Chapter 37
“My name is Anne Ferro.”
The moment a knock sounded, the door to Hannibal’s office opened. As she stepped inside, she saw the attendant Jack piling a stack of reports beside the desk.
“What is it?”
Hannibal swiftly flipped through the documents, signing some and tossing the rest toward Jack, who immediately threw them into the fireplace.
“I’ve come to ask you to change Miss Victoria’s tutor.”
As Anne spoke, Hannibal immediately shook his head as if he’d expected this.
“There’s no alternative to the Viscountess Deruca at the moment.”
“But the West isn’t home to only the Viscountess Deruca. There are many nobles staying in Tegenes—”
“It’s already been decided, Anne Ferro.”
Thud. Hannibal closed the file he had been reading.
“…The young lady is suffering. She can’t learn properly under these conditions. You need to change her tutor as soon as possible.”
Anne pleaded with her hands clasped tightly, but Hannibal coldly retorted.
“Since when has learning ever been easy? And now you want to find a tutor who coddles her? Someone like that would never try to teach Victoria. Don’t you understand that yet?”
As soon as he looked up, Hannibal saw Anne’s flushed, swollen cheeks.
Normally, he would have dismissed a maid for speaking so boldly. But this time, Hannibal exercised restraint.
And Anne wasn’t backing down either.
“The young lady is so traumatized that just making eye contact with the Viscountess Deruca causes her to collapse.”
A mere seven-year-old child, abandoned by her guardian, had to survive by appealing to a woman full of hatred—Sarah Clayde.
Anne barely suppressed the scream rising in her throat.
“What hardship could a spoiled brat possibly know? Is there anyone in this estate who’s lived as recklessly and freely as she has?”
Clayde’s Beast. That’s what even Hannibal called Victoria.
No one knew when it started, who first called her that, or how the nickname spread.
Hannibal knew none of it.
Though he had fulfilled his role as the lord of Tegenes, Hannibal Clayde had completely neglected his duties as Victoria’s brother—her family.
Anne Ferro’s heart swelled with resentment toward him.
He may have been young then, but how could he have been so oblivious?
Anne had taken responsibility for her younger sibling since the age of seven.
She’d carried heavy trays and been punished for not using her head, skipped dinners when she broke dishes from trying to carry too much.
Even with all that hardship, Anne tried her best to take care of her younger sibling.
Because she was family—because she believed it was her moral duty.
Especially in a noble family that treasured dignity and refinement like life itself, especially in the West’s most prestigious household!
No matter how illegitimate she was, when it was time for marriage, she shouldn’t have just been thrown out, dressed up for show and discarded.
Now that the young lady had come to recognize her own sins, Anne didn’t want her to go back to being the old Victoria.
She wanted to give her a chance—to repent, to live as a person, to move beyond her past.
Even if she had to stake her fate, Anne swore she would never let Victoria be called the wild beast of Clayde again, not even in the capital.
Anne raised her head, looked Hannibal straight in the eye, and spoke.
“Did you truly not know, my lord? That the Countess used the young lady to dispose of her husband’s mistresses?”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than silence descended between them. Then Hannibal slowly rose from his seat.
“Anne Ferro. Do you realize whom you’re insulting right now?”
The air turned so cold that even Jack, standing nearby, shrank back, but Anne didn’t flinch. Her gaze met Hannibal’s, sharp and defiant.
“Did it never seem odd to you that a young girl would abuse others so cruelly? Did you really never once consider that there might be another reason—another explanation?”
“You’re saying the reason is my mother, Sarah Clayde?”
To insult the name of the master’s family, and one who was already deceased, was clearly an act of insubordination.
If it wasn’t true, Anne would deserve death.
But it was true. And Anne believed in Victoria—that’s why she dared to speak.
“A powerless little girl couldn’t have committed such atrocities on her own. Poisoning food, for example—trickery like that is impossible without someone else’s help. There must’ve been someone behind it.”
If not your mother, then who else could’ve raised a child into a monster?
Anne had expected Hannibal to explode with rage. After all, she was talking about the woman who had given birth to and raised him.
“Are you trying to slander Countess Sarah Clayde?”
But instead, Hannibal held back more than she expected. He bared his teeth briefly, then gritted them before asking Anne again.
“Her infamy has spread for over five years. What I find curious is—why did no one intervene while a fifteen-year-old girl was being called a beast? Is the pride of House Clayde only reserved for legitimate children?”
Unlike the softer, rustic dialect of the West, Anne’s capital accent was sharp and clipped. It could be described as refined—but to Hannibal, each word felt off. As if she was mocking him.
Foolish Hannibal, gullible Hannibal.
Anne Ferro always exposed what Hannibal didn’t know. Always pointed out his mistakes.
And her gaze, unwavering; her upright stance, her hands firmly clasped, lips tightly shut, hair neatly pulled back—
Everything about her jabbed at Hannibal.
With those usually warm brown eyes, she now stared at him more piercingly than anyone ever had.
“How could the lord of the house not know that his own maid had been deceiving him?”
“How could this family be so clueless about what they did to their daughter—and the pain and memories she suffers from?”
Hannibal had lived his whole life carving his mother’s teaching into his bones: that he had to be perfect.
So he was not used to such blame. It stung.
At the end of every accusation, he felt like the finger was pointed at him.
“You call yourself perfect?”
Hannibal clenched his fist on the desk. He steadied his trembling lips and spoke.
“Clayde is not a name to be insulted by someone like you. I, and my mother, are the rulers of Tegenes, the lords of the West. And obeying the master’s command applies even to family.”
Though still only twenty-two, Hannibal had lived half his life as a soldier. He used military discipline to defend his mother’s actions.
He was more familiar with rank and rules than with bonds of blood.
“…Even if that command is wrong?”
“Orders are to be followed regardless.”
Anne looked at him with a hollow gaze.
As soon as their eyes met, she saw it—his wavering pupils. Hannibal was shaken too.
But he was being stubborn, like a child who didn’t want to admit the truth.
Then Anne realized—perhaps she had attacked his pride. Maybe her approach was wrong.
If she wanted to achieve her goal, she had to change her strategy. She took a step back and pleaded.
“…Please, my lord. All I want is for the young lady to get through the party safely. You agreed to that, didn’t you?”
“The tutor stays. No family other than the Derucas is worthy of Clayde.”
His firm response made Anne briefly regret showing too much emotion about Victoria.
But she had to come up with another plan—fast. Then, suddenly, a good idea struck her.
“In that case, let me be the one to learn.”
I’ll study and teach the young lady myself.
If he wouldn’t assign a new tutor, she would have to take their place.
This was the best solution Anne Ferro could come up with.
Light brown eyes. Plain, if a bit pretty. A twenty-year-old acting head maid.
“I’ll be the one to learn.”
“She thinks she’s something else.”
After Anne left, Hannibal muttered as he stared at the closed door.
“Sir?”
Jack thought Hannibal was talking to him and leaned in.
“Nothing. Are these the only documents you brought?”
“Yes.”
“Huu…”
With a sigh, Hannibal tore his eyes from the desk and turned his chair.
The fireplace crackled, but the temperature-controlled walls of the mansion kept the room almost chilly.
Anne Ferro’s face flickered in the flames.
“Did you truly not know, my lord? That the Countess used the young lady to dispose of your mistresses?”
He really hadn’t known.
He hadn’t known that Victoria had never left the estate, or that she had been so harshly trained that she trembled at the mere sight of her mother’s face.
“Don’t trust women from the capital. They only want Clayde—they’ll ruin the West.”
He knew that his mother’s hatred had peaked because of his father’s countless affairs.
But he hadn’t known that it was his own sister—Clayde’s Beast—who had served as her instrument of vengeance.
His mind flooded with despair, his mother’s cold voice echoing alongside his father’s scornful shout.
“Hannibal, you are the lord.”
“You—lord? Don’t make me laugh.”
Hannibal closed his eyes and covered them with a palm.
He had been born and raised to be the lord of Tegenes and the ruler of the West. His concerns were always about responsibility, never his right to exist.
But now, for the first time, a doubt surfaced—
Was he truly fit to hold this position?
