petrix sneered.
“Hah! And the world believes him to be a kind, gentle soul. What a joke.”
Still, Lucas’s scheme had worked—Tom had indeed delivered Count Emelide.
The Count had realized instantly what kind of trap he’d stepped into. On a dark forest road at such an hour, stumbling upon an acquaintance wasn’t normal. Yet if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have frowned so deeply.
“The moment your father saw Lucas, he knew.”
The Count had always disapproved of Lucas. Luck alone had earned him his place—noticed by the Countess, he had risen far beyond his station. He should have been content. Instead, he hovered around Marsha, his gaze always tainted.
Still, the Count had waited, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s young, he’ll learn his place in time, he told himself.
But when Marsha became betrothed to Wilford, Lucas had stormed in, face twisted with rage.
[My lord! How could you hand her to that brute? What of your promise to me?]
[What?]
[Just wait a little longer! I’ll prove myself worthy—please!]
The Count had struck him across the face.
[Have you forgotten your station?]
He had forbidden Lucas from ever coming near his family again, and Lucas had been banished from the estate.
Later, when Lucas became engaged to Rosanna, the Count thought at last he had come to his senses. He even turned a blind eye when Lucas visited Marsha on rare occasions while he was away—she had so few friends, after all.
Then came the letter, delivered with business records.
<I am far superior to Wilford Rossany. Please, acknowledge this truth.>
The Count had been livid. Lucas was still pining after Marsha, even while engaged to another?
So what, if things don’t work with Marsha, he’ll just marry someone else?
If word spread, people would sneer at Marsha, say she had stolen her friend’s betrothed.
Selfish bastard.
The Count had replied not with words, but with an order—effective immediately, wine shipments to Lucas’s enterprise would cease.
He feared Lucas might appeal to Marsha, so he often visited her unannounced when she received letters. Fortunately, none had been about the wine trade.
But he never imagined Lucas would lure him out like this.
[Arrogant fool! You think I’d come at your beck and call?]
Even if Lucas groveled, the Count had resolved to end things. The man had crossed too many lines already.
[My lord, reconsider—]
[Reconsider? You squandered your chances. You think I could trust a schemer like you?]
[You trust Wilford, but not me?]
Lucas’s eyes gleamed with a savage light. Animalistic.
The Count, however, did not flinch.
[Wilford may be lacking, but he’s better than you. And Marsha has chosen him. What more is there to say?]
[Marsha!]
Lucas shouted.
[Marsha only tries to love him because you forced the engagement! If you’d put another man at her side, she’d have loved him instead! If it had been me—she would have loved me!]
[You insolent—!]
The Count raised his hand to strike him. But it never landed.
Lucas’s blade was faster, plunging into his stomach.
