A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 86

Part 2

The Butterfly That Loves Him

Within the most affluent sector of Ederpfalz’s high-class residential district in Arkansis stood a mansion that exuded both awe and intimidation. The grand Davenport estate made no effort to conceal the prestigious history of its lineage.

Unlike the other modestly sized townhouses, this mansion boasted an expansive garden and even a rear courtyard. Its pavement was so immaculately maintained that one might question whether it had ever been touched by rain or snow. The meticulously arranged flowers and trees looked as if they had been cultivated in a mold from the very beginning.

Yet, deep within this magnificent mansion, hidden away from its grandeur, lay a space that was the complete opposite.

“How… how could you do this to me.”

Unlike the elegant fragrances above ground, the underground chamber, accessible only through several layers of doors, reeked of dampness and filth. While the bricks above gleamed warmly under the sun, the underground stones exuded nothing but a cold, clammy chill.

“How dare you, how could you do this to me!”

A woman with tangled red hair, kneeling on the damp prison floor, screamed and thrashed in desperation.

“Even if you did this to others, you shouldn’t have done this to me! Even if you betrayed everyone else, you shouldn’t have done this to my family! Do you know how much I’ve helped you? How many times my father has come to your aid?!”

The woman, who had been shaking the iron bars in sheer desperation, abruptly changed her demeanor when she saw that the man standing before her remained unmoved.

“W-we were good together, Ilex. I was always on your side, wasn’t I? Don’t you remember? Three years ago, when you were trapped down here? How I helped you then…”

“I remember, Cecilia Clayton.”

The man elegantly shifted his position, ensuring that her outstretched hands didn’t touch him as he responded.

“I remember how utterly repulsive it was.”

His voice, echoing through the prison, was disturbingly lighthearted, at odds with his words. It was as pristine as the immaculate state of his clothing.

“You can’t even imagine how many times I had to wash my hands before meeting Tilia.”

The moment that familiar name reached her ears, Cecilia’s tearful blue eyes ignited with fury. Despite her wretched state—disheveled like a beggar in a prison cell—the sheer malice on her face was undeniable.

Damnable Tilia Ambrose, that wretched woman! Even if she were torn apart, it wouldn’t be enough!

Hearing that name once more from the lips of the man she loved filled Cecilia with rage far greater than when her father had been crippled.

“I’m actually relieved that you remember, Cecilia Clayton.”

Ilex’s indifferent gray-blue eyes swept over her trembling form as though she were nothing more than filth.

“Because of that, your life has been spared.”

Unlike my father and brother.

A faint smirk played on his lips as he spoke, making Cecilia lift her bloodshot eyes in a furious glare.

“…I’ll expose everything.”

Her venomous blue eyes gleamed with eerie madness.

“I’ll reveal all the atrocities you committed to seize the Davenport name. How you butchered your own blood and pushed them off the cliff!”

“Go ahead.”

But her blood-soaked wrath barely even reached Ilex’s ears. It merely brushed past him like a passing breeze.

“If your beloved husband believes you, that is. Ah, but you should choose your words carefully.”

Casually glancing at his pocket watch, Ilex responded in an almost dismissive tone.

“After all, you don’t know which husband will believe you.”

“If nothing else, Tilia Ambrose will believe me.”

At those words, Ilex’s gray-blue eyes flicked away from his watch and landed on her through the iron bars. Sensing his gaze on her, Cecilia curled her lips in a sneer, her voice dripping with malice.

“I’ll tell her everything. No matter what it takes, I’ll make sure she knows. About what you did to your family. No, before that—what you did to her family!”

A primal instinct told her she had struck Ilex Davenport’s weakness, that she had just stabbed his most vulnerable spot.

Exhilarated, Cecilia’s excitement surged, making her shift eagerly as she screamed.

“Does she know? Does she have any idea how obsessed you are with her? How frequently you receive reports about Tilia Ambrose—”

“Go ahead, Cecilia.”

With a soft click, Ilex snapped his pocket watch shut, his voice almost… gentle.

“Say whatever you want.”

The dimly lit prison barely held back the encroaching darkness, illuminated by only a single flickering light. As that weak glow cast its failing radiance over Cecilia, another shadow loomed over her.

“That is…”

Feeling Ilex Davenport’s presence envelop her, Cecilia involuntarily trembled.

“If you still have a tongue left to speak with.”

It was only then, upon meeting his murderous gaze, that she realized the depth of her mistake.

She had not struck Ilex Davenport’s weakness—she had touched his reverse scale.[1]

[1] Refers to a mythical spot on a dragon in East Asian lore. Touching it enrages the dragon beyond reason.

Tilia Ambrose was not his most fragile part but his thickest and strongest shield.

“…You know what, Ilex Davenport?”

But in the end, it was Cecilia Clayton who was locked behind iron bars. Though she was now a tattered wreck, there had been a time when she was called the most dazzling rose in Arkansis, the esteemed daughter of the Marquis of Clayton.

“Tilia Ambrose despises you.”

Just as Ilex Davenport longed to have Tilia Ambrose, Cecilia had longed for him in the same way. Just as he wanted to win Tilia’s heart, she had desperately wanted him for herself.

“You went through all that trouble to send her to Ontaroa, yet not even a single letter. To her, you were nothing more than a stepping stone for survival. Every time she had to rely on you, she probably felt sick enough to die.”

And so, at this very moment, Cecilia knew the perfect words to shatter his devotion.

“She already finds you repulsive. What do you think she’ll do when she learns of the terrible things you’ve done?”

If she could not have him, she had to destroy him. If he couldn’t belong to her, then no one else should have him either.

“You’d better hide it well, Ilex Davenport.”

Cecilia glared at him with bloodshot eyes, muttering internally.

I hope you are never able to win her love. I hope, in the end, Tilia Ambrose abandons you. I hope that, just like me, you lose your mind in the end.

“Otherwise, she will come to hate you with every fiber of her being…!”

“Your tongue is still too long.”

Before she could finish her cursed words, a gloved hand gripped her face. Even though she knew the pain about to come would be unbearable, Cecilia drooled as she smiled.

She was pleased. The sight of the cracks in his mask. The look of desperation on his foolish face.

The agony of having her tongue ripped out could not compare to the sweetness of this moment.

***

“Clerk Ambrose?”

Damn it. Tilia, who had been crouching low to sneak past, cursed internally at hearing her name called.

They were always late—why did they have to show up early today of all days?

Despite the irritation churning inside her, the face she lifted remained calm.

“You’re early today, Chief.”

“What, do you have a problem with that?”

As expected, the response was exactly what she had anticipated.

“Come here, Clerk Ambrose.”

Suppressing a sigh, Tilia put on a genuinely miserable expression, one that required no acting.

“I apologize.”

She didn’t offer an excuse. That would only make things worse.

“Why are you late?”

But the person who wanted to scold her was clearly determined to hear an explanation. It seemed they had forgotten how, the one time she had been late before, they had yelled at her for even attempting to justify herself.

“Well…”

Tilia bit her lip, pondering what excuse to give, but in the end, like someone unskilled at deception, she confessed the truth.

“I had trouble sleeping last night and overslept. I’m sorry.”

“Clerk Ambrose seems to have a very easygoing attitude toward work. Sleeping in, being late.”

As expected, the scolding continued.

Having grown accustomed to such treatment thanks to her background, Tilia let the words wash over her while discreetly glancing around the office.

More than half of the desks, arranged in two long rows, were empty. Unlike other institutions, the consulate began its workday at ten in the morning, which meant many employees had not yet arrived.

“Where do you think you’re looking?”

However, Alma Martin, the section chief overseeing the Ontaroa Consulate’s administrative work, had a habit of singling out only Tilia Ambrose among all the latecomers.

“Just because you’ve been here for three years, do you think you can start ignoring me? Have you gained enough nerve to do whatever you please now?”

“Good morning, Chief!”

“Oh, yes.”

Just as Tilia, bowing her head like a criminal caught stealing grain during a famine, was enduring the lecture, her colleague, Norbert Karel, entered the office with an obnoxiously cheerful voice.

“You’re early, Clerk Karel!”

“Well, if anyone is known for diligence, it’s me, Chief.”

At that, Alma covered her mouth with her jewel-encrusted fingers and let out a refined laugh.

Watching the chief’s plump cheeks flush with amusement, Tilia’s dead-fish-like eyes dulled even further.