Chapter 17
“Please visit us again, Count Meitner.”
Michael left the building, accompanied by the administrator’s farewell.
He climbed into the backseat of the car, opened by his attendant, and checked his watch.
The clock hands had long passed midnight.
“Ten hours.”
Michael calculated the time left until the wedding. Leaning his head against the seat, he closed his eyes. The faint vibrations of the car, now speeding along, traveled from his feet throughout his body.
At that moment, a memory of Adeline, who had once shared this car with him, surfaced. Her profile, partly shadowed at the royal theater, lingered in his mind like an afterimage.
He didn’t harbor any particular excitement or emotion about marriage. Though his parents’ union had begun with passion, it ended in mutual destruction, a path he had no desire to follow.
His marriage to Adeline was a straightforward transaction—a clear exchange of giving and receiving. Their relationship could be summed up in that one line.
Everything, including their prenuptial agreement, would be detailed in the divorce papers.
There was no room for unexpected changes. They planned to maintain separate bedrooms during their short-lived marriage, so even the idea of children was irrelevant.
“Marrying Greg Meitner was my biggest mistake. I had no idea it would ruin me. You shouldn’t have been born, or at least you shouldn’t have taken after him!”
“You look more like your father every day, that detestable man.”
“You know, right? Lady Retylda’s cousin, Greg’s latest affair partner.
He does whatever he pleases and still acts shamelessly. I’m sure you’ll turn out the same, with that Meitner blood running through you.”
The echoes of his mother’s relentless insults reverberated in his mind. Opening his eyes dispelled the faint ringing in his ears.
Michael’s eyes, tinged with darkness, reflected a cold and desolate light.
His memories of his mother, who never once smiled warmly at him, were bitter to the end.
The summer when he was twelve had been marked by an early heatwave and long rains.
Countess Meitner had left for a nearby summer house as soon as the heat began.
Her sudden trips for rest were not unusual, given her long-standing struggles with nervous exhaustion and depression.
Neither the household staff nor her husband, the Count, thought much of it.
Three weeks after she left, Michael unexpectedly received a call from his mother.
“Michael, your summer vacation starts soon, doesn’t it? Why don’t you visit the summer house this weekend?”
“The summer house?”
“Yes, it’s cool here. The breeze from the forest is even chilly at night. Come and rest for a bit.”
Unlike usual, her voice was calm and gentle, even affectionate. That uncharacteristic warmth made Michael agree, despite his reservations.
The day after the closing ceremony, he headed to the summer house.
“Welcome, young master.”
“Where is my mother?”
“Oh, madam is napping right now. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived as soon as she wakes up.”
Before he could remove his hat, Michael noticed an unfamiliar face among the staff. A long-haired man caught his gaze, and a maid quickly explained.
“Oh, he’s a painter. The madam commissioned him to paint the scenery and a portrait.”
“A painter?”
“Yes, an artist the madam is sponsoring. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, so don’t worry about him. Shall I show you to your room?”
Following the maid, Michael dismissed any doubts. However, the painter, whose gaze met his, seemed to have something to say. Yet, when their eyes locked, the man simply bowed.
Michael brushed past him, unaware of any hidden exchanges between the maid and the painter.
At twelve, he was too young to decipher such subtleties.
But a vague sense of unease gripped him as soon as he entered the house.
That unsettling feeling solidified the next morning.
Awakened before dawn, restless in an unfamiliar bed, Michael stepped out of his room. Guided by an inexplicable force, he found himself at his mother’s slightly ajar bedroom door.
A chill ran down his spine.
“Mother, it’s me,” he called hesitantly.
He didn’t expect a warm reply, but what he found inside was beyond his imagination.
His mother lay lifeless, and beside her was the same painter from before.
The scene fragmented in his mind like shattered glass.
Michael knelt by his mother’s cold body, only then noticing the painter, also lifeless, beside her.
The staff arrived in tears, and chaos erupted.
Amid the confusion, a maid handed Michael a sealed envelope.
It was a suicide note addressed to Greg Meitner. There wasn’t a single word for her son.
Years later, Michael still wondered why his mother had called him there, speaking so gently, only to leave him with such a memory. But there was no one left to answer.
Fifteen years had passed since the infamous death of Countess Meitner. His father had also passed under mysterious circumstances.
A voice pulled him from his memories.
“We’ll arrive shortly, sir.”
Looking out, Michael saw the brightly lit mansion. As the car slowed, he gazed at it in silence.
Though the house held painful memories, he never demolished it. Destroying the building wouldn’t erase the past.
Stepping out of the car, Michael smiled faintly.
“You’ve returned, sir. It’s late; you must be tired. Please come in.”
Ralph, his loyal butler, welcomed him with concern. Michael simply thanked him for his hard work preparing for the wedding.
Climbing the stairs to his room, Michael checked his watch—2:15 AM. Tomorrow will be busy. For now, he just wanted a few hours of sleep.
