To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 026

Ulrich and Vasily had been close since long ago, their families having maintained ties for generations.

Even setting that aside, there was no way Ulrich could truly understand Vasily’s twisted hatred toward Sasha. He probably wouldn’t believe she was subjected to such examinations on mere suspicion or misunderstanding alone. He might even think there had been a justifiable reason for her being beaten the last time.

‘Right, that’s true, he saw the wound on my leg the first day too…’

“Ulrich, I swear, I’ve never done anything like that. I can swear on it. Not even once—something like that, I’ve never even dreamed of it—”

“I understand.”

Ulrich cut Sasha off as her desperate words tumbled out. His tone was flat and emotionless.

With his gaze lowered at an angle, lost in thought, Ulrich spun the pen between his fingers. His calm, composed expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking.

In the thick, unreadable silence, Sasha nervously fidgeted with her hands resting on her knees.

The excitement she’d felt before had long since vanished, and now she wanted to laugh at herself for having gotten so carried away without thinking.

‘Why am I always like this?’

She should’ve told him sooner. She should’ve said something back when Ulrich first proposed marriage.

No matter if it was just a contract, who would want to take a woman with such suspicions hanging over her as their wife?

Of course, Sasha was innocent. But even the mere fact that the former Director of the NSS had accused her was more than enough to draw suspicion.

Why hadn’t she thought of that until now?

At the very least, when Lef mentioned the clinic earlier, she should’ve remembered—but instead, she’d only cowered in fear like a fool. The shame of that gnawed at her.

She needed to apologize, to say that they should forget about the marriage contract—but no words came out.

It wasn’t just because she didn’t want to lose the contract. More than that…

‘I have to say it.’

“Ulrich, I… I’m really sorry for not telling you earlier. It’s fine to call off the marriage, but at least believe me when I say I didn’t—”

Ulrich stared intently at Sasha, who was tearfully rambling nonsense. The more he looked at her, the more he thought she was truly a woman of many moods.

One moment she was cowering like a frightened child, the next her eyes were sparkling like she was dazed out of her mind, and now she looked like a heartbroken woman on the verge of tears—it was almost comical. But what had she just blurted out?

‘I thought I was treating her pretty well.’

Ulrich could confidently say that he had been treating Sasha quite well up to now.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he had never invested this much effort into anyone before.

So why was she suddenly spouting nonsense like that? He couldn’t understand.

What kind of thought process had led to those words?

Suppressing his confusion, Ulrich spoke in a lowered voice.

“Shura. Are you looking to be scolded?”

At the sound of the pen being placed down with a sharp clack, Ulrich’s low voice followed, making Sasha flinch and draw in her shoulders. Her small face stiffened, paling visibly.

“Stop picking at your hands and come here.”

Ulrich’s short command was delivered with perfect composure, his expression completely unshaken.

Even so, Sasha could clearly tell she had angered him.

As she stood up hesitantly and made her way toward him, her knees trembled nervously with soft clicks.

Lighting a cigarette, Ulrich watched her with an unreadable gaze.

His half-lidded blue eyes slowly scanned her tearful face, her tightly clenched hands, and her anxiously trembling legs.

“Guess the promise you made with me didn’t mean much to you, Shura.”

His voice was calm, but Sasha violently shook her head as if stung.

“No, that’s not—”

“Then why do you keep pissing me off…?”

Sasha’s mouth hung open in shock.

It wasn’t even a real curse, just a common phrase—but hearing it from Ulrich’s lips, it sounded unfamiliar, almost like something harsh and crude.

Perhaps it was because she couldn’t picture someone like Ulrich being angry. Even now, he looked nothing like someone who was “pissed off.”

“I’m sorry, it’s my faul—”

“Shura.”

Ulrich interrupted Sasha before she could finish her automatic apology.

“I don’t like it when people beg for forgiveness without even knowing what they did wrong. Trying to slip away like that every time—it’s not a good look.”

His voice didn’t rise, his face didn’t scowl.

He didn’t glare with sharp eyes like Vasily, nor sneer with biting contempt.

If anything, he seemed patient and calm, almost tolerant.

And yet, Sasha felt like a trap had closed tightly around her, leaving her breathless.

She wanted to say she hadn’t meant to make him out as the bad guy, that she wasn’t trying to escape the situation that way—but deep down, she realized Ulrich was right.

‘If I were Ulrich, I’d be offended too.’

Even if she’d gotten into the habit of begging for forgiveness without thinking, that was her problem—not his.

Above all, Ulrich was nothing like Vasily. Comparing the two was practically an insult—he was such a gracious and kind person.

And yet, Sasha, because of her own shame, hadn’t been able to muster the courage to say what truly mattered. In the end, she had let things spiral to this point.

What did that shame, that pride even matter now? It all seemed so petty. She felt utterly small and guilty toward Ulrich.

“Ulri—”

Just as she tried to open her mouth to properly explain herself—

“Didn’t I tell you to stop picking at your hands?”

His blue eyes were like shards of ice.

Sasha, startled, dropped her hands instantly, not realizing she had been picking at them again. The manicured nails now looked pitiful, completely pointless.

‘How pathetic.’

Seeing her so shriveled up made Ulrich lose interest entirely.

Instead of mocking her, he let out a sigh with a puff of smoke.

For someone who had dared to spout such impudent nonsense, this was the attitude she gave him? Was she the type who brought punishment upon herself?

“It’s best you head back for today. I’ll get in touch with Kiril myself. We can arrange another meeting later.”

Sasha’s face turned deathly pale.

She looked utterly pitiful, but Ulrich didn’t so much as glance her way as he pressed the call bell on the side of his desk.

“My aide will take you to where your car is.”

“U-Ulrich—”

“I’m sorry, Shura. I have a bit of a headache.”

With his annoyance plain on his face, Sasha hesitated, her lips trembling—then she lowered her head completely.

‘I ruined everything.’

The thought that she had once again ruined everything echoed through her mind.

Just like always.

* * *

“You’ve lost weight again. I told you it’d be a problem if your size drops any further, didn’t I?”

Madam Sonya, in the middle of fitting Sasha’s dress, scolded her gently.

“Sure, everyone wants to slim down before their wedding, but I’ve told you repeatedly—you need to gain some weight. You don’t want to stand at the altar looking gaunt and sickly, do you?”

Sasha weakly shook her head.

For Ulrich’s sake alone, she couldn’t show up at the ceremony looking like a shadow of herself.

But her body wasn’t following her will.

Ever since the day their date was canceled, she hadn’t been able to eat properly for days.

It was almost laughable.

Not long ago, she’d barely been able to scrape together enough food to keep from starving. And now, when she had lavish meals placed before her every day, she’d lost her appetite simply because she was troubled.

Staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror, Sasha thought to herself:

‘Maybe people are right about me.’

A spoiled brat who just happened to be born a princess, thinking luxury was her birthright.

The kind of trash who, even when treated kindly, neither knows gratitude nor remorse—someone who deserves to suffer her entire life.

Maybe she really was that kind of person.

How else could she explain being like this?