A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 132

Ilex was surely in the office. He must have taken her letter there.

Maybe he was even laughing with his aides, passing her letter around. Maybe he was boasting about how much she liked him.

If she had thought more rationally, she would have known he would never do that, that he would never mock or ridicule her feelings.

But Tilia, entirely consumed by her shame, couldn’t escape the thought that he was laughing at her.

Tilia Ambrose had no immunity to such shame. Like a newborn, she was helpless before the feeling of having her heart stripped bare, of being exposed for loving someone.

She had to get it back. Tilia muttered that single thought under her breath as she hurried along.

In truth, what she wanted to reclaim might not have been the letter itself, but her pride. The lowest line of defense in her heart, which had crumbled like a summer snowman the moment she admitted she liked him.

I’ll get it back.

With her face flushed, Tilia shoved her feet into her slippers and moved briskly.

But just before she could open the bedroom door to head downstairs to his office,

Tilia abruptly stopped and glanced back.

Her wavering green eyes fell on the door connected to the dressing room. The door that led to the room where she had handed him the letter.

He won’t be there. It’s been too long.

Shaking her head, she thought about how she had dawdled in the room and in the bathtub until the water went cold.

But even knowing that, her feet couldn’t completely abandon the lingering hope. She couldn’t bring herself to leave.

No, he won’t be there. Even as she murmured that, Tilia hesitated, then slowly walked toward the dressing room.

I know he won’t be there, but… just in case. Checking now would be less trouble than coming back again.

Making excuses to herself, Tilia opened the door to the dressing room.

What emerged first was a short hallway. Walking down the corridor that also connected to the reception room, she unconsciously swallowed.

It didn’t take many steps to reach the door. Tilia was about to fling the dressing room door open but, struck by a strange premonition, she instead loosened her grip on the knob.

Carefully, cautiously, the door creaked open. Bending low, Tilia peered through the half-hand-span crack.

The room, full of draping dresses and countless jewels, was not brightly lit. Only the small lamp she had turned on earlier when bringing Ilex here provided some artificial light.

And there, melted into the shadows under that pale light, was a man.

Holding her breath as if spying on a bathing goddess, Tilia watched his profile.

The man, standing with his back to the window, was in the same position he had been in when she left.

He was so still that Tilia momentarily wondered if he was not a man but a statue made in his likeness.

But watching closely, she confirmed he was indeed human.

No material like iron or clay could replicate that radiant gaze.

His eyes were fixed on the letter in his hand. On the tall storage cabinet beside him, there were other letters neatly laid out, as if he had already read them.

Tilia, as if brushing him with her hand, traced his face with her gaze, then bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

A different kind of shame shook her. Not the shame that had engulfed her earlier.

Regret welled up. She should have just given it to him sooner. She shouldn’t have clung to her pride.

If only she had known how happy it would make him. If only she had known that a single letter would make him look as if he had gained the entire world.

She would have thrown herself into his arms the moment she saw him.

It was a night when the moon and stars were especially bright.

Thus, Tilia could clearly see the emotions flooding the man in her regret.

His eyes, reading the letters slowly, were filled with rapture, immersed in an indescribable sense of fulfillment.

She couldn’t help but realize it.

In a senseless battle over pride, she had almost stolen that expression from him.

If she placed her own shame on one side of the scales and the ecstasy he was feeling on the other, hers would surely float up weightlessly. The density of their feelings was far too different.

After gazing at him for a long time, biting her lip, Tilia withdrew as quietly as she had opened the door.

Right now, it was a time meant only for him and the letters. She had no right to interfere.

Closing the door, Tilia walked back to her bedroom, quieting her footsteps.

Throwing herself into the soft covers, she pressed her pounding heart against the fluffy bed.

It felt like not just the bed, but the entire room, was thumping along with her racing heartbeat.

It seemed like the stars and moon in the night sky, even the sun still hidden away, the whole world, was beating in rhythm with her.

Tilia felt the boundary she had drawn within her heart grow thinner, and slowly, she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

When she felt the warmth reaching out to her back and opened her eyes, the early dawn light was already filling the room.

With sleep-heavy eyes, Tilia groped for the man’s arms tightly holding her.

“Go back to sleep.”

The words were spoken clearly, like someone who hadn’t slept at all through the night. Only then did Tilia realize, through the scent of the wind on him, that Ilex must have only just lain down beside her.

“It’s still early. Sleep more.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was immediately hushed. Pulled closer into his embrace, Tilia forgot what she was about to say and was swept back into sleep.

With a soft laugh, a gentle voice reached her ear.

But already immersed in a sweet dream filled with flowers and butterflies, Tilia only smiled, thinking his whispered affection part of her dream.

***

“Then, I hope you have an enjoyable tea time.”

A man with a large scar across his cheek bowed with a politeness ill-suited to his grim face and withdrew.

After the butler of the Davenport household—someone she had never hired—left, Seraphine Davenport sat in silence, breathing in the bitter scent of the tea.

But the very moment a faint steam rose from the luxurious tableware—

“That damned brat…!”

Seraphine Davenport, losing all composure, swept the tea set off the table.

Clang—! The foreign china shattered noisily. Her fine hand, burned from touching the hot teapot, was already swelling red.

“How dare you, how dare you…!”

But Seraphine paid no mind to the glass shards covering the floor or the warning signals from her scalded hand.

Her entire focus was consumed by her rage. Rage directed at her son, who dared to challenge her authority.

“I should have killed you as a child. No, I should never have given birth to you.”

Muttering with a face twisted by madness, Seraphine’s pale gray-blue eyes slowly turned to one side of the room.

Gritting her teeth so hard it hurt, she straightened her back and walked toward it.

Despite her soaked dress hem, her stride remained unnervingly elegant.

At the window where she arrived, clear sunlight was streaming in.

Seraphine Davenport’s haughty eyes meticulously scanned the luxurious window frame. Bathed in the morning sun, it was immaculately clean, without a single stain.

But Seraphine remembered clearly. What had been there last night. What color had stained that windowsill.

My, they cleaned the blood so thoroughly. Must have hired an excellent cleaner.

Even as her body trembled with rage, Seraphine forced a smile out of sheer spite.

Three months ago, her return to Arkansis had a clear reason.

The time had come. Time to punish those who had dared to disturb her peaceful life.

Disgusting thing. She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking of the face of the sin she had birthed herself.

Ilex Davenport was merely a spare part.

Though she already had an heir, there was no guarantee he would grow up well. If anything went wrong, she needed a replacement ready.

Unlike her firstborn, whom she had raised meticulously to be the heir, the second was left half-neglected for that purpose.

Even calling it “neglect” was laughable. She had given him everything she could.

The capital was crawling with vermin who couldn’t even beg a proper meal. Yet she had raised him in abundance, with a fine appearance to match. What greater grace could she have bestowed?

Ilex Davenport should have recognized his place and devoted himself to the role given to him. As a cog in the wheel to keep the world in order.

And yet, he dared—he dared to defy her world.

The same color as her son’s eyes flashed coldly with murderous intent.