Chapter 7. What I Want
Pain shot through Everett’s arm, stomach, and open wounds as she lay on the floor, but she gritted her teeth and lifted her head.
At the doorway, the shape of Regan Fellum grew clearer — red hair, amber eyes that glowed like ripe pumpkins.
It was like looking into a mirror.
How many years had it been?
“Was the last time I saw Father… when I left home?”
The last time she’d seen him alive was long ago.
Later, after Frederick stabbed him and set the mansion on fire, all that remained at the funeral were blackened bone fragments.
Now, after decades, she was seeing Regan again — alive.
But Everett felt nothing.
There had never been any fond memories between them, not back then and not now.
As Regan came closer, his expression twisted.
It was the same frown he always wore whenever he saw her, so Everett wasn’t bothered.
But this time, his face showed something different — discomfort mixed with disbelief.
“Is this really… her?”
He looked around the room, confused.
There was no one else injured — only the thin, frail woman on the floor.
Everett leaned on one hand, breathing heavily.
Her nightclothes were dirty and soaked in blood. She was clearly in bad condition.
When Regan first heard the report from his head butler, he hadn’t believed it.
A maid bullying her master?
Absurd.
No gossip magazine would ever publish something so ridiculous.
If it turned out to be just a small bruise, I would’ve punished the butler instead, he had thought.
Regan’s eyes scanned Everett’s face and her tattered appearance.
Her hair was unevenly chopped, and her body looked like that of a beggar from the slums.
“You said her injuries weren’t serious, didn’t you?”
He didn’t look away as he spoke to Charlotte, who stood beside him.
“I… I was afraid you’d be shocked, my lord,” she said quickly.
Regan glared at her sharply.
“You’re saying a maid did this to her?”
“Yes,” Charlotte admitted quietly.
“How could this happen in the Fellum family? What kind of discipline do you teach your servants?”
“I’ve been very busy. I didn’t realize that maid could be so rude!” Charlotte said, cutting ties with Joanne, the maid she used to treat kindly.
“Too busy, are you? Should I take over again myself?”
Regan hated excuses — and he despised incompetence even more.
“No, please. I’ll take care of it. It’s my fault.”
Realizing her mistake, Charlotte bowed her head quickly, afraid of losing her authority.
Everett, listening to the two, sneered inside.
Her father, who ignored his daughter until she nearly died, and her aunt, who was obsessed with pretending to be the lady of the house — they were the same.
To end the disgusting conversation, Everett pressed her wound.
A soft moan escaped her lips.
“…It hurts. My stomach… my wounds hurt so much.”
The room went silent.
Regan ordered the servants to move her onto the bed. Then he sighed deeply, as if making a difficult decision.
“Call the doctor.”
He looked down at Everett with an annoyed face. She looked like she might die if he left her as she was.
“Wait, my lord — a doctor?” Charlotte stepped in front of him.
“The family doctor has never seen Everett before. If he sees a girl who looks exactly like you… what will he say?”
Regan’s eyes narrowed.
The public didn’t know his daughter existed.
If someone saw a woman who looked exactly like the Marquis, rumors would explode.
The thought alone was a headache.
“Still, I can’t just leave her like this.”
“I’ll bring some herbs and medicine instead. Surely she doesn’t need a doctor for wounds like these.”
Her cold, careless tone made Regan’s face harden.
But she was right about one thing — he couldn’t risk his secret.
“Fine. Bring the medicine.”
At his command, a maid quickly brought boiled herbs.
Everett took a sip but immediately coughed and spat it out.
“My stomach… it hurts too much to swallow,” she said weakly, letting the medicine spill from her lips on purpose.
If medicine could fix this, I wouldn’t have been stabbed in the first place, she thought bitterly.
She lifted her dress slightly, revealing her thin, bruised legs.
Regan frowned when he saw how fragile and dried-up her body was.
“I heard you eat three full meals every day. What’s going on here?”
“Joanne… only brought me two meals a day,” Everett said, groaning as if the words pained her.
It was the perfect chance.
Two meals a day might have been believable, but even that didn’t explain her starved body.
So Charlotte quickly jumped in.
“She often refused to eat, saying she had no appetite. She’s quite picky, you know.”
“Even so, this thin? Impossible.”
“Joanne said she wouldn’t eat. What could I do?”
“That’s just what Joanne told you, isn’t it?”
“I… I can’t remember exactly. Surely she wouldn’t starve her on purpose.”
Regan sighed. He didn’t press further.
He had never cared about Everett before, so coming to see her now — and even treating her — already felt like generosity.
As he turned to leave for his office, Everett suddenly struggled to her feet.
“Aunt Charlotte is right,” she said softly. “I didn’t eat.”
Regan’s brow twitched, and Charlotte smirked behind her fan, mocking Everett like a fool.
“See? She didn’t eat on purpose.”
“I couldn’t… it didn’t taste right.”
Everett pulled something from her sleeve.
Everyone froze.
It was a piece of bread, half-covered in blue-green mold.
She had hidden it earlier that morning, expecting this meeting.
“I ate this every morning… and it made me sick.”
“She gave you this for breakfast? That maid, Joanne?” Regan asked.
“Yes. Almost every day. When I didn’t eat it, she got angry, so I started hiding it instead.”
In truth, Joanne always took Everett’s portion for herself, replacing it with scraps from the trash.
Sometimes Jemma, another servant, found out and swapped it back — but she couldn’t catch her every time.
Regan stared at the moldy bread, his expression tightening.
Everett saw her chance.
“Father… please,” she said, crawling forward until she fell at his feet. “Please, just give me proper food. I’ll work harder — I’ll earn it.”
Sweat and tears mixed on her pale face.
“You hate useless people, don’t you, Father? I’ll be useful. I’ll do more chores, anything. Please.”
“Chores?”
Regan frowned. Now that he looked closely, her hands were rough and cracked — like a servant’s.
His face went pale.
He didn’t like his daughter, but the idea of being seen as a father who abused her made him sick.
“Oh dear…” Charlotte whispered, realizing the situation was turning dangerous for her.
“I didn’t know Joanne treated you like that,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, Everett.”
Regan’s anger shifted toward Joanne.
“I’ll question that maid myself,” he said coldly.
Charlotte stayed silent, afraid to draw more attention.
“Call the doctor. Immediately,” Regan ordered.
Everett smirked faintly to herself.
It wasn’t compassion that moved him — it was pride.
Regan could not stand when someone damaged what belonged to him.
That’s why he hadn’t killed Everett years ago — he wanted to keep control.
Father can’t stand losing what’s his, she thought.
And that’s why her plan worked perfectly.
“My lord, but the doctor—” Charlotte began again.
“You want me to let her die? Because of a maid’s tricks?” he snapped.
Charlotte bowed her head in silence.
Then Everett spoke up again, her voice soft and trembling.
“You don’t need to call the doctor…”
Both Regan and Charlotte looked at her.
“Hedia can heal me. She has a gift for healing. If she helps me, there’s no need for a doctor.”
But what Everett really wanted was something else entirely.
