A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 140

Cold water, like winter rain, poured down on his bare body. Ilex stared blankly into the void, seemingly unaware of the chill running down his skin, and slowly reached out to turn off the faucet.

Who knows how long he had been standing there under the cold. Even after shutting the valve, his skin remained pale.

Yet Ilex paid no mind to his body, which hadn’t regained any warmth. He was consumed by a single thought.

‘I should have killed her sooner.’

Regret.

‘I should have cut off her breath before that woman ever made contact with Tilia.’

He was slowly lifting his head, sinking deeper into a restless unease.

Keeping Seraphine Davenport alive until now had, without a doubt, been his mistake. In trying to be meticulous, to wrap things up cleanly and arouse no suspicion, he had ultimately made a fatal error.

What had she said to Tilia?

Ilex blinked heavily under wet lashes, trying to imagine the conversation that had passed between them. But picturing a situation where two women who stirred such opposite emotions stood together proved difficult.

Tilia, who even knew his favorite bath products in detail, was the opposite of Seraphine Davenport—a woman he considered a complete unknown. And because he had no desire to know, Ilex had consistently refused to fill in the blanks.

There was no need to try, nor any value in it.

If someone cracked open the skull of his biological mother, the only name they’d find inside would be her own: Seraphine Bardin. The name she insisted on using, clinging to her maiden identity. Only herself.

So then, what had that utterly self-centered woman said to Tilia?

As he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, imagining the scene in the drawing room he hadn’t witnessed, Ilex suddenly frowned.

The cold strands of wet hair clinging to his forehead irritated him. With a rough swipe, he pushed them back, then found his gaze resting on a scar along the inside of his arm.

“When did you get this scar?”

Tilia had always taken a keen interest in the scars on his body. Whenever they made love in well-lit places, she’d become distracted looking at them, and he’d had to scold her a few times.

“That must have hurt…”

He had never properly answered her repeated questions. Not out of refusal, but because he genuinely couldn’t remember.

When had it happened? Where?

Even now, trying to recall it carefully, he couldn’t bring a clear memory to mind. All he had were vague suspicions that it might have been his brother’s doing.

Probably when he was locked in the barn. He had feared the dark as a child. Or maybe it was from a night when he was chased by his father’s hunting dogs.

Ilex tried to brush it aside, but his gaze landed on the scar again.

It was rather large—a red streak stretching from near his shoulder down toward the elbow.

He stared at the mark on his body as if seeing it for the first time, then finally wet his now-warming lips with a sweep of his red tongue.

Would she pity me?

His thoughts reached out, like a spider’s web, groping toward Tilia’s sympathy.

If she knew about his wretched childhood, would she feel sorry for him…?

Narrowing his eyes as if trying to gauge the size of a distant object, he shook his head to flick off the water and exited the bathroom in a rather hurried movement.

He threw on a robe over his now-warm skin, as if he’d never been pale, and focused entirely on a single thought.

He would destroy the documents. Pull them out, burn them all.

The reason he had even kept any papers related to his crimes was simple.

“They could serve as proof of innocence. In case there’s ever a reinvestigation, it’s best to retain at least some records.”

That was the advice of a loyal subordinate—a man skilled in dodging the law while committing crimes.

A longtime worker for the Davenport family, the man had said that if all the evidence disappeared, it would only raise the investigators’ suspicions. So Ilex had followed his advice and deliberately kept a few files that could potentially prove his innocence.

But now, he was headed to get rid of them.

Truthfully, half of them were already gone.

That night when Tilia went to the Bartlett mansion to see Judy, Ilex had tossed every document related to Cecilia Clayton into the fireplace.

Just as the subordinate had warned, this might cause trouble later. But Ilex wasn’t concerned about some future investigation.

What mattered far more was the possibility that Tilia’s trust in him might be shaken.

Yes, that was the crux of it. Ilex knew it. He knew that Tilia still believed he was a good person. That despite all the evidence, she stubbornly continued to believe so.

Foolishly. Without even realizing what kind of man was clinging to her like a leech, feeding off her affection.

The hope she held for him was clearly a mistake. And Ilex wanted, if possible, to prolong that illusion for as long as he could.

Of all the documents, the first ones he destroyed were those related to Cecilia Clayton—a calculated move.

The moment Tilia discovered he was involved in that woman’s death, her trust would suffer the most damage. Whatever else, that fact had to remain hidden.

No—not just that. Everything had to be erased.

Ilex, discarding even the small calmness left in his stride, muttered quietly.

He had to remain, to her, nothing more than an innocent victim. A pitiful companion who, like her, endured a childhood of abuse.

Just imagining the pity in her green eyes brought light to the slush-covered heaviness of his heart. Feeling his heart grow inexplicably lighter, Ilex picked up his pace.

Whatever his mother had said to her didn’t matter. It could be used as proof of the abuse he had suffered from Seraphine Davenport. One way or another, it would ignite sympathy in Tilia.

Burn it all and return to her. Then fall into her arms and show her his wounds. So that once again…

But just as he, unable to hide his eager anticipation, burst into the office—

Ilex saw it.

In the hazy darkness, the familiar figure standing before the large desk.

The heavy curtains blocked even the faintest moonlight. The only illumination came from the hallway light spilling in behind Ilex, making it feel like the room was sealed in night.

Inside the office, where a familiar scent lingered, Ilex’s shadow stretched to the edge of the large desk, framed in the doorway’s light.

She was standing right there. Dressed in a fluttering chemise with a thin robe thrown over, her hair still damp like his. Holding a thick stack of papers, looking straight at him.

“…Tilia.”

Even when he said her name, she showed no sign of surprise. Perhaps she had known she would be caught. Or maybe, she simply didn’t care.

Or was it him who had been caught? Was it he who should be pale and panicked?

Like many do when faced with a reality they don’t want to believe, Ilex felt a split between his thinking self and his feeling self.

He didn’t know what the flicker in her expression meant. Or rather, he didn’t want to know.

Still, he had to see what was in her hands.

Ignoring the pounding in his head that felt like his heart had moved there, Ilex slowly raised his hand. At his gesture, the lamp on the low shelf by the door lit up.

Now, in the clearer light, Ilex could see her.

But hoping that perhaps the document in her hands wasn’t what he feared, hoping she hadn’t found it yet or was reading something unrelated—that hope, he wished he had never reached for.

Under the lamp, the text on the paper she held was perfectly visible.

Carriage repair invoices. The very files Ilex had planned to burn tonight, before returning to her.

Evidence he had kept to prove his innocence was now being used to confirm guilt. How absurd.

But if it were anyone else, maybe it wouldn’t matter. Tilia, however, would surely have understood. She would have seen the connection between those records and the list of household staff. Between the swiftly liquidated pharmaceutical shares and the company’s investment report. She would have seen it immediately.

Ilex’s gaze drifted to the key she held in her other hand.

Ah. A late sigh echoed in his chest.

That he hadn’t thought of that. That Seraphine Davenport would give her not just words, but the tool to see physical proof.

I should have killed that woman first.

Before my father. Before my brother. She should have been the first to go.

Just as Ilex was marveling at his own belated regret—

“…Why did you do it?”

A trembling voice pierced through his ears.