Angela chapter 29

Kalian wished he could kneel in her place. He would gladly become the boy who took the beating instead.

Confronted with his own contradiction, Kalian found himself at a loss for words.

Fortunately, Angela neither pressed for an answer nor said anything more. She merely watched as he worked to raise the temperature in the room.

As flames surged in the fireplace, Kalian pulled off his soiled gloves and approached the bed where Angela lay.

“It will be warm soon.”

Angela’s green eyes lifted to meet his. Slowly, they blinked—heavy with exhaustion.

Thinking back, when Kalian had visited to bid her farewell before leaving for the imperial palace early that morning, Angela had shown no signs of drowsiness then either.

She had attended a tea party, been slapped by Yvonne, wandered the streets… She must not have slept at all.

Raising a hand, Kalian gently covered her eyes. He could feel the soft flutter of her eyelashes beneath his palm.

Feeling that faint tickling sensation, Kalian spoke in a calm voice.

“I’ll figure something out for Mary. You should get some rest. You haven’t slept since yesterday, have you?”

“There’s no other way. Yvonne told me to get Beatrice’s forgiveness, and that’s the only option I have. She won’t compromise.”

Angela’s voice was steady as she refuted him.

Kalian, watching the way her lips moved beneath his hand, turned his head slightly and responded.

“If it comes to that, I’ll break down Bilton Mansion’s prison myself and take Mary out. So stop thinking about it. You need to rest.”

A soft chuckle slipped from Angela’s lips.

Like a passing breeze, her laughter was light, followed by words laced with amusement.

“I can’t even picture it. You, destroying Bilton Mansion? As if.”

It wasn’t a mocking tone.

Her lips curved into an effortless smile, as if the idea was genuinely absurd to her.

And yet, perhaps Kalian’s words had reassured her, because the fluttering of her eyelashes beneath his palm gradually slowed.

Kalian silently wished for them to stop moving completely.

The faint tickle tempted him to look at her—to stare at her.

But there was only one place his gaze would land if he turned his head.

And if he saw her now… he wasn’t sure he could control himself.

“Kalian…”

“Yes?”

“The prison was cold… It would be nice if it were warm, even if not as much as here…”

“I’ll bring her a blanket. That should help. Don’t worry and sleep now.”

Angela’s voice, which had been trailing off, finally ceased altogether.

Her eyelashes, too, stopped moving completely.

She had fallen asleep.

Kalian waited a little longer before cautiously lifting his hand from her eyes.

Her sleeping face came fully into view.

It was unguarded, free of the usual sharpness—so gentle that Kalian felt as if he were engraving it into his mind.

She was completely defenseless.

Even if he stole a kiss and ran away like a thief, she wouldn’t notice.

It was hard to believe that this same face had once twisted in cruelty, that these hands had suppressed others, that she had wielded violence as if it were her given role.

Perhaps that was why, even if she was now facing the consequences of her actions, he still felt heartache.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to say, You brought this upon yourself.

Fidgeting pointlessly with the neatly spread blanket, Kalian swallowed a sigh and left Angela’s room.

If seeing her kneel in misery pained him this much, there was only one solution.

He would have to become the one taking the punishment instead.

Even knowing that what Yvonne and Beatrice had suffered could not be so easily forgiven, Kalian shamelessly walked toward Yvonne’s room.

Every step he took was heavy with guilt and regret.

But he couldn’t stop.

Angela’s bowed head lingered in his mind.

He never wanted to see that sight again.

And if there was anything he could do to prevent it, he would.

When he finally reached Yvonne’s door, Kalian knocked.

Without even asking who it was, the door opened.

Yvonne’s composed face appeared through the gap, as if she had been expecting him.

“Come in.”

Kalian stepped into the room like a man who had been formally invited.

It seemed Yvonne truly had been waiting for him.

On the table, a tea set had already been arranged—two teacups prepared.

She gestured toward the chair across from her, offering him a seat.

But Kalian did not sit there.

Instead, he lowered himself to one knee beneath the table, bowing his head deeply before her.

A gesture dripping with guilt.

It was impossible for Yvonne not to understand what it meant.

“Don’t do this,” she said.

“You know this is meaningless.”

Kalian slowly closed and reopened his eyes.

Of course, he knew.

What meaning did an apology made on someone else’s behalf hold?

What satisfaction could be found in another person paying the price for someone else’s sins?

But he had found no other solution.

Even knowing it was shameless, this was all he could do.

“Please. Release Mary.”

His voice, though steady, was filled with emotion.

Even though he wasn’t pleading desperately, the weight of his words carried more sincerity than if he had.

But sincerity alone was not enough to persuade the other party.

“I can’t do that.”

As expected, Yvonne refused without hesitation.

She spoke in the same firm yet admonishing tone she had used when scolding Kalian as a child.

“Sit at the table properly.

We can only continue this conversation if you do.”

Left with no choice, Kalian rose and sat across from her.

Only then did he notice just how much Yvonne had changed.

She had always preferred simple, comfortable attire, but now she was dressed in extravagant finery.

It wasn’t that the clothing didn’t suit her—rather, it made it seem as if the roles had reversed.

Angela, who had once been adorned in luxury, had knelt on the floor wearing the indoor dress provided by Florence Mansion.

And Yvonne, once humble, now sat before him draped in splendor.

Even knowing it was improper to scrutinize a lady, Kalian found himself taking in every detail of her appearance.

Then—

“Actually,” Yvonne said, breaking the silence.

At her voice, Kalian hurriedly redirected his gaze to her face.

“I had planned to visit Count Florence soon.

Because I have a favor to ask of you.”

Rather than ask what that favor was, Kalian waited quietly for her to continue.

Yvonne spoke carefully, as if laying out each word with purpose.

“It may be a difficult request, but if necessary, I’ll kneel before you just as you did for me.

Please… grant it.”

“…….”

“Break off your engagement with Lady Angela… and marry our Beatrice.”

For a brief moment, Kalian was utterly confused by what he had just heard.

And when realization dawned, shock flashed across his face before he could suppress it.

Yvonne did not retreat despite the visible turmoil on Kalian’s face.

She pressed on.

“I’ve thought about it long and hard.

Who in Phaelon could truly protect Beatrice?

Who could keep her completely safe from Lady Angela?”

“And the person you came up with is…”

“Yes. Only Count Florence.”

Dominic had neither the time nor the interest to involve himself in his family’s affairs.

The household servants were too preoccupied with their own survival.

So on the days when Angela tormented Beatrice, the only one who had ever intervened was Kalian.

The only person who could tell Angela no and still walk away unscathed was Kalian.

Was that why she had come to this conclusion?

Kalian swallowed hard.

Breaking off his engagement with Angela…

Broken Engagement

It was a word Kalian himself had once spoken.

But back then, it had only been a threat—a means to intimidate.

Not once had he truly considered severing ties with Angela.

That was partly because Angela would never allow it, but also because Kalian had never wanted to.

In the past, and even now, Kalian remained bound to her.

“I…”

As he opened his mouth to give the obvious rejection, Yvonne cut him off and spoke first.

“If you agree to my request, I’ll consider releasing Mary from the prison.”

Even the hastily added words were not enough to sway Kalian.

If freeing Mary meant losing him, how would Angela react?

He couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“I’ll proceed with my wedding to Angela as soon as possible. Once we’re married, we’ll leave Bilton Mansion. Until then—”

“And do you think leaving will be the end of it? Do you really believe that?”

For a brief moment, a chilling sharpness flickered across Yvonne’s otherwise composed face.

Kalian stared at her, surprised by an expression he never expected to see from her.

“Right now, the official heir to House Bilton is Lady Angela.

Do you think that will change just because she marries the Count of Florence?

No, it won’t.

His Grace the Duke is always off at war.

What if something happens to him?

What if, in the end, this entire mansion falls into Lady Angela’s hands?

When that time comes, how am I supposed to protect my child?”

Yvonne’s relentless barrage of questions left Kalian speechless.

Dominic was currently away on a military campaign.

There was no way to dismiss Yvonne’s concerns as groundless.

No knight—including Kalian—could guarantee survival on the battlefield.

“Please.”

It was a desperate plea, one made at the end of the road.

The sharp intensity in Yvonne’s gaze had crumbled, leaving behind a sorrowful weight.

Kalian regretted that the only thing he could say in response was—

“His Grace the Duke will not meet an untimely fate.

You don’t need to worry about that.”

But Yvonne refused to back down.

“Lady Angela is strong enough on her own, even without the Count of Florence.

But Beatrice isn’t.

Every day, I see that tear-streaked face…”

She pulled from the past, desperately trying to convince him.

“I believe in Count Florence…

I believe in Kalian.

For the sake of the time we spent together, please reconsider.

I’ll wait.”

There was only one thing left for Kalian to say.

“I’m sorry.”

It was an apology.

And at the same time, a refusal.

—

When she opened her eyes, everything was black.

Like the gates of hell, darkness swallowed her.

Angela already knew what this meant.

That cursed dream again.

Soon, a burst of light would appear from somewhere.

But contrary to her expectations, even after waiting for a long time in the dark, no light emerged.

Sensing something was off, Angela began to glance around.

Then, finally—it happened.

A single glimmer of light surfaced, pushing aside the surrounding darkness.

Slowly, it grew in size.

It was definitely the same light as before.

But something was wrong.

Gone was the overwhelming brilliance that once threatened to blind her.

Now, it flickered, as if it might go out at any moment.

Come to think of it…

Angela recalled how the light, which used to split into two and merge back together in a chaotic frenzy, had appeared alone the last time.

Reaching toward it, she stretched out her hand.

Unlike before, there was no aggression in her movement—no intent to grab it by the throat.

She simply extended her fingers cautiously.

And yet, the light touched her hand with shocking ease.

There was no sensation, yet Angela instinctively recoiled in surprise.

As she pulled her hand back, the light spoke.

“Angela.”

A feeble voice.

But the moment she heard it, Angela’s mind felt as if it was being torn apart.

Gripping her head in pain, she stumbled backward.

“Angela.”

The light followed her at a slow pace, standing before her once more.

“Angela.”

If the light had a mouth, she would have silenced it herself.

Then, abruptly, it shot forward—embedding itself deep into her chest.

The sensation was like a shard of glass piercing her heart.

Her shoulders hunched as she curled inward, clutching at her chest as if trying to tear something out.

“I thought I could make at least one flower bloom.

What do I do now?

Angela, it’s winter again.

Spring isn’t coming.

What do I do? What do I do?

Angela.”

She would have preferred if it had continued cursing her, prowling around in anger.

Instead, the light, now nestled inside her heart, poured out anxious murmurs.

It was unbearable.

For the first time, Angela felt as though she might cry as well.

Disgusted by the feeling, she pounded at her chest with her fists, demanding the light get out of her.

Thud. Thud.

She struck herself over and over, as if trying to break something.

And then—she woke up.

This time, at least, she hadn’t slept for days on end.

But at the center of her chest, there was a dark bruise, as if a thorned vine had taken root there.

Even after confirming its presence, Angela continued to press against her chest.

It still felt like that fading light was inside her heart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───