LMJO 81 🔐

#81. I Don’t Need Something Like That

“Whatever feelings you have, they don’t give you the right to claim anything over me.”

Ophelia unconsciously drew in a sharp breath.

The man standing before her no longer felt familiar.
Netephel looked like a stranger wearing the shell of the friend she once knew.

No—perhaps that wasn’t even wrong. The person Netephel had shown her all this time had been nothing more than a carefully crafted façade.

Ophelia could feel it with her whole body now—that even in her previous life, the Netephel she had believed to be a friend had secretly harbored such thoughts all along.

In the past or the present, Netephel had never been honest with her.
Back then, he’d helped her, yes—but even that kindness had ulterior motives.

Ophelia didn’t even want to guess what those motives were. If she tried to dig it up, all the time and memories she’d thought were friendship would only turn vile and repulsive.

Perhaps her disgust showed plainly on her face, because Netephel looked pained. His voice trembled as he spoke.

“H-how can you say that to me? We’re friends, aren’t we? We’re the only ones for each other…”

“Friends?”

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Ophelia’s lips twisted.

“Just a moment ago, you said I should be your lover because you liked me before anyone else. And now you call me a friend?”

Her patience snapped. Irritation boiled all the way to the top of her head, and at the same time, she felt disgusted with herself for not recognizing what kind of twisted logic he lived by.

In her previous life, Ophelia had trusted Netephel—believed him when he said they were friends.
Though it was different from what she had with Haslen, Netephel had been just as precious to her.

She had believed that, because he valued friendship as deeply as she did, he would always see her for who she truly was.

But in truth, all he’d done was project his desires onto her and wait for a convenient moment.

Now, as the man who made her regret every moment of trust stared at her with tearful, victimized eyes, she felt nothing but revulsion.

Swallowing the hollow ache that felt like a hole in her chest, Ophelia said quietly,

“If that friendship is something you only pull out when it’s convenient for you… then I don’t need it. Take it all.”

As Idren walked down the corridor toward Ophelia’s sitting room, he unexpectedly ran into someone.

It was Netephel Luntalis—his face pale as if he’d seen a ghost.
The sight caught Idren off guard. Not only had the conversation with Ophelia ended far sooner than expected, but Netephel’s unsettled expression made it clear he hadn’t left on good terms.

The Second Prince of Egelbam was walking with his eyes down, as if he didn’t even notice Idren. When they drew closer, he stumbled slightly. Idren instinctively reached out to steady him—and immediately felt a strange wave of disgust.

Frowning in confusion, he asked,

“Are you all right?”

As unpleasant as the man was, Idren couldn’t very well let him collapse in the middle of the castle corridor.

But the prince slapped his hand away and snapped,

“Don’t touch me.”

Idren hadn’t planned to hold on long anyway, but the gesture was needlessly rude.

Normally, he would have thrown in a biting remark—but for some reason, his hand still tingled unpleasantly from where they’d touched. He glanced down at it, intending to say something, but the prince was already striding past him, cloak flaring.

Idren watched him go, then turned away. After all, he doubted he’d have to see that man again.

When he finally reached Ophelia’s sitting room, he found her reclining in her chair, eyes closed, head tilted back, two untouched cups of tea before her. She looked almost exactly as she had the last time he’d seen her like this.

Realizing at once that she was in a foul mood, Idren carefully sat beside her and spoke softly.

“Ophelia.”

She opened her eyes, her brows furrowed. Staring at the ceiling, she murmured, almost to herself,

“…Why is it that I can never seem to have anything properly?”

To Idren, it sounded like nonsense—but Ophelia meant every word.

She genuinely couldn’t understand why her life had turned out like this.

Her body, her heart, even her relationships—nothing remained intact.

She wanted to throw something out of sheer frustration, but that felt childish too. Breaking more things just because everything else was broken seemed pathetic.

Thinking of the two men who had lingered longest in her life—Mahanas and Netephel, both disappointments and obstacles—Ophelia closed her eyes again.

After a moment, Idren quietly asked,

“…What did the Second Prince do?”

It was a gentle question, but Ophelia didn’t answer.

If she were honest, the one who had “done something” was herself.
It was she who had severed a relationship that had lasted over a decade—one she no longer wanted to call friendship.

Besides, Idren was another man who claimed to love her.
She believed he was different from Netephel, but she couldn’t be sure he’d understand the repulsion she felt.

Then it hit her—how strange her thoughts had become.

Understand? Was she expecting Idren to understand her?

Since when did she need that from anyone?

Hadn’t she always told herself she didn’t need anyone’s understanding?

And then she remembered what she’d once said:

“I thought you understood me.”

What a pitiful thing to say. The memory made her cringe.

Annoyance and embarrassment flared at once. To hide it, she sharpened her voice.

“Why did you come here?”

Idren flinched slightly at her sudden outburst, but his expression remained composed as he replied,

“The confiscated property from the Nebel estate has arrived. As you instructed, the gold and silks were sent to Siana—well, I suppose I should call her Siana Rerck now.”

He paused briefly, lowering his head. Ophelia watched him, his hands clasped together in his lap.

“I was also worried that the Second Prince of Egelbam might be bothering you too much.”

Then he turned slightly toward her, glancing up with his golden eyes.

“I should’ve come sooner.”

Those sharp-edged eyes somehow managed to look gentle.

There wasn’t a trace of irritation in his gaze.

Ophelia let out a short, humorless laugh.

He was ridiculous—accepting her even when she treated him unfairly. It made her feel sorry, then angry, then irritated all over again.

What was this tangle of emotions?

She stared at him for a long moment, then frowned and pushed at his chest. After all, Idren was acting this way because of his so-called love.

As if that meant anything.

How absurd to be comforted by something she didn’t even understand.

“Don’t you have any pride?”

She snapped suddenly and stood up. Idren blinked, startled, and rose with her.

“Where are you going?”

“…To Siana.”

Her tone was softer now, calmer somehow. Her anger had clearly ebbed a little.

Good enough, Idren thought.

As he followed the woman who walked away without another word, he stopped at the door and told the knight standing guard,

“Make sure the Second Prince has completely left the castle.”

Since the day she’d testified at the trial, Siana hadn’t left her room.
There was no reason to.

Life in the castle was peaceful, comfortable—like wearing clothes made perfectly to fit.
Maybe it felt all the more precious because she’d once lost it all.

Even the servants treated her with a subtle warmth now, so she never felt lonely.
After all, wasn’t escaping her father’s house what truly mattered? Loneliness didn’t stand a chance.

About ten days later, her room suddenly filled with extravagant goods—luxurious silks clearly from the southern regions, and chests brimming with glittering gold coins.

Siana had never seen such splendor up close. Her father had always owned everything.

As she stared wide-eyed at the opulent treasures, one of the servants explained,

“These are the goods recovered from the Rerck estate in Nebel. Her Majesty the Queen has graciously granted them to you.”

Siana could hardly believe it.
All of this—these coins, these silks—belonged to her?

The Rerck family had been her late mother’s lineage—one she could barely remember. She recalled the King’s decree at the hearing: that the Rerck family’s assets would be seized and given to the Queen.

She hadn’t remembered much—she’d been too frightened that day—but seeing the gold now, she was glad she had listened to the Queen’s words.

She was still admiring the coins when a voice came from beyond the door: