SMTD 08

Chapter 8 …

“Where are we going, sister?”

Raeana rubbed her sleepy eyes. Her pale face and cracked white lips made her look even more pitiful. Elena, suddenly overcome by a wave of sorrow, gently rubbed her sister’s lips.

“Ow! That hurts. What are you doing?”

Raeana whined, shaking her head. She kept squirming in discomfort, clearly unsettled by the rattling of the hired carriage. Then she hugged Elena’s arm tightly and asked,

“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going? What about Mom?”

“…We’re going somewhere Mom can’t find us.”

Elena answered as coldly as she could. Her gaze toward her sister was firmer than ever before. Raeana blinked in confusion, her big eyes—blue just like Elena’s—widening.

“Somewhere Mom doesn’t know? Then Mom won’t be able to see us?”

“…Do you not want that?”

Only then did Elena realize she hadn’t even asked Raeana how she felt about this. She had been too busy finishing up her translation work, packing their few belongings, and preparing Raeana’s medicine for the coming days to think about it.

Elena’s heart thumped nervously.

Raeana blinked again, then shook her head.

“No. Raeana’s fine going anywhere as long as it’s with you, sister. You’re coming too, right?”

Relief spread over Elena’s face as she nodded. The carriage soon came to a stop. She paid the driver who had carried them through the early dawn streets. He gave Elena and Raeana a brief, curious look before riding off again.

“Wow… Where are we?”

Raeana’s world had always been limited to their small house in Rebunto. It was her first time ever seeing a mansion this big. Elena, finding her sister’s sparkling eyes adorable, reached out to pat her head.

“It’s like a castle where a princess would live! Why are we here?”

Raeana chattered excitedly, her face bright with joy—the first time Elena had seen her like this in a long while.

Elena set down her bag, knelt down, and began fixing Raeana’s clothes. She tidied up the girl’s hair, which had been braided into two pigtails.

“Raeana, you remember everything I taught you, right?”

“Of course! I’m smart like you, sister.”

My lovely little sister. Elena planted a kiss on Raeana’s smiling cheek.

“Good. Don’t forget to greet people properly.”

“Okay!”

Raeana nodded eagerly. Elena straightened her back and held Raeana’s hand tightly again. This was the first door to their new life.

Elena pressed the doorbell of Count Presto’s mansion.

Hazel pushed her glasses up with a fingertip. On the front page of the morning newspaper, freshly delivered by a diligent courier, was Maxim’s photo.

“That careless brat,” she muttered.

He wasn’t just careless—he was too careless. He knew how much his aunt wished he’d stay by her side a little longer, and yet the heartless Maxim had gone back to Andrez without a second thought. What was it about that damned capital that made him so eager to run off?

Hazel clicked her tongue sharply.

Seeing how he had left that woman behind and just gone up on his own… were they really nothing to each other?

Ever since Elena’s visit, Hazel had cornered Maxim several times, peppering him with questions—
What kind of relationship did they have? What did they talk about? When were they meeting again? How did he ask her out? And so on and so on.

But Maxim sat there like a stone, completely unshaken, refusing to give any answers. In the end, after being nudged by his aide, he made his escape.

She had held back for days, but eventually, she’d decided to just go visit Elena herself. That’s when Maxim, dressed neatly as if for departure, informed her he was leaving. He added one simple sentence:

[Ah, Elena will come to see you. Please help her. I’m counting on you, Aunt.]

A request? A request!
And “that woman,” no less? She had thought he was completely ignoring her, but to think he had pulled such a clever move behind the scenes. How commendable. She’d grant that kind of request a thousand times over.

And finally, the long-awaited guest had arrived.

“Miss Elena has come with her younger sister, Madam!”

Maxim lifted his head from the documents he’d been buried in. With a quiet sigh, he looked straight ahead. Camelia was there, sipping tea with that stubborn expression on her face.

“Not going back?”

“Let’s eat.”

Her voice was cold. On her face, gazing back at Maxim, was a mixture of emotions too tangled to describe in words. It was the first time he’d seen her like this since coming up from Rebunto.

Maxim frowned.

“I told you I’m busy. Go home.”

“Maxim, even if you act that way toward others, you can’t treat me like that.”

Camelia’s voice burst out, driven by surging emotion. Her catlike eyes glared at him, brimming with feelings too volatile to be touched carelessly.

Maxim tossed his fountain pen onto the desk with a thunk.

Arms folded across his chest, he said coldly,

“And who do you think you are? What makes you so special?”

“Maxim!”

Camelia trembled. She couldn’t shake the image of Maxim dancing with another woman at Rebunto. Until then, he had maintained his lofty position like a noble dragon, untouchable.

No one could surpass Maxim, and no one could approach him.

What happened in Rebunto had sent shockwaves through high society. People gossiped endlessly, speculating that perhaps Maxim had found a new woman. That growing sense of crisis gnawed at Camelia. She stared at him with a venomous gaze.

“Is there any woman more special in your life than me?”

Rising from the sofa with a chilling air, Camelia approached him.

Clack, clack.

The sound of her heels went beyond ominous—it was icy.

Camelia slowly leaned forward, resting her hands on Maxim’s desk. Her lips parted.

“My sister died because of you. How could you ever be happy?”

In that instant, Maxim’s face hardened, pale and glacial. A frost seemed to fill the room as a chilling silence descended. In Maxim’s green eyes, a cold light gathered.

“When you see me, you feel miserable. Don’t you? So isn’t that exactly why I’m the one who suits you best?”

Every word she spoke had sharp edges. Maxim let out a faint, bitter laugh. In Camelia’s eyes—eyes bristling with tension—there burned a black, covetous desire.

“Don’t even dream, Camelia.”

“Maxim…!”

Maxim rose from his seat. She smelled like that woman. The scent made his stomach churn with nausea. Everything about Camelia stirred his disgust.

He stepped past her and headed for the door.

Before closing it, he paused and spat out coldly,

“Don’t ever come back. You disgust me.”

Bang!

The door slammed shut, leaving only Camelia in the room. Slowly, she clenched her fists. Her entire body trembled. All the time she’d spent dressing up that morning, choosing her dress, applying her makeup with anticipation—utterly wasted.

She took a deep, shaky breath.

“If it’s not my sister, then it has to be me,” she whispered.

“That’s how it should be.”

It was the truth she had kept buried all along. The adults had tried to quietly sweep the past under the rug, but Camelia believed that everyone—especially Maxim—had to remember.

Rosalyn, so passionate and beautiful, had been her pride and her light. When Rosalyn became Maxim’s fiancée, Camelia had wept with a smile. Because it was Rosalyn, she could let go.

She had been able to give up the secret feelings she had nurtured toward Maxim.

But Rosalyn had died, and Maxim had survived alone. To Camelia, Maxim was a sinner.

When she looked at him, rage and hatred surged up—but mingled with them was an equally powerful sense of longing.

Camelia bit her lip hard.

With a pop, her swollen lip burst red.

Her heart, wounded by his words, brimmed with greed. How dare he try to free himself from this cage alone?

If she was unhappy and in pain, then Maxim had to be the same.

Camelia left the room soon after, as composed as ever.