Chapter 4
Rowena looked at him with a calm expression.
It was Killian who looked away first. With rough strides, he passed by her and issued an order to the servant standing by the door.
“Take the madam to her room. It would be best for the frail madam to focus solely on recuperation at home until she has fully recovered.”
Following his command, the servants took hold of Rowena. She did not struggle and withdrew quietly.
The hem of her black dress brushed the crack of the door until the very last moment, then disappeared in silence.
Watching her leave, the butler hesitated before cautiously asking,
“…Do you truly intend to forbid the madam from going out?”
“Yes.”
“And if she were to harbor other thoughts and run away—”
“Run away?”
Killian raised one eyebrow as if he had just heard something absurd.
“Ridiculous. What could a noble young lady possibly do out there?”
“Well… still—”
“At best, she’d go to a department store. Just like she always has.”
His darkened eyes slowly swept over the interior of the mansion.
There was not a single corner that wasn’t lavish—an elegant space filled with refined, luxurious things. Everything had been arranged to suit her tastes. Even this study he used was no exception.
Leaning back in his chair, Killian shut his eyes irritably and pressed his fingertips hard against his temples.
Rowena Vale could not walk out of this mansion on her own.
He knew his wife very well. She was nothing more than a sweet, fragile sugar doll—someone who would melt away at the mere touch of sunlight. She had neither the courage nor the will to leave the home built for her sake.
He believed that without a shred of doubt, and yet—
‘Thank you, Killian.’
The image of Rowena smiling as she said those words lingered strangely in his mind.
Was it because that smile had been too faint? For some reason, it felt as though she might vanish from before his eyes at any moment…
Killian clenched his teeth. Nonsense. As if convincing himself, he muttered under his breath and continued,
“Enough with the useless talk. Find out who the bastard was who dared to slap my wife like that.”
He had a rough idea already. He let out a cold, cynical murmur.
—
Autumn rain poured down all day long.
The sky was dull, as though coated in ash, and angry raindrops endlessly struck and slid down the windows of Ravenhill. As the ceaseless sound of rain swallowed the entire mansion, three maids huddled together in one corner of the lavish dining room, speaking in hushed voices.
“So the young lady is still shut up in her bedroom? Even though the master said she could come out now?”
“You know how she is. Whenever it rains, she always locks herself away.”
“Tsk. Isn’t that suffocating?”
Any maid of Ravenhill should have addressed Rowena as “madam,” not “young lady.”
But there was no one here inclined to point that out. All three had followed Rowena from the Bernier estate, and one of them had even been her wet nurse.
“At this rate, won’t she end up being divorced? Bernier has fallen into that state, and the young lady is still like this…”
“It’s a miracle she hasn’t been cast out already. At times like these, she should be acting sweet toward her husband—but do you think the second young lady could manage that?”
“Oh dear, wouldn’t it be nice if she were even half as much like Miss Viola?”
Following a married young lady did not guarantee loyalty.
The more seasoned the servants, the quicker they were at reading the state of a household. Ever since the days at the Bernier estate, Rowena had been someone who brought no benefit by staying close. More precisely, the closer you were to her, the more you stood to lose.
Even so, there had been only one reason they followed her all the way here: the salary offered by the master of Ravenhill was three times their previous wages.
But if Rowena were divorced, even that would vanish into thin air. Growing uneasy, the maids continued their grumbling, using the sound of rain as cover.
Then heavy footsteps echoed steadily from the corridor.
As the sound drew closer, the three maids instinctively fell silent. One hurriedly pretended to polish silverware, while the other two busied themselves dusting a vase and straightening the tablecloth.
Soon, the footsteps stopped.
The moment the tall man stepped over the threshold, the air froze.
A cold gaze swept across the table and then over the maids’ faces in turn.
“Where is Rowena?”
At Killian’s low question, Margaret—the maid who had once been Rowena’s wet nurse—quickly stepped forward, reading the room.
“She is in her bedroom.”
“…Has she been in her room all day today as well?”
Fortunately, he showed no sign of having heard their earlier conversation. Margaret relaxed slightly.
“Yes. The young lady has been in her room all day—”
At that moment, Killian’s eyes narrowed. Realizing her mistake, Margaret’s face turned pale.
“T-the madam has remained in her room all day. She hasn’t eaten anything. Even when we tried to bring her food, she wouldn’t allow us to enter…”
As the flustered maid hurried to correct herself, Killian watched her with a sneer lingering on his lips.
Married for all this time, and they still called her “young lady.”
‘So the name Vale must have been that embarrassing.’
His blue eyes cooled even further.
“She says she’s frightened because of the rain. Even so, refusing to step even a single foot outside her room… we can’t help but be concerned.”
After finishing her report, Margaret bowed deeply. She stood stiffly, shoulders tense, waiting—until he left without a word. Only then did they finally release the breath they had been holding.
Killian turned his long strides toward the bedroom.
‘She hasn’t eaten all day.’
He had heard the same thing yesterday as well. It looked like a hunger strike. A protest to force a divorce—hardly amusing.
Reaching the bedroom door, he gripped the handle.
“I’m coming in.”
He opened the door without waiting for an answer.
The bedroom, unlit, was dim. The heavy rain and thick curtains had completely blocked out the sunlight, leaving the room sunk into a murky gloom, like early dawn.
Killian’s gaze went straight to the bed.
Rowena lay weakly curled beneath a white blanket. The blonde hair scattered over her pillow had lost its luster, dull and disheveled. Between the strands, her pale nape and protruding bones were visible.
She looked like a corpse.
Clenching his calloused hand tightly, Killian spoke.
“I hear you haven’t eaten anything. Come out. I’ll have a meal prepared in the dining room.”
His firm voice cut through the air. But the corpse-like body did not move an inch.
“It seems you didn’t hear me.”
“…I heard you.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He narrowed his eyes and continued.
“Then answer me. That’s what a conversation is, isn’t it?”
“I’m not answering because I don’t want to talk.”
Killian let out a short breath. As he roughly ran a hand through his hair, his irritation was unmistakable.
“If you didn’t want to talk to me, you could have just lived properly. There was no need to go through all this trouble to summon me.”
Rowena fell silent once more. After a brief pause, he issued a low command.
“Come out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“And the reason you don’t want to is—”
“…Because it’s raining.”
As she answered, she slowly raised a hand and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her pale wrist, exposed for a moment, was as gaunt as a branch stripped of its bark.
That sight finally exhausted Killian’s patience. Striding up to the bed, he roughly grabbed her wrist.
“Ah!”
A short cry escaped Rowena as her body flinched.
“How long do you expect me to indulge your childish whims?”
The sound that rumbled from his throat was like a growling beast. In the dim bedroom, his eyes gleamed menacingly.
Instinctively, she shrank back. Memories she did not want to recall flashed before her eyes.
Pouring rain.
A body trembling, soaked through.
A man gripping her wrist with brutal force.
Even though she knew the man before her was not that man, her body stiffened.
“So you’re afraid just because it’s raining.”
Her green eyes, which had been as emotionless as a dead person’s, suddenly trembled violently. Rowena lifted her head and looked up at him.
Killian did not avert his gaze as he continued.
“You must have lived without fear your whole life, if something like that scares you.”
“…What would you know?”
“……”
“What do you know to say things like that?”
A scoff brushed past her ears.
“Well. As you know, my background is rather unsavory. So I don’t know much.”
“Let go of me…!”
“But I do know exactly how long it takes for a human to starve to death.”
Still gripping her slender wrist tightly, he slowly tilted his head.
Rowena swallowed hard. The look in his eyes, fixed on her, suddenly felt familiar.
“And I also know very well that the food being thrown away because you won’t eat it is something someone else would have begged for, right up until their final breath.”
Killian sometimes openly expressed his disgust toward people who acted as though they owned the world simply because they had a family name to rely on.
Like sheep raised in a field without a single wolf—ignorant creatures, busy chewing grass, foolish beasts who knew nothing of the world.
So to him, I was nothing more than one of those sheep.
A realization that came far too late.
“So,” he said,
“eat.”
“……”
“Or would you prefer that I force-feed you? I wonder whether a refined lady like yourself could endure such humiliation.”
“…Alright.”
After a brief silence, Rowena answered quietly.
“Alright, so… go.”
Killian studied her face for a moment, then hardened his expression even further and looked away.
“If that is what you wish, my lady. Gladly.”
He released the wrist he had been holding without a shred of hesitation and turned away coldly. The dry sound of his footsteps faded, and the heavy thud of the closing door echoed through the room.
Even after he left, Rowena remained frozen for a long while.
Her heart was racing far too fast. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest tightening painfully.
‘She’s afraid of the rain.’
Two years ago, when she had said that, Killian had looked thoughtful for a moment.
‘Will he ask why?’
‘And if he does, what should I say?’
‘If I tell him everything, will he think I’m filthy…?’
As she anxiously searched his face, Killian had asked in the same neutral tone as before:
“Are you afraid of getting wet, or of the sound?”
“…The sound is fine. But on rainy days, I’m afraid to go outside…”
“Then I’ll look for something we can enjoy indoors.”
How gentle those words had been.
For a while, she had been able to endure rainy days without taking her medication. Back then… that had been enough.
Rowena opened the second drawer of the bedside table and took out an unlabeled glass bottle. She removed a pill and swallowed it without water.
Only after some time did her wildly pounding heart return to its normal rhythm.
Nothing had changed.
Just as taking anxiety medication does not cure heart disease, receiving false tenderness does not alter reality. Everything had merely been momentary deception.
As always, she had been given no choices at all.
Except for one.
‘How should I die?’
Where she would meet the end of her life. How she would place the final period on it. At the very least, that much she could choose for herself.
After her conversation with Killian, her resolve was firm.
She no longer needed love. All she wanted was to leave behind as little regret as possible when she finally closed her eyes.
And to do that, she had to leave this place.
At a moment when no one would expect her to.
When Killian—
when he was most off his guard.
