~Chapter 37~
Blood seemed to have been used to write the message, and it immediately drew my eyes.
[Plea…se…save…me…]
“B-Blood… Is that really human blood…?”
At first, I thought so too.
But on closer inspection, it was slightly different from human blood.
‘Looks more like pig’s blood.’
It seemed they weren’t brave enough—or generous enough—to use their own blood.
‘Judging from the tone…’
I could more or less guess who had sent this.
One thing was clear: the letter was definitely not sent by the person whose name was written on the envelope—someone called Feslben.
As I looked at the dried, reddish-brown letters, I flipped the paper over.
On the back was a much more traditional-looking letter.
[How are you?
There’s chaos here because of you.
Since we raised you, at least speak to your husband—]
I tore the letter to shreds on the spot.
Rip!
The blood-stained paper was torn, and glittery, dust-like powder scattered into the air.
The maid, who had handed me the letter, stood frozen in fear until I destroyed it.
Only then did she manage to speak.
“M-My Lady… What is this?! I must report this to Master Damien immediately. We need to find out who played this kind of twisted joke—!”
“It’s okay. I know who sent it.”
She stared at me, shocked.
“What?! Who would commit such a heinous act—against the Duchess, no less?!”
I responded calmly, knowing she had only seen the bloodwriting and not the actual letter.
“My biological father.”
The contents were simple.
Due to Cecilia’s fine, our family had essentially gone bankrupt.
Since Cecilia herself had no money, all of the household’s assets had been seized.
Now, they wanted me to speak with Damien so they could receive financial help—or, at the very least, have him co-sign for a loan.
There wasn’t a single word of apology.
And, likely fearing I wouldn’t read the letter, they’d even written a different sender’s name on the envelope.
“What filthy trash…”
When Damien and I went out to the city to buy books, many guards had witnessed what happened with Cecilia.
Thanks to that, everyone in this mansion now considered House Aristia garbage.
“They didn’t even attend the wedding, and now they pull this kind of cursed stunt? I’m telling Master Damien right away!”
The maid was on the verge of storming up to the office.
I quickly calmed her down.
“It’s alright. No need to rush and tell Damien.”
“No, My Lady, how could you say such a thing?”
Still reeling from the shock of the blood letter, the maid was more agitated than I was.
Eventually, she rang the bell for an official audience with Damien.
“But aren’t you upset, My Lady? After going through something so horrible…”
“Hmm, to be honest…”
I gave her a faint smile.
“This might actually be a good thing for me.”
That only made her expression more confused.
* * *
Even after I tore up the first letter, more messages from my father asking for money kept arriving.
Of course, I didn’t open any of them.
After the first incident, Damien ordered that all letters from unknown senders addressed to me be inspected beforehand.
‘Father never once lowered his pride—not even when trying to use me.’
He always had violence as his weapon.
No matter how much I resisted, there was no overcoming sheer physical power when I was sick and weak.
So, if he had written such a desperate message—begging, no less—it meant things were truly bad for him now.
‘There are plenty of terrible outcomes that can befall someone in that kind of situation.’
For instance, having one’s credit ruined and losing all access to loans.
Already bankrupted from royal fines and disgraced in noble society, normal financial routes would be closed to him.
The remaining options were limited—and easy for me to block.
‘I was going to ignore him… but it’s better to cut the roots completely.’
As these problems kept surfacing even after marriage, I realized it would be better to set a precedent and crush any further attempts.
Especially since last time, they’d even tried to insult Damien.
While I was organizing my thoughts and reading newspaper reports to draft my plan—
Knock knock.
“My Lady, it’s Roberts.”
“Ah, Teacher. Please come in.”
It was my painting instructor—arranged by Damien.
A graduate of the Royal Academy, he was a top-tier art teacher who had trained many noble children.
Since taking his classes, my skills had improved rapidly.
“Have you completed last week’s sketching assignment?”
“Yes, here it is.”
“Good, hmm… there’s hardly anything lacking. But if I may give you a personal tip…”
Each class began with a review of my previous assignment, followed by feedback and corrections.
“Today, we’ll be doing oil painting. Have you prepared the materials?”
“Yes.”
I had already set out fresh oil paints.
“Ah, these paints are excellent. I brought the same kind.”
“Right? They’re the best for that rich oil texture.”
I had already used up some of the common colors from this brand.
During our last visit, the art store had sent me a whole new set.
‘Even though I bought a lot… I didn’t expect them to send the entire set for free.’
Apparently, VIP customers were given lots of bonuses no matter what they bought.
But with Damien’s large-scale purchase last time, they’d even included watercolor and oil paint sets, brushes, and more for free.
Of course, since Damien had bought in such huge quantities, it was still profitable for the store.
“Then I’ll let you know today’s theme.”
And so, I began painting right away.
* * *
‘I wonder how her lesson is going.’
Having finished about 80% of his work, Damien glanced at the clock.
This would be when Luviana was in the middle of her painting lesson.
Sometimes, Damien found himself wanting to peek in and watch her.
Luviana looked radiant when she focused on painting, and he was also a bit wary of her male teacher.
Still, barging into her lessons felt too much like a jealous husband, so he held back.
Knock knock.
“Come in.”
The butler entered the office with a silver tray.
He bowed politely to Damien before delivering his report.
“A telegram has arrived. It’s from the Rezen Art Store.”
“Rezen?”
Since Damien had practically emptied the store to supply Luviana with art materials, they occasionally sent gifts and samples.
This time, they’d sent an entire set of watercolors, oils, and brushes as a thank-you.
Damien had sent a thank-you note in return, because Luviana had been so happy with the gift.
“Yes, they seemed to be expressing gratitude. Would you like to open it?”
“Yes.”
Normally, Damien wouldn’t bother reading personal correspondence during work.
But this was from the art store—and anything related to Luviana was an exception.
He took the letter and read it carefully.
[We’re honored that you’re enjoying the products. We’ll continue to send you the best supplies possible…]
It was the usual polite response.
Just as Damien was about to fold the letter, a certain phrase caught his eye.
[However, we’re not sure what oil paints you’re referring to.]
Damien froze.
[We only sent the 36-color watercolor set and some brushes. We hope there wasn’t a misunderstanding.]
Suddenly, all the letters Luviana had been receiving from unknown senders flashed through his mind.
‘Something is wrong.’
Crash!
“Master?!”
Damien jumped to his feet and rushed out of the room.
‘Please—’
‘Please, let her not have used that oil paint yet…’
