Nineteen years ago.
In the dark corridors of the Bilton estate, a young Angela walked alone.
She was on her way to her mother Grace’s room.
Her soft, downy cheeks carried an expression far too gloomy for a child her age.
Even the moonlight streaming through the windows could not brighten her face—it was dark, shadowed.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away with her small hands.
A deep fear settled in her heart.
It was not the kind of fear a child should feel when summoned by their mother.
But for Angela, Grace was just that—terrifying.
Horrifying.
Going to her mother’s room felt more frightening than stepping to the very edge of hell itself.
She already knew what awaited her beyond that door.
She had experienced it too many times before.
“Angela, come here.”
“…”
“Hurry.”
Grace would call her with a gentle smile, like any ordinary mother.
And when Angela hesitantly stepped forward—
“Why are you so sluggish?”
The warmth would vanish instantly.
Her expression would turn sharp.
“Because of you, I can barely step out of this room. You should be coming to me every day to beg for forgiveness, shouldn’t you?”
“I-I’m sorry…”
“Hah. A wretched thing like you couldn’t even endure ten months in the womb and tore your own mother open to be born. You should never have been born at all.”
With those cruel words, Grace would push Angela’s small head with sharp, deliberate force.
The little girl would stumble back, falling helplessly to the floor.
Curled up, shielding her head with trembling hands, Angela braced herself for more.
Only then, after watching her cower, would Grace finally laugh.
A laugh of genuine amusement.
As these memories surfaced, Angela’s steps grew heavier.
It was as if she could already hear her mother’s mocking laughter ringing in her ears.
She wanted to disappear.
To slip away to a place where Grace could never find her.
And just as that desperate thought crossed her mind—
Click, click, click.
The hurried sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Before Angela could react, she was suddenly lifted into the air.
Someone had picked her up.
But she didn’t need to see their face to know who it was.
Warm arms wrapped around her tightly.
“Yvonne…”
The name of the woman who had been by her side since the day she was born slipped from her lips.
But Yvonne did not respond.
Her expression was rigid as she strode forward with long, determined steps.
“Yvonne, this isn’t the right way.”
Angela murmured hesitantly.
They were moving in the opposite direction.
“I have to go to Mother. She called for me.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was loud enough to hear.
Yet, Yvonne acted as if she had not heard a word.
Her grip on Angela only tightened.
“I will speak to Madam myself.”
It was only when they reached Angela’s room that Yvonne finally broke her silence.
“Don’t worry about anything, my lady. Just get some sleep. It’s far too late for a child to be awake.”
She laid Angela down on the bed, tucking the blankets around her gently.
Her voice softened.
“Shall I sing you a lullaby?”
Angela hesitated, lips slightly parted.
But instead of answering, she stretched out her arms toward Yvonne.
For a moment, Yvonne simply stared at her.
Then, without hesitation, she leaned down and hugged Angela as tightly as she could.
That night, Angela pretended to sleep.
She waited until Yvonne left her bedside, listening for the sound of the door closing.
Then, she slowly climbed out of bed.
With small, unsteady steps, she made her way toward Grace’s room.
Yvonne had said she would talk to Grace.
But Angela knew what that meant.
If she did nothing, Yvonne would take the punishment meant for her.
And no matter how terrifying Grace was, Angela could not let that happen.
She would rather take the pain herself.
That thought kept her moving—until she reached Grace’s door.
But before she could step inside…
Yvonne emerged.
Her cheek was swollen, flushed an angry red.
And from her forehead, bright red blood trickled down.
Standing before the massive, suffocating doors, Yvonne wiped at her bleeding forehead.
Then, she noticed Angela.
Her face twisted in shock, as if she had just been caught in a lie.
Her expression soon crumbled—her eyes filled with tears.
Because she realized why Angela was here.
Angela should have been asleep.
She should have been safe in bed.
But instead, she had come to this place.
Angela bit her lip.
Then, without hesitation, she ran forward and threw herself into Yvonne’s arms.
She pressed her face close and whispered, in the smallest voice possible—
“I wish you were my mother, Yvonne.”
Yvonne did not respond. She only pressed a gentle kiss to Angela’s soft cheek.
That alone made Angela happier than any words ever could.
So much so that she cried as she smiled. But time passed.
And then—Beatrice was born. Everything changed.
Angela was forced to confront the truth over and over again.
Yvonne was not her mother. Yvonne was Beatrice’s mother.
Every day, she had to see it. The distant gaze.
The hands that no longer reached for her. The arms that no longer held her.
Angela mourned what she had lost so deeply that she was left with scars—scars that would never fade.
And now— Now, Yvonne was to became her mother.
But in the worst way possible. She was becoming a mother to protect Beatrice.
Angela slapped her own cheek, hard.
Was she dreaming again?
Because reality… Reality was too absurd to believe.
****
Regardless of Angela’s feelings, the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Bilton proceeded swiftly, as if it had been planned all along.
After entering the Imperial Palace with Yvonne to receive the emperor’s blessing, Dominic returned and threw a grand banquet—perhaps to flaunt his joy to the entire world.
The celebration would last for three days. Ha. How absurd.
Dressed in a deep green gown that complemented her emerald eyes, Angela arrived at the banquet hall noticeably late.
She scoffed at the sight before her.
The extravagant decorations, illuminated under the grand chandeliers, seemed far too excessive for the wedding of a mere nanny.
The silver candelabras, meticulously arranged at regular intervals on every table, gleamed as if they were brand new.
The angelic ice sculptures, displayed throughout the hall, were a luxury even most nobles wouldn’t dare attempt—especially in a region where winter was scarce.
And the gifts for the guests?
Embroidered handkerchiefs, stitched with golden thread, wrapped around small silver bars engraved with words celebrating Dominic and Yvonne’s marriage.
The aging butler must have suffered many sleepless nights over this.
The family’s budget had surely been planned in advance, yet this unexpected event had triggered a sudden and massive expense.
Not that any of this mattered to Angela.
Tonight, the state of the family’s finances was the least of her concerns.
With a sharp snap, she folded the fan in her hand and turned her gaze toward the long line stretching across the center of the banquet hall.
It was the queue of guests waiting to present gifts to the newlyweds.
Angela followed the length of the line with her eyes until they settled on the highest seats in the hall—where the Duke and his new wife sat.
Dominic Bilton and Yvonne, now officially bearing the Bilton name, sat side by side in their elaborate ceremonial attire.
Seats had also been arranged for Angela and Beatrice.
Beatrice, dressed in a soft pink gown befitting her youthful age, had already taken her place.
Angela’s chair was the only one left empty.
And yet, despite her absence, they looked like a perfectly complete family.
Dominic had spent most of his life on the battlefield, and his expressions had always been limited.
The father Angela knew wore a stern face, with deep-set wrinkles between his brows—a man who rarely smiled.
But now… Now, he was smiling.
And not just any smile—a bright, radiant smile that made Angela marvel at the fact that he was even capable of such an expression.
He looked unfamiliar, like a stranger she had encountered on the street.
Yvonne and Beatrice were no different.
Though they seemed slightly uneasy in this unfamiliar situation, their lips still carried soft, unwavering smiles.
They were nothing like the women who had once cowered before Angela.
Nowhere in that scene was Angela’s absence felt.
No—this happiness was only possible because she was missing.
Without Angela, they were complete.
Without Angela, they were truly happy.
“Well, I can’t have that.”
She murmured under her breath before stepping forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she crossed the banquet hall.
Instantly, the gazes that had been focused on the main table shifted to her.
“Look over there! Lady Bilton has arrived.”
“Oh my, so she has.”
“She was nowhere to be seen earlier. I thought she might have fallen ill from the sheer disgust of it all. But here she is, at last.”
As Angela moved, hushed murmurs began to spread among the guests.
Their individual voices were not particularly loud, but when combined, they created a low, buzzing hum that filled the hall.
“Oh, please. As if she would be bedridden over something like this. Who was it that approved Beatrice’s legitimacy in the first place?”
“That’s not the same. Her nanny has become her superior now.”
“I was under the impression that the recognition of Beatrice as the second daughter came with the condition that Yvonne wouldn’t be allowed to marry Dominic. But I suppose not.”
“Exactly. What on earth is going on?”
“Well, we’ve simply gained another master to serve.”
“Shh! She’ll hear you.”
The whispers gradually died down only after Angela had reached her seat and sat down.
Her cold, piercing gaze swept across the banquet hall, making it clear that she had heard every word.
It was as if she were silently choosing whose mouth she would slit open first.
Unsettled by the sharpness in her expression, the guests quickly averted their eyes, clearing their throats awkwardly.
Meanwhile, the festive smiles that had adorned the faces of the newlyweds began to falter.
Beatrice, whose anxiety had grown with every step Angela took closer, turned deathly pale the moment Angela sat down—like a corpse that had been dead for days.
The sight of her trembling hands, desperately trying to remain hidden within her sleeves, amused Angela.
She let out a small scoff.
At the same time, Yvonne’s face darkened noticeably. And Dominic, having observed this, erased all emotion from his own.
But that was all.
Angela turned to Dominic, expecting a harsh remark for her tardiness. Yet, he said nothing.
The only thing she could see was the sharp line of his profile, his high-bridged nose accentuating his cold demeanor.
His amber eyes, which bore no resemblance to her own, remained fixed on the guest before him.
Not once did he look at her.
Angela turned back to face forward. Then, as if nothing was amiss, she smiled and spoke.
“I’m a little late.”
Silence.
“It wouldn’t be proper to come empty-handed on such an occasion, would it?”
Silence.
“I was preparing a gift for Yvonne and lost track of time—”
“You mean Mother.”
It was only when she spoke Yvonne’s name that Dominic finally responded, his tone clipped.
Angela’s lips froze for a fraction of a second.
Then, she smiled even wider.
“Yes, of course. Mother.”
Silence.
“You must be overjoyed, Mother. Gaining a daughter so grown, without ever having to go through childbirth.”
Her voice was bright, but the words were pure mockery.
Dominic’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Instead, he turned away, refocusing on the guest before him—a count from the western region, presenting a rare spice from his lands.
The next guest followed in the same manner.
Then another.
Each one eagerly stepped forward, offering congratulations, proudly displaying their gifts, and rambling about their significance.
It was a dull, repetitive ceremony.
Angela watched them as one might observe weeds growing by the roadside—utterly indifferent.
Some guests presented gifts to both Angela and Beatrice.
Beatrice, despite nervously glancing at Angela, accepted them with polite gratitude, unable to hide her delight.
Angela, on the other hand, merely flicked her gaze at them in the barest acknowledgment.
She didn’t care who they were or what they offered.
But then—
For the first time that evening, her emerald eyes flickered with interest.
It was his turn. Kalian Florence.
The man she had once promised to share a future with.
The only thing in this world that was still hers.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
