4. Between Death and Poverty (2)
That night, not even the moon dared show itself. The sky was a dense, suffocating black, heavy with clouds that threatened rain at any moment. Even the wind carried a sinister chill, seeping through the stillness of the mansion and making it feel unbearably oppressive. The damp air clung to her skin, sticky and suffocating. Suddenly, Kayla recalled Theodore’s eyes—the red glare that had pierced through her earlier that day.
“You nearly died, my lady. Be careful.”
“The coldness in those eyes…”
His gaze kept circling in her mind, relentless. Kayla shook her head, trying to dispel the memory.
Now is not the time for this. I really… have to leave…
She squeezed her eyes shut. She had never considered such a choice before. She had convinced herself that enduring just a little longer would make things better, that marrying into a good household would fix everything. Day after day, she had survived by lying to herself, believing that fulfilling her duties would bring happiness to everyone. But today, that belief shattered completely.
Joanna’s hand, pushing her toward death, still lingered on her back like a smoldering mark. She could have died. Perhaps she would have died—and even then, Joanna would have used her death as leverage to extort money from Duke Theodore. Death was part of Joanna’s plan. At the thought, Kayla steeled herself once more. Yes—if she delayed any longer, she would truly die.
She cautiously surveyed the now-quiet mansion. She gathered lengths of cloth and curtains, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Despite her resolve, her hands trembled. She tied the fabric tightly, looping it over and over to prevent it from unraveling, until her fingers were flushed red from the strain.
Even if I end up begging for a living, I can’t stay here. At this rate, I’ll really die. I have to find a way to send myself somewhere where I can be sold for the highest price.
Kayla caught her reflection in the mirror. Disheveled hair, a worn expression, lifeless eyes. Her face, usually pressed for a proper appearance for a potential marriage, now bore a small cut on her lip from Joanna’s slap, and fresh bruises adorned her arms and legs. She had never looked more wretched in her life.
She moved toward the window, peering through the curtain at the world outside. She tied the fabric to the railing and let it hang down. Luckily, the house wasn’t wealthy enough to employ many guards. Only the second floor—but when she looked down, her legs wobbled. Her heart thumped so violently she felt sick. Clutching the rope until her fingers turned white, she inched her body outward.
Don’t be afraid. Take it slow. One… two… ugh.
As she descended slowly, pain shot through her ankle like a spark when she misstepped. She tightened her grip, but sweat made the fabric slippery.
No… no…!
Her foot slipped in midair. As she fell, Kayla squeezed her eyes shut.
“…!”
But strangely, there was no pain. When she cautiously opened her eyes, she found someone holding her firmly in their arms. Beneath a black hood, a long scar traced across the stranger’s eye. Startled, Kayla’s voice trembled.
“Wh-who are you?”
“Shh. Go through the kitchen door immediately. The back gate is guarded. Someone will come soon if they hear a noise.”
“W-what?”
“Do not ask now. Tomorrow, you will know everything.”
The voice was low and calm, yet commanding. Even in the dark, it felt oddly familiar. The man gently set her down and silently scaled the high wall before disappearing. Kayla’s heart raced as she scanned her surroundings.
What… just happened?
Hearing movement in the distance, she snapped back to reality and hurried toward the kitchen as instructed. Once inside, she shakily retrieved the fabric she had draped out the window, her hands trembling.
“What’s going on?”
It had been a matter of seconds.
Who was that man? Did he save me—or was he trying to keep me from escaping?
Kayla couldn’t tell. But now that the household was awake, fleeing again that night was impossible. Pain throbbed from her cut feet.
What am I supposed to do now…
She perched on the edge of her bed and let the tears fall freely. She didn’t even know whether her misfortune had begun with her mother’s death, her father’s irresponsibility, or the arrival of her stepmother Joanna. She had no one to blame. The corridor remained silent, and she sat there, holding her breath, for a long time.
The next morning came with the familiar, bustling voice of the maid rousing her. The same voice, but now polite, deferential.
“Milady, please wake up!”
It was no longer the usual tone—it carried the caution one reserves for a true mistress. Kayla opened her eyes slowly. She still could not tell if yesterday’s events had been a dream or reality.
“Quick, you must dress! Oh my, what happened to your lips…”
“Ah… it hurts…”
“Forgive me, I must attend to you!”
The maid washed and dressed Kayla, carefully applying makeup to conceal the cut on her lips. Today, unlike any other, Kayla also wore the necklace and earrings Joanna had treasured. The masked man from yesterday—whoever he was—had clearly entered the house. Whether he was friend or foe, Kayla could not know. All she could hope for was simple: that he would somehow help her escape this hell.
