A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 146

Hmm. Seraphine gazed lovingly at the woman beyond the mirror, whose lips were so dark they made her look almost deathly pale, and then broke into a bright smile.

Perfect. She tousled her hair one more time on purpose, then leisurely rose from her seat.

Wearing a dress a step removed from current trends, she headed toward the drawing room where the guest she had long awaited was waiting.

I wonder what kind of expression she’s wearing.

With a smile tinged with pure malice, Seraphine descended the staircase bathed in the glow of the setting sun.

A face steeped in sorrow? Or one consumed by trembling rage? Or perhaps…

‘Yes, a face frozen in fear, I suppose.’

Hehe. Unable to hold back a laugh, she let out a giggle and looked around the corridor she was walking down with fresh eyes.

The hallway, decorated according to her late husband’s taste, was cluttered with gaudy ornaments.

‘What a vulgar man he was.’

After offering that brief judgment of the deceased, she reached gracefully toward a porcelain vase imported from across the distant sea. The moment she felt its smooth surface beneath her fingertips, she gave it a light push.

Clang—! The antique vase, having lost its footing in its display era, shattered with a loud crash, losing its original form. The butler following behind Seraphine like a shadow wore a flustered expression, his composure broken like the vase.

Sensing this without even turning to look, Seraphine let out another laugh.

She had always wanted to do this. Always wanted to smash it. She had held back only because it had been a gift from some backwoods royalty, but now there was no need to hesitate.

Because today, Seraphine Bardin would likely die at the hands of the son she had birthed.

‘But I won’t die alone.’

Stepping lightly on the broken shards of porcelain, Seraphine continued on.

On the day she had whispered for her life to be spared, Tilia Ambrose had surely opened that drawer.

She could tell instinctively. That brazen girl wasn’t the type to leave a closed box unopened. She was the sort who couldn’t rest until she saw and confirmed everything with her own two eyes.

A clueless know-it-all who hadn’t yet realized that sometimes playing dumb was better for one’s safety.

‘Foolish girl.’

But even if she hadn’t opened the drawer, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the seed of suspicion. It was important to plant a seed that would take root in her heart and wait for the right moment to sprout.

Even if she had pretended not to see, distrust would already be seeping into her mind. And that seed would inevitably sprout one day, growing into a thick, towering tree.

Unlike the filthy bloodlines so stupid and vulgar it was laughable, Seraphine knew. She knew just how hideous human nature could be. She knew what incomplete beings humans were, prone to betrayal.

Ilex would surely notice the distrust beginning to grow in Tilia’s heart. And in turn, a seed of doubt would be planted in his own.

Mistrust between them would spread like ripples, widening until both were ultimately destroyed.

If the water had been dirty from the beginning, that might be one thing—but water that was too pure, too clear, could not withstand even a single drop of filth.

It was a shame she wouldn’t be around to see it, but still, it wasn’t a bad end—poisoning the enemy’s well on her way out.

Seraphine smiled sweetly and sent another ornament crashing to the floor.

How many mansion’s worth of decorations had vanished into thin air like that?

At last, Seraphine saw the door to the drawing room—where the tool that would complete her revenge awaited.

The moment she spotted it, she strode forward without hesitation and flung the door open.

Inside the drawing room, drenched in the furious glow of the setting sun, the woman standing alone looked like a still-life painting.

Ah, what a shame.

Clicking her tongue openly, Seraphine smacked her lips at the motionless figure.

She had hoped to see her trembling in fear, startled by the soundless opening of the door.

“We meet again.”

But despite her chiding thoughts, the words that came out were slow and weak even to her own ears.

At the sound of her voice, Tilia finally turned from the window like a portrait coming to life, and Seraphine studied her face carefully.

She looked utterly exhausted, as if something had been wearing her down. Most likely, it was the growing distrust gnawing away at her heart at this very moment.

So she used the key, huh.

Seraphine swallowed a triumphant smirk at how perfectly things had gone according to plan.

Though there had been a few unfortunate setbacks, the world still seemed to be on her side. If that coward Ilex hadn’t rushed to change all the office keys out of fear, she wouldn’t have been able to track down the locksmith who’d worked at Essentine Mansion and steal a copy.

“Now then, shall we sit?”

Hiding the laughter bubbling inside with practiced ease, Seraphine offered in a subdued voice.

“No, I won’t stay long. I’ll remain standing.”

“Oh my. Then I’ll sit, if you don’t mind. I stayed up all night, and my body simply can’t bear it.”

Responding with her usual refined tone, Seraphine moved with grace and sank into the sofa.

To refuse a host’s offer to sit—what rudeness.

Indeed, one cannot hide their origins, Seraphine thought as she brought a hand to her forehead.

“Tilia. I like roses.”

At those words, she could sense the woman faintly furrow her brow as she looked at her.

“If you ever find yourself visiting my grave, bring roses, won’t you? None of that boring lily nonsense.”

“……”

“Not that you’d ever bother to come…”

Trailing off bitterly, Seraphine glanced sideways. Tilia Ambrose merely looked tired, her expression unchanged.

Ugh, how dull. No protesting, no telling her not to talk about dying.

Maybe I need to up the drama.

Just as Seraphine had finished preparing to weep and beg for her life—not to be killed by her son—Ilex—

“…There’s a large scar on Ilex’s right arm.”

Tilia, who had been silently watching her, finally opened her mouth in a soft voice.

“Do you happen to know when he got it?”

Seraphine, caught off guard and robbed of her timing, looked up at her with tear-ready eyes.

A scar? How would I know something like that?

“…Of course I do.”

But Seraphine didn’t waste the tears she’d prepared. Letting the stream trail pitifully down her cheek, she murmured, “He got it playing with a rusty pair of garden shears in the greenhouse with Gilbert. It’s still vivid in my mind. I was so shocked, I cried alongside him. It’s something I could never forget.”

After spinning that far-fetched tale, Seraphine let out a soft laugh.

“He was so cute when he was little… You couldn’t even imagine, Tilia.”

And following that chuckle, another tear. As if not wanting to let it show, Seraphine wiped it away casually with the back of her hand, then forced a smile as she looked at Tilia.

“Are you really going to keep standing? Come now, take a—”

“I won’t be bringing any roses to your grave. So if you don’t want to die, just quietly leave Arkansis. And don’t ever come back.”

But her attempt to plant a seed was dismissed before it could even begin to sprout.

Cutting in without regard, Tilia continued in a dry voice, “And while we’re at it, let me correct something. Ilex has a burn scar on his left arm.”

“……”

“Not the right. The left.”

…Ha. Only then did Seraphine realize what emotion was hidden in those unwavering green eyes.

She had thought it was fear. She had assumed it was tension.

“Do you think Ilex is only going to kill me?”

How dare someone like you look down on me.

Only then did Seraphine grasp the impure assumption Tilia Ambrose had made—and her voice turned instantly venomous.

“Do you really think you’ll be safe? That boy can’t live without killing. After me, you’ll be next, riding a carriage off a cliff.”

“Then wait for me in the afterlife. I’ll be sure to tell you there that you were right.”

“So you haven’t read all the way to the part where Ilex dragged your father and brother to hell.”

Even at such blatant provocation, Seraphine refused to give up.

Humans are weak. Anyone will kneel when their life is at stake. Holding on to that conviction, Seraphine persisted in her efforts to sprout the seed of doubt still hiding within her.

“Ah, did you know that boy received regular reports on your movements while you were in Ontaroa? And did you see what kind of end his previous fiancée, Cecilia Clayton, met?”

“Yes. I’ve seen it. I know.”

Yet unlike Seraphine, whose eyes seemed to blaze, Tilia remained just as she had been from the beginning—calm.

“And I also know who Ilex plans to kill next.”

That look—that expression was the greatest insult.

How dare you act like you’re above me. A lowborn wretch. A nobody.

Unable to contain her rage, Seraphine rose and stormed toward Tilia, raising her hand with all her strength—and slapped her across the face.

Smack. The violent sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the drawing room.

Seraphine, satisfied, looked at Tilia, whose face had turned halfway from the force of her palm.

Yes, this is the place that suits you and me.

Just as she was thinking that and preparing to teach her proper manners—

SMAACK! What she thought would be the end was followed by a second sharp crack that echoed like thunder.