Chapter 5: The Worst of Fates

The day she first heard about her marriage to Carlisle Liston—Leilia had shrunk back like a frightened turtle, scanning her surroundings and flattening herself to the ground.

‘Bear my child.’

‘If you do, I’ll guarantee your freedom.’

There had been no other choice, no other escape—like a sudden downpour, it was all forced upon her.

All she could do was utter a single, brief word:

“Yes.”

Perhaps that was where everything started to go wrong.

Unlike Carlisle, who had clawed his way up from the bottom to stand at the very top, Leilia had nothing but her family name, Charlotte, to her credit.

She’d admired him, respected him, and even loved him.

But the deeper the love, the deeper the loneliness—or so they say.

Her feelings for Carlisle had always been one-sided.

Fearful of being abandoned, Leilia had lived each day on edge, constantly anxious.

A child who never even received the basic love of her parents.

For someone so starved for affection, it was almost impossible to grow up whole.

“Foolish days…”

Lost in her memories, she pressed lightly on a faded bruise, mumbling to herself.

Time flew by, and her fifth wedding to Carlisle was now only a day away.

“I’m so sick of this.”

Leilia was the only one bored by the endless repetition.

Every day, people came and went, and superficial letters poured in until the door was nearly worn out from use.

Behind her back, people gossiped that the Marquis of Charlotte had sold not just his daughter but even the honor of his house to a mercenary like Liston, but on the surface, everything looked proper.

“One, two, three…”

Her small lips moved quietly as she counted, flexing her index finger.

Outside the estate, nobles arriving to meet the Marquis of Charlotte were lined up in their various carriages.

Ever since the announcement of her marriage to Carlisle, Charlotte’s drawing room—once long forgotten—was always filled with warmth and visitors.

Even though his true intentions were obvious, the Marquis of Charlotte seemed to relish the situation.

And it was no wonder; with Carlisle’s near-monopolistic business expansion, the House of Liston had become unrivaled.

He’d bought up the merchants early and managed everything directly, manipulating the market at will.

The influence was so overwhelming that even among commoners, there was a saying: “The economy of Feltro doesn’t move without Liston.”

That alone was proof enough of his power.

Lost in these thoughts, Leilia was interrupted by a knock—Timo entered the room.

“You’re up already? Another mountain of congratulatory letters arrived for you today, Miss. Seems like everyone’s scrambling to leave an impression, even if it’s late. If this keeps up, the gates will wear out from all the traffic.”

Timo stacked yet another pile of letters on the worn desk, her bright expression hinting that some were from truly important people.

“I don’t need them. Burn them.”

Leilia said dully, glancing at the letters.

Timo pouted at her familiar response.

“Still, it’s the thought that counts. Can’t you at least open a few? It’s a bit embarrassing to the senders when you don’t even glance at them. You’re so heartless.”

“I don’t want to waste my energy on the pointless contents of those letters.”

“Come on, you never know. Maybe someone actually means what they wrote. Maybe someone’s really cheering for you, from the heart.”

At those words, Leilia’s golden eyes rolled slowly in her head.

Once, she’d thought like that too.

Once, she’d foolishly hoped that someone might truly wish her well.

Looking back now, she could only scoff at her own naivety.

Why had she ever been so innocent?

The memories stung—sometimes her head throbbed just recalling those unpleasant days, and she found herself wishing she could forget.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Timo blinked her big eyes, so transparently sincere it was almost laughable.

Maybe that’s why this child had always ended up shouldering more than her fair share of wounds.

After a pause, Leilia spoke in a voice empty of emotion.

“There’s no such thing as kindness without a price, Timo. Even you and I are bound by money. You work for me, and my father pays you for it.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not the same—!”

“Do you know what it means when I say that the people who sent those letters probably didn’t even know I existed until recently?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means there’s no sincerity in there at all.”

Leilia patted Timo on the shoulder with a faint smile, then pressed her aching forehead as she moved toward the bed.

She could probably recite what those letters said, if pressed.

Meaningless words—fawning pleasantries from people she’d never even met.

The days when those empty words used to bring her joy were long gone.

“Tch, but you and I are different, right? It’s not just about money, we’ve got… something more, you know?”

“Then work for free.”

“What!? That’s a bit…”

“See? We’re still a relationship built on need.”

“How can you talk about people so coldly? I’m seriously hurt, you know!”

Timo’s face twisted into a pout, but Leilia pretended not to notice.

Through all those endless, repeating years, Timo was one of the few who never changed.

Always quietly working by her side, sharing joy and sorrow alike, giving her whole heart.

Maybe that’s why Leilia tried so hard not to get attached to Timo.

Like a lizard dropping its tail to escape, she always ran away before getting too close.

Not that it ever really worked.

“You say that, but I know how warm you really are, Miss. You even forgave me for losing that precious thing…”

“I never said I forgave you.”

“Anyway! You didn’t hit me, did you?”

Timo rubbed her hands together and pouted.

The sight reminded Leilia so much of her own past self that she closed her eyes, shutting out the world.

***

The wedding was carried out in the blink of an eye.

Having clawed his way up from the bottom, Carlisle was a man without a single gap in his defenses.

He didn’t believe in God, but still invited the Pope; he ensured the nobles were entertained with enough spectacles and delicacies, and, in front of them all, swore an oath for life.

“I love you, Leilia.”

With those words, Carlisle personally slid the intricately crafted wedding ring onto her finger, bringing the ceremony to a close.

If not for her four regressions, Leilia might have been fooled by that sweet lie.

Instead of answering, Leilia simply curled her lips in a half-smile and lowered her gaze.

Atop her white, long lace gloves, a ruby as red as his eyes glittered dangerously.

“Our church formally recognizes the union of these two as husband and wife. May the blessing of God be with the House of Liston.”

With the Pope’s pronouncement, a cheer—whose source she couldn’t name—erupted behind her.

Unlike the rapturous guests, Leilia’s expression never changed.

She only stared vacantly into space with an unreadable look.

Soon, the newlyweds slipped away from the crowd into the waiting room.

“If you’ll wait a moment, we’ll bring the attire for the banquet.”

One of the attendants popped a bottle of champagne and exited, leaving only the two of them in the large waiting room.

Gone was the sweet talk of moments earlier—Carlisle sat with his eyes closed, simply passing time.

Same air, same temperature, same person.

Nothing outwardly different, yet unwelcome memories drifted through her mind.

She remembered the times when she couldn’t bear the silence and had annoyed him, desperate for even a little closeness.

It had been the same through at least her second regression.

How could someone remain so utterly unchanged?

She shook her head silently, taking a sip to wet her throat.

The distinctive acidity and fizz of Maltasan champagne refreshed her senses, but left a bitter taste in her mouth.

‘That fruit only grows in the far south, in Gridana. Yeah, Gridana. The lord of that land is none other than the famous Duke Liston. So there’s no way that fruit would just be floating around in a place like this. Silly lady.’

After visiting the docks, Leilia had fallen into a panic.

Her only hope—the Alibu fruit—was out of reach, and she’d lost even her mother’s keepsake.

She’d considered running away, but knew it would only be a temporary escape—never a real answer.

In the end, time simply repeated, and bad ties refused to break.

The way out of hell, as hopeless as ever, remained only one.

“Let’s add a condition.”

Breaking the heavy silence, Leilia spoke in a dry voice.

It was a bold first word for a bride, but Carlisle’s face didn’t so much as twitch.

“Jumping straight into negotiations?”

His low voice resonated as he slowly opened his eyes, crimson irises sliding beneath neatly combed black hair.

“I want a wedding present.”

“So the merchant here isn’t me, but you. Seems a bit early for bargaining, doesn’t it?”

“Gridana. Give me your southern territory as a token of our contract.”

At that, Carlisle gave a small snort, reclining into the sofa and folding his arms, long legs crossed at a diagonal.

“Rumors do get twisted, it seems. Everyone’s been dying to know about Charlotte’s mysterious daughter, you know.”

“So you weren’t curious.”

Leilia took a casual sip of champagne, not bothering to hide her indifference.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. No one’s seen you at social gatherings, or even a strand of your hair, so it’s only natural people would be curious. Wild rumors are bound to spread—disabilities, death, you name it.”

With bored fingers, he drummed the table, then leaned forward to meet her eyes.

He expected her to flinch, but found only unshaken golden irises.

His handsome brow furrowed ever so slightly.

“So why did I insist on Charlotte, even enduring all the rumors? Aren’t you curious why I chose you, with all your supposed flaws?”

Carlisle’s lips curled lazily, as if to make clear who held the upper hand.

In one motion, his large hand yanked her slender waist, pulling her close.

Now, close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“Because of obedience.”

“…..”

“Because they’ll grovel at your feet like a dog.”

Carlisle murmured in a low voice, gaze dropping as he slowly pressed more of his weight against her, naturally pinning Leilia beneath him.

The change in their posture brought a new, precarious tension between them.

“A dog without an owner is that much easier to train.”

“You really are a son of a b*tch.”

Leilia smiled sweetly, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

Carlisle’s brows drew into a sharp line for a moment at her unexpected reaction, but he quickly regained his composure.

“There’s always a reason for rising this far.”

He gently tucked her tousled silver hair behind her ear, meeting her eyes with a strangely tender look.

But then, the easy curve of his lips flattened into a hard line as he reached for her chin.

His rough hand tipped her small jaw upward until two very different eyes met in the air between them.

“You seem to be under a misconception. In our arrangement, I set the terms.”

He whispered low, swiftly closing the distance between them.

Like a snake, his tongue flicked along the delicate line of her throat before biting lightly, then letting go.

At the bold provocation, Leilia bit her lower lip.

“If there’s anything you want, you’ll get it—once you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

“……”

“The order has changed. Duchess Liston.”