Chapter 113
The sudden downpour gradually let up, and by early the next morning it had completely ceased. Ian had sat all night by the fireplace lit by the caretaker couple, listening to the rain with a cold expression. It was only when the slanted sunlight pierced his eyes that he finally rose to his feet.
Beneath the warm rays of the sun stretched a picturesque scene. The storm of the night before seemed almost laughable now, for outside the window everything looked like a painting. Birds chirped, droplets slid down the leaves, and though there were broken branches and muddy puddles here and there, even those bore a kind of natural charm.
But Ian’s eyes remained sharp as he gazed at the sparkling surface of the still lake. He stared indifferently at the scenery before him—until the sound of approaching wheels made him turn his head.
On this private estate, no one came or went except the caretakers and those delivering supplies. Occasionally, a lost traveler or villager might pass by, but even that was rare. So when Ian saw a carriage coming toward the villa, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then, catching sight of the familiar crest on the carriage door, his expression hardened.
So you managed to find me here after all.
He saw the caretaker’s husband running toward the carriage. Soon, Count Farden stepped down, holding a large bag in his hand.
The Count said something to the caretaker before lifting his head toward the window where Ian stood. Ian looked back at the older man, his face heavy with gloom. Then, with a flick of his hand, he signaled the caretaker to let the guest inside.
The long-unused fireplace in the villa’s library crackled with fresh flames. Ian and Count Farden sat across from each other on couches, the firelight flickering between them.
Ian, arms crossed, did nothing to hide the hatred carved on his face. The Count, in contrast, sat with hands clasped tightly together, his expression sorrowful. To Ian, though, even the anguished face of a man he had once followed like a father evoked not the slightest flicker of sympathy.
“Ian.”
It was the Count who broke the silence first. His jaw trembled, and his voice came out hoarse, rough with emotion.
“What… what have you done to Aisha—my daughter?”
His words, soaked in grief and accusation, hung heavy in the air. But Ian, who had already guessed Aisha had fainted from the voices calling for a physician last night, only lifted his chin arrogantly and replied with an indifferent face.
“Apparently she fainted. But don’t blame me for that. Aisha’s frailty is hardly my fault.”
Not a shred of concern colored his voice. The blood drained from the Count’s face. He looked at Ian in disbelief, then let his gaze drop, empty and defeated, into space.
Ian felt the heavy weight of his own unspoken worry pressing deeper into his chest, but he forced it aside. Instead, he repeated in his mind the words revenge and enemy, until his thoughts of Aisha blurred and only his hatred of the man before him sharpened.
He glared at the Count, his voice dripping with mockery.
“More importantly—how did you find me here? Surely you didn’t have me followed… Was it because I told you I knew about the past? Did this place come to mind?”
The Count gave no reply. Ian shrugged slightly, watching the older man’s vacant eyes.
“Well… however you found me, it doesn’t matter. It’s convenient, actually. There’s something I wanted to say.”
“……”
“You must have heard it from your daughter. I will never forgive you.”
At those words, the Count flinched. And in that instant, Ian caught the guilt buried deep in the older man’s eyes. His own eyes lit with a dark gleam. He had been right. This man was the murderer of his parents, the deceiver who had mocked him all this time.
His chest burned. The faint doubt that perhaps the Count was not the culprit evaporated completely. Ian’s words came sharp and cruel.
“First, we’ll dissolve the engagement. Tomorrow—no, starting today, I’ll devote myself to cutting off your head. It would be absurd to remain engaged to your daughter in the meantime, wouldn’t it?”
“Break off…? You speak of it so easily, Ian.”
The Count’s face twisted at the word. His bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears as he demanded, his voice trembling:
“I heard from a maid… Aisha bought contraceptive herbs because of you. Is it true?”
Though phrased obliquely, it was an accusation of sharing Aisha’s bed. Ian stiffened for a moment, then smirked coldly.
“Yes. You guessed correctly. I slept with her.”
“You—!”
“What a face. You look shocked. Of course, who wouldn’t be? Your cherished daughter, losing her purity before marriage… it must be devastating.”
The Count’s fists clenched tight. Aisha was more precious than life itself. Yet the boy he had once raised almost like a son now mocked him, laughing about defiling that very daughter.
“You… after doing such a thing, how dare you speak first of breaking off the engagement… How can you speak so lightly of it?”
The Count’s voice faltered, unable to form words. Ian only curved his lips into a cruel smile. The act was bitter and yet exhilarating. Somewhere in his chest, a faint voice begged him to stop, but the act of striking his enemy was far too intoxicating.
“Why such shock?”
“……”
“You blame me for talking of annulment after sharing her bed? With any other young lady, I would have taken responsibility. We would have married already.”
“……”
“But Aisha is your daughter—the daughter of my enemy. It was amusing to watch her cling to me. Still, I admit, as a woman she was… quite pleasing. Beautifully raised, with a charm that stirred me. So yes, I toyed with her.”
The Count’s breathing grew ragged with each filthy word. At last, he stood abruptly, teeth grinding, ready to lunge at Ian. But Ian looked up at him without the slightest fear and said:
“Still, I gave her a chance. Did she not tell you? She rejected my proposal.”
At the memory of that conversation, Ian’s mocking smile vanished. His face twisted, almost helplessly aggrieved. His voice, low and strained, carried the weight of suppressed bitterness.
“She chose you instead. Said she’d rather be with her father than me. Touching, isn’t it? Such a bond between father and daughter. But don’t worry too much. Whether out of old ties or something else, I’ll spare Aisha’s life. Of course, she won’t live as comfortably as before.”
His words were vicious, but in his heart Ian had already decided: he would never let Aisha go. He could not imagine life without her. Her body, her face—he would never tire of them.
She’s mine.
He had struggled with the thought all night, but in the end he admitted it to himself: even after all this, he still loved her. He could threaten to sell her, call her a slave, but if she wasn’t by his side, he knew he would lose his mind.
So he resolved to keep her with him for life. He would use her family as a leash, then bind her with children, until she accepted a life at his side.
She would be punished, yes—for choosing her father over him. But if one day she sincerely begged his forgiveness… then perhaps, he could allow her to live peacefully as his wife.
Maybe they’d have three children—two sons who resembled them both, and one daughter who looked just like her. With that, perhaps he could kiss her tenderly, hold her gently…
While Ian drowned in his delusions, Count Farden stood over him, his fists trembling, veins bulging, forcing himself to stay calm. He drew several harsh breaths before finally relaxing, rubbing his face with both hands. His voice cracked with grief as he spoke.
“She… miscarried.”
Ian, lounging with a crooked smirk, froze. His expression twisted. He could not comprehend the words. He repeated them silently again and again, before finally croaking out:
“…What?”
“Last night, Aisha miscarried. Just after you left.”
The Count’s voice was heavy with rage and sorrow as he repeated the horrifying truth. Ian’s expression, crumpled in anger, slowly melted into one of blank stupidity. The Count’s own voice broke into fury.
“She… Aisha has never once caused her parents or brother grief in anything—except matters involving you. So tell me, whose child else could it have been, if not yours?”
“……”
“Ian, I was always proud of you. I thought you more exceptional than my own sons.”
“……”
“But it was all a delusion. You are utterly heartless. No… I can hardly call you human anymore.”
“……”
“Aisha is fragile, as you said. But you—you destroyed her further. You’ve given her a wound that will never heal.”
“Lies.”
The Count’s voice cracked, drowned in tears. But Ian, who had been listening silently, suddenly cut him off, his own voice sharp, his bloodshot eyes blazing.
“A miscarriage? What nonsense!”
“……”
“That’s impossible. She couldn’t have miscarried! I always made her take the herbs. And Aisha—she never once said… never once…”
The contraceptive he had relied on was highly effective—but not flawless. And Ian knew it. That knowledge stopped the rest of his protest in his throat.
