#13. Daily Life (1)
The events of the wedding night, and even today—it wasn’t coincidence.
Pavel was being neglected by the people in this household.
“How? How could they treat Pavel this way?”
No matter how sickly he was, Pavel was the one and only child of the Grand Duke.
Even if his future was uncertain due to illness, he was still the heir to the duchy—for now, at least.
Yet, the servants here didn’t treat Pavel like the legitimate heir.
They saw him more as a nuisance than a young master.
And being completely ignored even when he rang the bell—just like now—was something he’d experienced time and time again.
“……”
Pavel noticed Sasha’s shifting expression and pouted.
“What’s with that look? I answered everything you asked.”
“…Ah.”
Only then did she notice his anxious eyes.
‘He must’ve gotten nervous because of me.’
Sasha quickly smiled and reassured him.
“No, I’m not upset with you. I just…”
She rose to her feet.
Then, she stepped over to the bell cord and pulled it—again and again.
Only after tugging hard enough to make her arm ache did a maid finally knock.
“Yes? What is it?”
Her tone was full of irritation.
‘So this is how they behave, huh?’
Sasha controlled her temper.
“Why did it take you so long to come?”
“Apologies. I was busy.”
“…Busy with what, exactly?”
The maid dodged, “Lots of things. We’re short-staffed, there’s chores, hard labor…”
She wasn’t apologizing. She was defending herself.
Feeling emboldened, the maid glared back. Sasha met her eyes evenly.
“What’s your name?”
“…Bonnie.”
“That’s a pretty name. Your parents must have given it to you with love, right?”
“And yet you don’t show even a fraction of that care in your work.”
Bonnie began to realize: this wasn’t praise—it was discipline.
“In the Arban household, there were no maids like you—poorly trained, showing dissatisfaction so openly…”
Sasha paused.
“They were always quickly dismissed.”
Bonnie flinched.
“You’ve worked hard here for House Volkov, so I’ll overlook this major mistake—this time.”
“But there will be no second chance. The first time is a mistake. After that, it’s failure.”
Bonnie bit her lip in silence and left when ordered to bring tea.
Pavel, still beside Sasha, was stunned.
She didn’t raise her voice or throw things, and yet—she won completely.
Sasha’s calm authority seared into his memory.
“Whew.”
Sasha sighed, sinking beside him.
Her fingertips fidgeted, and her large eyes shimmered with tears.
Pavel felt the sudden urge to reach out.
Before he could, Sasha whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
“…?”
Pavel frowned.
‘Why is she apologizing?’
“I’m sorry… that this is all I can do.”
That single sentence explained it all.
She thought she hadn’t done enough.
Sasha replayed everything in her mind. After only a week here, she was still treated as a guest—barely accepted, barely listened to.
She had no real power yet.
‘…Something about Count Tula feels off.’
Her instincts—sharpened across countless lifetimes—warned her.
He couldn’t be trusted.
Aside from him, the only ally she had was Olga, and even she was in a fragile position.
‘No… Olga’s situation is even worse than mine.’
Her livelihood depended on Sasha’s status—and Sasha currently had none.
Even remembering Olga’s tired smile made Sasha grit her teeth.
Still, Sasha told herself—now was not the time.
‘I won’t just tolerate this forever.’
Her eyes flashed like a predator waiting for its chance.
✦✦✦
Since moving next door to Pavel, Sasha began overhauling his lifestyle one piece at a time.
His constant illness was largely due to the “Blessing of Mana.”
If he was going to live, he needed to build a body strong enough to handle it.
“The best way to do that is to fix his daily habits.”
First: she deep-cleaned his dusty, gloomy room.
Then, she replaced his musty bedding and dark curtains with light-colored ones that let the sun in.
Morning, noon, and evening—she ventilated the room.
That alone changed a lot, but she didn’t stop.
She supervised everything: clothes, food, hygiene, sleep, exercise.
If she couldn’t afford new clothes, she ensured the old ones were spotless.
She made him change daily—after learning he sometimes wore the same thing for a week.
Every other day, he had to bathe in warm water with her special bath blend.
At the warmest hour of the day, Sasha dragged him on walks.
She looked like a woman walking her grumpy dog.
But the strictest rule was about what he ate or drank.
Even water had to be pre-approved herbal tea—one kettle a day, no more.
Sasha even went to the kitchen and handed the chef a diet plan.
The cook was offended but complied reluctantly.
The result?
Their meals looked excessively healthy—leafy, green, and steaming.
Pavel scowled at the soup in front of him.
“…What is this? Ground-up moss?”
“No. It’s broccoli soup.”
He grimaced.
“It’s good for you. Try it, hmm?”
He picked up the spoon reluctantly.
“It smells weird…”
“I promise—only good stuff. Now eat.”
“……”
Over the past few days, Pavel had learned to rein in his temper.
No matter how much he whined or yelled—Sasha didn’t budge.
She treated him like a fussy cat: gentle words, firm actions.
“Oh, is that so?” she’d coo—but she always got her way in the end.
