A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 136

Tilia involuntarily flinched and tightened her grip on her hands resting on her knees.

Even without turning her head, she could sense it. This scent filling her nose. This body scent that would surely be lingering on her bed as well.

“Let’s bathe together when we get home.”

It was the unmistakable scent of Ilex Davenport.

The man’s soft hair brushed against her neck, tickling her skin. The sweet smell of wine on his breath mingled with the air she inhaled.

Tilia, allowing him to rub his head against her neck like a beast trying to mark her with its scent, turned to gaze briefly out the window.

Darkness swept past her vision. Watching it silently, Tilia thought to herself that she wanted to stop thinking. That she didn’t want to doubt him. That she just wanted to cover everything up and believe in him.

“…Ilex.”

But she couldn’t. She knew all too well how such relationships would end. She knew the inevitable conclusion of blind affection that buried mistrust.

“Why didn’t you tell me… that the Dowager Duchess was in Arkansis?”

At Tilia’s low words, the solid arm that had been snaking around her waist like a serpent froze in place.

“How long has she been here? You could have at least mentioned it to me.”

Still in the position of trying to embrace her, Ilex lowered his gaze to look at Tilia.

Their eyes met in the dim light. Tilia stared into his pale blue-gray eyes, as if trying to read his heart completely.

The man, who also did not avert his gaze, opened his mouth a little slowly.

“I don’t remember exactly, but she came about three months ago.”

“…That’s almost the same time I came to Arkansis.”

“Probably a bit later than you. And the reason I didn’t bother mentioning my mother’s whereabouts was…”

The arm that had paused moved again. Tightening his hold around her waist, he pressed even closer as he continued, “Because she’s someone you don’t need to worry about.”

“…Someone I don’t need to worry about?”

“Yeah. My mother and I have had no interest in each other since long ago.”

Saying that, Ilex finally lowered his gaze slightly. Tilia, looking down at his neat eyelashes, held back her words.

“I don’t know what my mother thinks, what kind of person she is. I don’t particularly want to know.”

“……”

“That’s why I didn’t feel the need to tell you. She’s literally someone far removed.”

You know. Not all families are worth being close to.

Still holding her tightly, Ilex added those words.

Tilia realized a little late the meaning embedded in his “You know.”

He was seeking empathy. He was wishing for understanding. From her—someone who, like him, had family not worth holding dear.

Yet even as she sensed this, Tilia hesitated, unable to readily say she understood. Some unresolved feeling within her kept her from offering that empathy.

Another chill question crept over her heart.

Had she ever spoken directly to Ilex about her family?

As if sensing her hesitation, the hand around her waist grew more desperate.

Feeling him drawing her closer as if determined not to leave any gap, Tilia finally spoke after a long silence.

“…You’re right.”

Her soft, soothing voice brushed right against Ilex’s ear.

“Some families… are better kept at a distance.”

Finally hearing the answer he had wanted, the man’s binding hold gradually loosened. Yet Tilia, still not fully free, could hear the beating of his heart while trapped in his arms.

“…As long as I have you, Tilia.”

Ilex whispered as he pressed a burning kiss to Tilia’s forehead.

But even amid the shower of kisses, both of them, feeling the rapid pounding of each other’s hearts, knew the truth.

Though their bodies were pressed close, the air between them was filled not with security but with unease.

They kept silent only to comfort each other, while mistrust slowly opened its black eyes.

***

Though her workplace had changed, the duties of a third-grade secretary working at the Foreign Affairs Consulate remained identically monotonous.

Filling out documents stamped with the name of Arkansis instead of Ontaroa, compiling related information and submitting it to the Foreign Affairs Information Office, sorting out citizen complaints and reporting them—that was how Tilia’s mornings passed.

After eating lunch while chatting about books with Susan Boyd, the afternoon would be upon her. With a weary face, she would settle back at her desk, signaling the start of the afternoon shift.

It was around the drowsy hour of 3 p.m. that a stone was thrown into the stagnant waters of her routine.

“Secretary Ambrose, there’s a courier here for you?”

At the voice of her colleague calling her, Tilia lifted her head, which she had kept bowed. Her widened eyes caught sight of a young man in shabby clothes standing at the office door.

What would a courier want with me?

With a puzzled look, she stepped outside, and the courier, his hat pulled low, handed her a letter.

“This is from Saint Mary’s Hospital.”

The man said no more and disappeared down the stairs. Watching his nondescript figure for a moment, Tilia turned her gaze to the letter in her hands.

Saint Mary’s Hospital—the place where her father lay half-dead.

Why would they contact me…

An ominous feeling crept over her. Hastily, she unfolded the soft letter paper.

The message, written in rough handwriting on clean paper, was brief: Patient Bradley Ambrose, Baron, was in critical condition, and the guardian was urgently requested to visit the hospital.

Tilia stared blankly at the letter, and a faint furrow appeared between her brows. But it was not because her father, whom she had secretly wished dead, was critically ill. Nor was it because of the worries about the many things she would have to handle after his death.

There’s no way Saint Mary’s Hospital would send me something like this.

Tilia narrowed her eyes with suspicion. It simply didn’t make sense.

She was the type to analyze a situation rationally before reacting emotionally. According to that habit, this was an utterly inexplicable situation.

First of all, Saint Mary’s Hospital would not bother to send a courier to inform her of such news. She had visited before; they ran the place using the cheapest labor possible.

Would a hospital like that spend money on this kind of service? And not even to her home, but to her workplace?

And that wasn’t the only strange part. Tilia slowly ran her fingertips over the letter.

With her experience handling countless papers at the Foreign Affairs Office, she could swear by it—this was not the kind of paper that a provincial hospital would use to dispatch a courier.

Despite the rough handwriting, they couldn’t disguise the quality of the paper. This was clearly expensive stationery, the kind used only in the drawing rooms of high-ranking nobles.

Having reached her conclusion, Tilia calmly raised her gaze toward the staircase where the courier had vanished.

Despite having just parted, she found she couldn’t recall the man’s appearance clearly. It was as if he had deliberately dressed in a way that left no impression.

Who could it be? Who would set such a trap for her?

For a moment, a certain name flitted through her mind, but she did not utter it aloud. She simply pressed her lips together tightly and returned quietly to her seat.

“Where was the courier from?”

Susan Boyd, who had come to hand her some documents, asked, glancing at Tilia’s slightly pale face.

“If it’s something urgent, we can cancel the plan to go to the Royal Library today!”

Touched by Susan’s concern, Tilia managed a casual smile.

“It was just a minor message from a courier. No need to worry. We’ll still go to the library as planned.”

At Tilia’s words, Susan put down the documents and smiled brightly.

Susan, who had once worked as a teaching assistant at the administration office of Arkansis Royal Academy, enjoyed having academic conversations with Tilia. And Tilia, having no one else to share such talks with, was grateful for her.

“Then today, we’ll read books and have discussions again, right?”

Hearing Susan’s excited, childlike words, Tilia was about to agree—but her words faltered against her will.

“…Tilia?”

Susan called her name cautiously.

“I’m sorry.”

Tilia sighed quietly and looked at Susan with an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry for changing my mind so suddenly, but I think I’ll have to postpone our plan. I have somewhere I need to go. Instead, I’ll treat you to lunch next week.”