CHAPTER 6: THE TRUTH WE FACE

The door was firmly locked. Isabelle refused to meet, so Richt had no way to repair their relationship.

When he knocked on the door to try to talk, he heard the sound of objects being thrown from inside. It was mostly ceramics, mirrors, and lamps. She seemed to be throwing whatever she could get her hands on, but each shattered object was sharp and dangerous.

Fearing that Isabelle might cut herself with sharp objects like last time, Richt asked Mia to remove all potentially hazardous items. Fortunately, Isabelle did not refuse to meet Mia.

The memory of that day was still shocking. The shattered glass. Pale neck with a red line of blood. The contempt and anger in her blue eyes. The fierce, stark rejection towards Richt.

Even during forceful encounters, she had never pushed him away like that. It seemed like she resisted, but she always gave in to some extent. That lack of clarity seemed to be a sign of wavering, and it gave Richt a ray of hope.

Now, however, it was different. The firmly locked door felt like a massive wall. When he knocked on the door, he was met with a dull thud and a sharp voice.

“Didn’t you hear me? Just leave me alone! Seeing your face is disgusting!”

“Isabelle.”

“Don’t say my name. It gives me chills!”

“Open the door.”

Once again, the door vibrated with a thud sound. The resonance of throwing wooden decorations made the sound somewhat dull.

“I need to talk to you.”

No response came.

“Face me, Isabelle.”

He turned the door handle, but it bumped against the clasp and didn’t budge. It was not a very sturdy handle. Richt could have broken it with force, but he stood still, unmoving.

Since that day, Richt couldn’t approach hastily. She needed time to calm her emotions, and Richt was determined to wait. However, Isabelle’s anger showed no signs of subsiding. The longer he waited, the more uneasy he felt.

‘I hate you! I really hate you. No, I despise you!”

‘Even though I loved you, I despise you.’

Those words lingered in his mind. The few words she spat out like a curse had seized his thoughts, disrupting his rational thinking.

Isabelle, loved me?

He couldn’t believe it. It still felt unreal. He’d been so sure she’d been forced to marry him by her family pressure.

Since when? What about Eden Ross?

‘I shouldn’t have married you! I should never have met you in the first place! I regret every moment I’ve spent with you!

The voice that wrapped around his eardrums gripped his heart. Isabelle denied vehemently. Richt and their married life.

It was an indescribable feeling. Something had shattered, twisted, evaporated.

Damn it! Now I’m just an idiot who can’t speak properly.

Richt lamented. His head was spinning with chaotic thoughts.

He felt like he’d lost the thing he so desperately craved without ever having it. His tongue felt parched. If she cursed at him, he was ready to listen, and if getting hit would relieve the frustration, he would endure.

What he couldn’t bear was the separation from her. Not knowing where it all went wrong, he didn’t even know where to begin untangling the mess. Frustration, anxiety, and despair entwined, swallowing him whole.

Amid the standoff over the closed door, footsteps were heard. When Richt turned his head, he saw Mia, bringing a meal. Several small covered dishes were placed on a silver tray.

Mia made eye contact with Richt, bowed slightly, and stood in the doorway.

“I have brought you a meal, my lady.”

The room was still silent.

“My lady?”

Mia glanced at Richt. He understood the meaning in her gaze. As long as he stood there like this, Isabelle would never open the door. It was a request to leave her alone.

The servant girl in front of him had an insolence that didn’t befit her status and his brow furrowed in annoyance. Even when she looked at his ferociously crumpled face, Mia didn’t wipe away the haughty glare and acted as if feeding Isabelle was her only goal in life.

Though it irked him, Richt didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to cause unnecessary trouble with Isabelle’s favorite servant, and more importantly, Mia seemed committed to her duty.

A maid’s job was to serve and care for her master. If it weren’t for her concern for Isabelle’s well-being and her responsibility to make sure she ate her meals on time, Mia would have been kicked out of there immediately.

“What kind of food is it?”

“A salad with pickled apples, a soup made with mashed pumpkin, and lamb chops marinated in garlic sauce and grilled. My lady has been very weak lately, and she hasn’t been eating much of anything, so I specially asked Mr. Hans, the chef, to prepare something similar to what she usually enjoys.”

“Did Isabelle like lamb chops?”

“No. She doesn’t really enjoy meat per se, she usually prefers compotes, soft soups with butter, and sweet desserts with her tea. I prepared the lamb chops because she’s been very weak lately, and she’ll eat a little bit if you serve it to her.”

“I see.”

“You should eat well, but I’m worried. Your mind doesn’t seem at ease, so your stomach might not be either. Even if something is bothering you, you never express it openly, and you don’t seem to have anyone to rely on. You look very lonely.”

She rambled to herself, but it sounded like she was directing her accusations at Richt.

“Are you throwing these words at me?”

“No! How could I dare speak to His Grace…”

Mia quickly ducked her head, obviously not stupid enough to show it outwardly. Still, she didn’t look scared or intimidated.

Her loyalty to Isabelle was unwavering, even when he saw Richt’s narrowed brow. Call it bold, call it fearless.

“Make sure she eats it slowly.”

“Yes.”

After shooting a brief glare, Richt turned and descended the stairs. Entering the reception room on the first floor, he approached the glass cabinet that filled the wall.

Inside the expensive-looking display, various liquors were lined up—a rare and valuable selection that was hard to come by even in the Empire. Potent drinks that would intoxicate with just a small sip. The colors were diverse. They were all different colors. This place was a reflection of Timoger’s debauchery.

It was a space with pitiful tastes. He hadn’t sought it out during his stay at the Blanchette Household, but now he needed a drink. Richt pulled out a bottle of amber liquor of moderate flavor and strength, poured it into a crystal goblet, and sat down.

The alcohol was easy on the esophagus. Within three sips, the glass was empty. He poured another and swallowed it, but it didn’t resolve the complexity of his thoughts.

What’s the problem? What should I do?

Various thoughts spread like branches, but there was no answer among them.

If only I could read Isabelle’s mind, I wouldn’t be so frustrated.

While swirling the liquid in the glass, lost in thought, the sound of the door opening reached him. Glancing back, Fabian entered. Approaching with polite steps, Fabian conveyed his message promptly.

“I think you should go up to the capital.”

“Did a message come from the imperial palace?”

“Yes.”

He knew that his time for staying here was running out. A lot was going on in the capital that had to do with the imperial family. He should have gone much earlier, but his affairs with Isabelle had delayed him.

“I see.”

Fabian bowed lightly and turned to leave.

“Let’s have a drink.”

Richt unexpectedly suggested as Fabian was about to leave to avoid disturbing his time. Fabian, with a slightly surprised expression, turned back and took a seat beside him. Richt placed an unused glass in front of him. Fabian cautiously picked up the glass, and Richt poured the same drink he had into it.

Richt’s face was dark as he poured liquor into the glass. His bangs were disheveled, covering his forehead slightly, and the buttons around his neck were undone.

To others, it might have seemed comfortable, but to Fabian, it looked messy. The man in front of him was none other than Richt Calitheon, a man who was meticulous about maintaining a perfect appearance. The figure he had meticulously kept up, almost obsessively, was nowhere to be found.