A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 48

Tilia lay on the floor like a worm, staring silently at the wooden floorboards.

Soon, her stomach would be kicked. Her body would be trampled. It would hurt, but by the time she returned to the academy, she would be healed.

Even if she wasn’t fully healed, it didn’t matter. As long as her bones weren’t broken or her internal organs ruptured, she would still be able to attend her classes.

“Worthless wench. A harlot. The daughter of that useless Evelyn who died without ever being of any help…”

The barrage of verbal abuse had no effect on Tilia.

She had never given those words the power to hurt her.

If she refused to acknowledge them, they couldn’t enter her heart. If they couldn’t enter her heart, they couldn’t wound her. In that sense, Baron Ambrose’s words were utterly meaningless.

After her mother’s death, Tilia had labeled everything in the world, including her family, as part of a “fake life.”

This wasn’t real, and therefore, it held no power over her.

In truth, it wasn’t far from reality. They had never, and would never, reach any part of her heart.

It was then that Bradley Ambrose, cursing all the while, raised his boot as if to kick her in the stomach. Without thinking, Tilia flinched and curled up like an insect, wrapping her arms around her abdomen.

Realizing what her reflexive action had revealed, tears welled up in her eyes.

It wasn’t because she was afraid. It wasn’t because she felt wronged. It was because, even in such a situation, her body’s instinctive desire to avoid being hit made her feel humiliated.

However, just as she felt that humiliation, Tilia steeled herself once more.

This is fake. Therefore, this shame and humiliation are also not real.

Tilia kept her eyes wide open, struggling to recall her real life—the only shield that could protect her from everything miserable.

“I’ll beat some sense into you even if you die today…!”

“Baron!”

Just as Tilia clenched her lips, trembling yet refusing to beg, a servant—one of the few left in the Ambrose mansion—knocked urgently on the door and shouted.

“You need to come immediately.”

“What now?! If it’s Count Dawson demanding repayment, tell him I’ll settle it by next month…”

“No, sir. It’s not Count Dawson. You must come and see this immediately, and Miss Tilia too.”

“…What?”

Bradley, who had been seething with rage, furrowed his brows even deeper at the servant’s words.

Before long, he glanced at his daughter, who lay sprawled on the floor, and roughly yanked her up by the hair.

“What is…”

Bradley’s face twisted at the sight before him as he dragged Tilia to the drawing room.

“What is all of this?”

“These are gifts from the Davenport family.”

“Why is the Davenport family sending anything to us?”

“Well… these gifts are for Miss Tilia, from Lord Ilex Davenport, the second son of the family.”

Hearing this, Bradley swiftly turned to look at his daughter, who was standing with her hair still gripped tightly.

Tilia, who had been standing expressionlessly despite her father holding her hair, showed a change in her expression at the servant’s words.

“Why would the second son of the Davenports give gifts to her…”

Seeing the bewilderment in his daughter’s wide eyes, Bradley’s frown suddenly disappeared.

No way.

His mind worked quickly.

His daughter hadn’t returned last night. The luxurious carriage she’d come in. The beautiful flowers filling the drawing room, sent by Ilex Davenport, the second son of the Davenport family…

The pieces of the puzzle came together in an instant.

Bradley carefully examined his daughter, whose face showed traces of embarrassment. He then turned back to gaze at the room filled with lavish gifts.

“Ha.”

After a moment, Bradley let out a mocking laugh and walked toward the flowers filling the drawing room.

He had long since released his grip on Tilia’s hair.

As he took in the vibrant blooms, Bradley smiled brightly, as though the gifts had been sent to him, and leaned down to take in their fragrance.

The flowers were of the highest quality, flawless in color, scent, and appearance.

Sending such luxurious items, in such large quantities, must have cost a fortune.

“From the Davenport family?”

“Yes, sir.”

Confirming it once more, Bradley picked up the bouquet of freesia in front of him and looked around the drawing room, now transformed into a flower garden.

His face brightened even more when his eyes landed on his daughter, standing near the door, her appearance pitiful.

“My dear daughter.”

He addressed his daughter, whose face looked as broken as shattered porcelain, in a gentle voice.

“Was the one who spent the night with you Lord Davenport? You foolish child, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

With a tender voice and a pleased look in his eyes, the Baron continued, “Go and take a bath, then rest. You must be tired from last night. I’ll call the priest for you, perhaps tomorrow.”

***

“Hey, hey!”

A voice called out to the pale-faced Tilia, who was climbing the stairs to her room, trying to ignore the blood pooling in her mouth.

Another Ambrose—George—followed her, pestering her.

“What’s with all the gifts downstairs? Did you really sleep with Lord Davenport last night?”

Tilia ignored George as she climbed the stairs to her room.

She was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. She didn’t have the strength to deal with another fool.

“What about Brad, then? Didn’t you meet him? He’s been saying he can’t get ahold of you!”

But as always, George Ambrose wouldn’t leave her alone. He followed her up the stairs, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Did you sleep with Brad too, as well as Ilex Davenport?”

At his words, something inside Tilia snapped.

It had been an unbearably long day. From dealing with the Davenport maids in the morning, to handling Ilex, then facing her father.

And now George Ambrose as well. Having finally reached the end of her patience, Tilia turned to him, her face cold.

“You’re in good shape…”

“You… You knew Brad Reynolds was going to use holy water on me, didn’t you?”

“H-holy water? What are you talking about?”

George’s panicked voice betrayed him as he tried to back down a step.

Tilia’s eyes grew even colder. She hadn’t been entirely certain, wanting to believe her brother wasn’t the type to destroy his sister for a worthless opportunity.

“But… he used holy water? You know how dangerous the side effects are, right? And you actually drank it?”

Just when she thought there was no lower to go, there was always a basement.

The men of House Ambrose always managed to find it.

Tilia watched George’s eyes glint with vulgar curiosity and laughed bitterly.

It wasn’t even worth being disappointed anymore. After all, this was just another falsehood she would soon discard.

Fake.

Reaffirming that in her mind, Tilia opened her mouth. “What do you think Father will do when he learns that I went to the Old District Club to meet Brad Reynolds at your request?”

Of course, their father wouldn’t reprimand George. Instead, he’d blame her for not being well-behaved enough, falling for her brother’s tricks, and beat her even more severely.

“Uh… well…”

But George Ambrose hadn’t thought that far.

It had been clear to her since earlier that he feared she might expose everything. Ever since he hadn’t shown up in the office to watch, enjoying her suffering, as he usually did.

He hadn’t joined their father in berating her or demanding to know where she had been—he had stayed quietly in his room.

George was trying to protect himself from any fallout, and Tilia, knowing this for certain, shot at him again.

“You know Father wants to sell me off for a handsome profit, right? Now, what do you think will happen if I tell him why I had to go there?”

George remained silent, his expression turning fearful.

Tilia shot him a look filled with disdain and added her final words, “Watch your mouth. Unless you want to lose all your drinking money.”

With that, Tilia turned her back on him, deciding he was no longer worth her time, and continued up the stairs.

But before she could reach the top step, George called after her.

“Hey, even so, if you’re involved with the Davenport second son, isn’t that a good thing? Do you know how much business the Davenports handle? They even started a steel company recently!”

George hurried up the stairs behind her, the anxious look on his face replaced with an eager expression.

“Considering how many flowers he sent you, it seems like he likes you. Maybe you’ll end up as Ilex Davenport’s mistress.”

Mistress.

Tilia’s steps halted abruptly at that word.