Chapter 112
“What are you so surprised about? You abandoned me and chose your father. That makes you my enemy as well. Did you think I’d just let you be?”
“……”
“I’m going to ruin your life completely. Ah… and don’t even think about dying just because you’ve become a slave. I’ll keep at least one of your family members barely alive—as your leash.”
Aisha froze at the cruel words that crossed far beyond any line. Ian looked at her stiff figure and gave a low, mocking laugh before slowly releasing the hand gripping her chin. His large palm then slid down her slender neck, over the hollow of her collarbone, and lower still. To have to bear his full weight was already humiliating enough, but now he was even toying with her. Tears streamed from Aisha’s pale blue eyes.
“Aisha, do you have any idea how much your face and body can stir a man?”
“Don’t do this, Ian. Please… don’t…”
Her trembling refusal was faint, barely audible. But while Aisha’s eyes grew increasingly dim, Ian’s gaze burned hotter, boiling with tangled emotions. Beneath the hatred lay sticky desire and a ravenous craving… desires far greater than the hatred itself. Only the hatred, sharp as a blade, jutted out at the forefront.
“…I’ll trample you, my slave, again and again. And when I tire of it someday, I’ll sell you off. No matter how enticing you are, would you last more than three years?”
Ian’s fingers brushed against the slight curve of her chest peeking from her dress. At the pressure of his touch, Aisha let out a stifled moan, and Ian tilted his head, smiling with twisted delight.
“But what if keeping you by my side leads to a child? I have no intention of feeding a slave birth-control herbs.”
The thought of being spoken of in the same breath as a “slave and a child” sickened her, but Aisha could only gasp for breath under the mounting pain. She gave no answer, not even a glance. Irritated, Ian placed a hand on her already aching stomach.
“A bastard born of a slave’s womb… If the child resembles me completely, then whether I tire of you or not, I might at least give you a room at the marquisate as the mother. But if the child shows even the slightest resemblance to your grandfather…”
“Ugh…”
“…I’ll kill it.”
“Take your hand away!”
The merciless words dripped with cruelty. Unable to bear it anymore, Aisha mustered what little strength she had left and struck Ian’s hand.
Slap.
“…Fine. I’ll stop here for today.”
There was no power in her blow, so Ian felt no pain at all. Yet, perhaps her intention was clear, for he stared at her for a moment before finally rising from over her. She thought the pain would ease once his heavy weight was gone, but strangely, without the pressure, the agony only deepened.
Groaning, Aisha bent forward, clutching her stomach, then forced herself to sit upright. Ian instinctively reached out when her unsteady posture looked dangerously fragile, but his hand stopped midair.
With a single blink, he hid the worry that had briefly flickered in his eyes. Saying nothing, he turned away. Aisha’s blurred gaze followed his retreating figure, then she clasped her abdomen tightly. It felt as though blades were tearing her insides apart. A damp sensation spread between her legs.
…It must be my monthly bleeding. That’s all.
So she desperately told herself, struggling to rise. But no matter how many times she tried, her legs wouldn’t hold her. At last, on her fifth attempt, she rolled off the couch. The carpet cushioned her fall, but her weakened body still ached from the dull impact.
Something’s wrong.
Her vision blurred, and through the haze, she caught a flash of red. A sharp, metallic smell stung her nose.
Crash! Thunder roared nearby, rattling her eardrums. The wind howled, making the windows rattle violently.
“Haa…”
Lightning flashed again and again, dimming her already clouded vision. Aisha, collapsed on the floor, stared at the parlor doors. Ian had left; surely someone would come soon. But the pain was so consuming that even a short wait felt unbearable.
Fortunately, before her eyes fully closed, the doors opened, and a familiar figure rushed in. Aisha gave a faint smile and whispered.
“M-Mari…”
“My lady? My lady, what’s wrong?!”
“Mari… my stomach… it hurts so badly. Go… fetch the physician…”
“My lady? Please, stay awake! My lady!”
The ominous image of Ian leaving the count’s estate in the pouring rain still lingered in Mari’s mind. And now, finding her mistress collapsed, it felt like a terrible omen fulfilled. She shook Aisha’s weakening body frantically. Then, catching a strong scent mixed with the rain, her eyes darted down.
“Ahh!”
Aisha’s yellow dress was being stained red. Mari screamed louder than the thunder itself. The echo of her shriek drew servants rushing toward the parlor.
“The physician! Call the physician, now!”
Mari, trembling and pale, regained her senses as soon as she spotted the butler and pleaded for the doctor.
“This blood…! Hurry, fetch the physician!”
The butler, seeing the blood-soaked Aisha, shouted as well. The household erupted in chaos. At that very moment, a massive bolt of lightning struck the estate, setting ablaze an old lemon tree. Though the flames flared briefly, the downpour smothered them to black ash. The once-proud tree, nurtured for decades, crumbled lifelessly.
The roar of rain and thunder drowned out the cries for the physician. Yet as Ian rode away, the faint word “physician” reached his ears.
“…Physician…”
He muttered it under his breath, unconsciously turning his gaze back toward Aisha’s chamber window.
Just then, a flash of lightning turned his vision white. In its glare, the image of his parents’ blue, lifeless faces inside their coffins resurfaced in his mind.
Gritting his teeth, Ian forced himself to turn forward again. He stared into the curtain of rain ahead, then kicked his heels.
Neigh!
But his horse refused to budge. Frightened by the storm, the beast reared its front legs high, trembling, unwilling to move.
Only after a long struggle did Ian manage to calm it enough to leave the Parden estate behind. Yet even as he rode, his mind remained clouded with thoughts of Aisha. He found himself glancing back more than once.
“…What does it matter? She’s a woman I’ve vowed to destroy with my own hands. A little sickness won’t wear that body down.”
Ian spoke the words aloud, letting the rain soak him, as if trying to convince himself. Otherwise, he feared he would turn back at once.
He rode on for a long while. Only when the thunder grew distant and the downpour lightened did he slow his horse. Though the cold rain had soaked them, the horse’s body steamed with heat from the relentless gallop.
The muddy path dampened his mood further. He thought to push forward again once the horse caught its breath—then his eyes widened at the sight of a fork in the road.
…The road to Parne.
To the right lay the way back to the marquisate. To the left, the road led to Parne, a small lakeside village known for its beauty.
Ian turned left.
There, by the lake, stood a modest yet picturesque villa, cherished by his forebears. In the past, the late Marquis Lloyd and his wife had often visited it, enchanted by its scenery. But Ian and Sophia had never spoken of it, let alone set foot there.
It was on the rain-slick mountain road to that villa that Ian’s parents had lost their lives. Even when he still believed it to have been an accident, Ian had only gone there on their death anniversaries—never otherwise.
But now, it was different.
Here, he would relive his parents’ fate. Here, he would complete his vengeance.
The road to Parne was rough even in fair weather, and the horse stumbled repeatedly. Yet, no matter how dangerous it became, Ian’s face remained cold, his eyes unblinking.
This is better. Now I’ll finally hear what that shameless man has to say.
Having poured out everything he had to Aisha, Ian knew the Count of Parden would soon learn of his vendetta. He resolved to accept the duke’s proposal he had long postponed—and to destroy the Parden family completely.
I can’t simply let them be. You’ll stay by my side, Aisha—until I tire of you, you’ll endure my wrath.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the Parden family’s downfall, and Aisha shackled to him, stripped of status, forced into a pitiful existence. Then came darker visions—depraved, shameful, yet intoxicating ones—that made his lips twist upward.
Aisha…
He conjured her tear-streaked face beneath him, calling his name, again and again, only to erase it and draw it anew.
And by the time he had repeated this fantasy dozens of times, the lake appeared in the distance, and with it, the small villa came into view.
