Chapter 8
“You think you’re such a fine man, don’t you? The next Duke of Spencer, a decent-looking face—and you believe the whole world adores you for it.”
It was true that an impressive status and attractive looks made life easier.
But that alone was never enough.
There were far more important reasons why one person liked another.
And in that regard, Joel Spencer’s results were far poorer than his advantages warranted.
“No, Joel. People don’t like you as much as you think. I’ve never once thought you were a good person.”
“Don’t lie. You like me. You’ve obsessed over me to the point where I could hardly stand it.”
At Lysthea’s calm reply, Joel’s face flushed red, mottled with embarrassment and anger.
“I didn’t care if you were trash. I just wanted something entirely mine. The bright and beautiful things were never going to belong to me anyway. You were… good enough.”
She had never cared what kind of man Joel was.
What mattered was that no one could dispute he was hers.
A socially recognized, official relationship—the security that title brought was what she valued.
Affection was secondary.
Even when she discovered that the only thing Joel wanted from her was money, she felt almost relieved.
As long as the Cullinan Mine never ran dry, nothing between them would change.
A relationship bound by money and ownership.
That should have been enough…
“Joel Spencer, I don’t share what’s mine with anyone.”
But perhaps wanting to possess someone had been too greedy a desire for her.
“Think carefully. This is your last chance.”
Lysthea Aster was not the sort to let something slip from her hands without consequence. If Joel broke the promise he had made to her, he would pay the price.
Wishing him happiness, or walking away cleanly—that could never be payment enough.
He needed to understand exactly who he had made his enemy, and how costly that so-called “love” of his would be.
Perhaps it was inevitable that this world had assigned her the role of the villainess, the one who schemed endlessly to ruin the “true love” of the protagonists.
After all, how many would willingly throw themselves into a fire, knowing it would only hasten their own destruction?
A greedy, obsessive fiancée fated to die within a year—
How convenient.
Very well. If that was her role, Lysthea Aster intended to play it to perfection—
Even if it brought her own end sooner.
It had been five days since she visited the Spencer estate to warn Joel.
That was plenty of patience.
Sitting by the sunlit window, pen in hand, Lysthea glanced outside.
Across the courtyard, Mary bustled toward the annex.
I’ll need to think about Mary’s future too… after I’m gone.
After Emma’s funeral, Lysthea had moved her quarters entirely to the annex.
Mary had been the only servant from the main house to follow her.
Mary had once told her she’d lost her elder sister to a fever when she was young.
Lysthea suspected that was why Mary’s loyalty ran so deep.
Strong-minded and clever, yet endearingly clumsy—Mary was someone she truly hoped could find happiness, even without her.
A soft knock preceded Mary’s entrance.
“Miss… about what you asked me to find out.”
Mary hesitated, clearly gauging Lysthea’s mood.
“Don’t worry, Mary. I’ve already got a good idea what they’ll do. I can guess their moves.”
“…Well, they’ve moved Lady Lillian Rose’s rooms to the annex, and put up a little fence between the main house and annex.”
A pathetic half-measure.
They must have thought they could smooth things over after Lysthea had even mentioned breaking the engagement.
“Playing at hide-and-seek, as if an engagement is some child’s game…”
Lysthea chuckled, bent her head, and finished writing the last lines on her page.
Perhaps this world had no intention of letting her and Joel part ways…
Or perhaps Joel had already decided Lillian meant more to him than the Cullinan Mine.
Either way, she had no more reason to wait.
“It’s time I spoke to Father.”
With the finished sheet in hand, she rose and headed for the Marquis’s study.
“Father’s inside?”
Receiving a nod from the guard, she pushed the door open without knocking.
The sudden swing of the door sent her hair swaying in the draft.
The man at the desk, spectacles perched on his nose as he read, frowned at the interruption.
Handsome to the point of defying his age—and far too youthful-looking for a father of three nearing forty—this was Eric Aster, Lysthea’s father.
It had been three months since they last saw each other.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
His voice was cold as he removed his glasses.
Lysthea only shrugged and walked past him to sit on the sofa.
“I waited and waited for you to summon me, Father. Since you never did, this is the only way I could see you.”
“In this manner?”
Ignoring his disapproval, she got straight to the point.
“Please send the Spencer family a formal letter of dissolution.”
“And why is that?”
“Are you aware that Baron Rose’s daughter has been staying at the Spencer estate for two weeks now?”
His silence was answer enough.
“Of course you know. It would be absurd for House Aster not to.”
Whether he’d forgotten or simply thought she’d meekly go through with the marriage despite such an insult, she didn’t care.
“I’ve twice sent written requests, and once asked in person, for Lady Lillian Rose’s rooms to be separated from Joel’s—but they’ve refused.”
She slid the prepared document toward him.
“I imagine you’re far too busy to draft the dissolution yourself, so I’ve done it for you. All you need to do is stamp the seal.”
For a moment, he had no words.
The gall of his daughter—telling him to simply affix his seal, as though drawing a line against any interference—rankled him deeply.
“Do you think it’s right to make such a decision alone and simply inform me after the fact?”
“When exactly were you planning to bring me in to discuss this, Father?”
He faltered.
He should have acted as soon as the news reached him.
Instead, preoccupied with other matters, he’d let it slide.
“Were you going to wait until Joel Spencer sent me a dissolution letter so he could marry Lillian Rose?”
“That’s not it. If you were so unhappy, you could have come to me first…”
He rubbed his temple with a sigh.
If she thought he’d forgotten, she could have simply asked. Barged in here like this, demanding—this was just like her.
Too calculating, too closed-off—impossible to feel warmth toward.
And not merely because of her mother’s side of the family.
“Father, if this had happened to someone else—say, to one of my younger siblings—would you have done nothing?”
The implication made him freeze, then bristle in offense.
Edward and Celia were only sixteen, still children in his eyes.
How could she throw such a sordid situation onto them, even in theory?
“How dare you! Are you implying you want your siblings to go through something like this?”
He shot to his feet, his temper sending objects tumbling from the desk.
The crash of breaking items didn’t so much as make Lysthea flinch. She remained seated, her gaze steady.
The sudden calmness in her eyes made him feel as if he’d been doused in cold water.
“Exactly. If you can’t even bear the thought of it, why are you so calm when it’s happened to me?”
He blinked, searching for a suitable answer.
Because she was older, nearly eighteen now.
Because she was the sort to endure almost anything without batting an eye.
Excuses he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud—they sounded too hollow.
“Almost as if you wanted me to go through this.”
His mouth was dry. He glanced at the mess his outburst had made.
Why had he lost his temper just now?
As if she’d struck a nerve.
“No, I know you didn’t. You’ve never cared that much about me.”
Even hatred required a certain investment of the heart.
To Eric Aster, Lysthea was nothing more than an inconvenient burden.
