WGMFTR | Chapter 8

Episode 8

Ilian gathered all his patience, clenching and unclenching his fists several times as he walked forward, pretending to be unfazed.

“No, that’s not it. I just heard you left at dawn, so I thought you’d be incredibly busy all day.”

Lydia, then, fell silent again as if she were once more engrossed in her book.

Ilian glanced at the content of the book she held, which seemed to bear no interest in him. The word “curse” appeared repeatedly as he skimmed through.

“Are you doing some research?”

“…Yes. I figured if I could learn more about curses, maybe I could break yours faster.”

“So this is how you express your unwillingness to marry me—in an amusing way.”

As if he had just witnessed something entertaining, his lightly amused comment finally made Lydia raise her head. With a deep frown, she spoke.

“I’m trying to break your curse, but aren’t you being too relaxed about it, Marquis?”

Ilian squatted down in front of Lydia and gently took off the glasses loosely hanging on the tip of her nose.

His voice was calm and carefree.

“If the answer were merely inside a book, I would have found it already.”

“…It’s not merely a book. Everything here is knowledge accumulated by my family over hundreds of years. Some of the books are ones I collected myself.”

“You seem like the type who’s already read every single book in here multiple times. If that’s true, then you must already know there’s nothing here you’re looking for.”

Lydia sighed and tried to snatch the glasses back from Ilian’s hand. But he easily avoided her with a leisurely smile.

Irritated by his childish act, Lydia frowned and glared at him.

“Even so, I still have to read them all carefully again. I might’ve missed something.”

“At least eat. The household is worried they’ve brought in a strange fiancée as the Marquis’s bride.”

Whatever expectations they had from a fiancée who showed up out of nowhere—this probably wasn’t it.

Ilian could clearly see how confused the entire household, led by the butler, was over how to treat Lydia.

Even Ilian Esteban himself was occasionally taken aback by her, so it was no wonder.

“I’ll head out once I finish this book.”

“I’m the one who requested help, but if you starve to death before solving the problem, that’d be troublesome.”

“Skipping just two meals won’t kill me.”

“Did you skip breakfast too?”

Lydia made a startled face. Then, she hugged the book tightly to her chest and made a stubborn expression, as if determined not to budge.

It was as though she thought Ilian might drag her out by force.

“I really will head out once I finish just this book.”

“…I told you to stay comfortable at the estate. You don’t have to shut yourself in and avoid everyone like this.”

Ilian looked down at her small, pale hands gripping the book tightly and figured out the root of her behavior.

He had left the estate early this morning, right after finishing the introduction to the mansion’s layout the day before.

Even if he had instructed the staff to treat her with utmost respect, it was clear she had sought refuge in the safety of dusty books—something she felt most familiar with—after being left alone.

“Being called ‘Lady Lydia’ feels so awkward I could die. And the maid who clings to me the moment I try to step out is just…”

“You’ll have to get used to the title. As for the maid, I’ve told her to leave you alone.”

Ilian had given her the authority to command even the capital estate of House Esteban. She could enjoy such power freely.

But she clearly had no intention of doing so.

Lydia took a deep breath and finally set her book down, reaching out her hand.

“If I return you to a normal state quickly, I can leave sooner too. Give me your hand.”

“I don’t want to.”

Though he joked, Ilian was also serious when he said he didn’t want her to starve.

As always, he had woken up after barely a few hours of sleep, tormented by screaming and pain echoing in his ears.

Yet it was Lydia who had dark shadows under her eyes.

He could easily imagine her staying up late into the night, scribbling and researching all alone.

Her enthusiasm was excessive—far too much.

Ilian was a realist. He hadn’t brought Lydia hoping for an overnight solution.

“You said you have to inject your power every day to suppress the curse’s progression.”

“Let’s do it over lunch. I’ve had it set up in the garden.”

Lydia stood up abruptly and watched in disbelief as Ilian casually walked off.

He was the one cursed—so why did she seem more obsessed with breaking it?

“…And he even took my glasses.”

Left alone, Lydia sighed, set the book down, and got up from her seat.

Lydia barely ate her meal, feeling as though she’d get indigestion, but finally felt relieved when the Marquis subtly dismissed the attendants as tea was served.

Having people watch her eat and trying to assist her the whole time was nothing short of torture.

Taking this opportunity, Lydia quickly held out her hand again to the Marquis.

“Now give me your hand again.”

His gloves disappeared, and the same pitch-black hand was revealed.

The moment she grabbed it without hesitation, a thick, shadowy aura crept up.

Goosebumps rose at the sensation of searing flames that followed.

But this time, Lydia steeled herself and chose to truly trust in her power.

The moment she did, her power responded to her will and surged like a wave, trying to smother the flames of the curse.

‘Like a wave, leaving nothing behind in its path.’

That’s how Lydia saw her ability. Like a wave washing over the sandy shore, cleansing everything without leaving a trace.

But no matter how much she concentrated, the flames surged back up as if mocking her power’s retreat.

As if to say, “You think you can beat me with that feeble power?”

“Please, just go away…”

In the end, it was a tug-of-war where the opponent begrudgingly took one step back.

Lydia instinctively knew the power she had infused would wear off soon, and in a few days, the curse would regain its hold.

‘…This might be harder than I thought.’

The thought of having to infuse this much energy nearly every day made her feel drained already. She sighed and looked at the Marquess.

“Is that enough for today?”

“Huh? Yes.”

Ilian’s movement as he put his glove back on felt strangely stiff.

Lydia wondered if she had done something wrong.

“Are you in pain? Does my power cause unbearable pain when I use it?”

“…No.”

It was the opposite—that was the problem.

When she touched him, it felt as if everything was healed.

But the moment the contact ended, it was like being thrown back into a filthy sewer. His head throbbed, his arm grew heavy, and fatigue washed over him.

“That’s enough. Don’t skip your meals.”

Lydia watched the Marquis walk off with a feeling of unease.

She sensed there was something she was overlooking—something she should be considering but wasn’t.

That strange doubt Lydia had been harboring finally took shape late that night.

“Maybe I should stop reading for today.”

Curled up on the bed, Lydia closed her book and stretched her shoulders.

Lost in the freedom of endless reading, she hadn’t realized how far the moon had sunk below the horizon.

“I really shouldn’t get used to this lifestyle.”

She picked up a cold cookie from the tray the maid had left quietly and munched on it with the now-cold tea.

A life where everything was taken care of—honestly, it was convenient.

‘Still, I feel too confined.’

Feeling stifled, she thought about taking a walk before bed.

Without hesitation, Lydia grabbed a blanket and quietly slipped out of her room.

That decision led her to wander the halls, eventually arriving at the library, where she heard faint groans of pain.

‘They said this is the Marquis’s study…’

She stood in front of the door and listened closely. In the stillness, she could just barely hear a broken voice.

“…Please. …Just.”

With her ear to the door, she could make out Ilian Esteban’s pained voice—as though he were having a nightmare.

Lydia gripped the doorknob and hesitated briefly.

Would entering be a violation of his privacy?

But then again, if this was the curse’s doing, wasn’t it her duty to intervene?

After a moment’s hesitation, she slowly turned the knob and stepped inside.

There, lying curled up on the sofa in the middle of the study, was the blonde man, eyes shut tightly.

His forehead was drenched in cold sweat, soaking his bangs.

His fists were clenched so tightly it looked as though he might draw blood.

He clearly was not in a normal state.