Chapter 28

“Aunt Bianca!”

Startled by Alberto’s raised voice—something she had never heard before—Rabiana flinched. She had only ever seen his composed demeanor until now.

Alberto gently handed the trembling Rabiana over to Julia, who had hurried over.

“My Lady. Please go to your room for a while.”

“…Yes.”

With Julia’s support, Rabiana slowly ascended the stairs.

Bianca, glaring disapprovingly at her retreating back, crossed her arms and sank into the sofa.

“I refuse to acknowledge that woman. Who gets married without permission in the first place? Have you forgotten how we took you in? Really.”

Alberto didn’t even have the energy to laugh.

No matter how hard he tried, there was just no way to like this woman.

He couldn’t help but wonder—had his own mother been anything like her?

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm.

Then, returning to his usual, unshaken expression, he took the tea from the servant’s hands and placed it on the table himself.

Veins rose on the back of his hand as he set the cup down.

“Aunt Bianca.”

Everyone could feel it—it wasn’t just a statement. It was a warning.

“While you still have the use of your own two feet—leave quietly.”

***

But Bianca didn’t leave.

When Alberto leaned in close, his presence was so cold and menacing even the formidable Bianca tensed.

But retreat wasn’t in her nature. Instead, she unpacked her things.

“Hmph. I’m not leaving until I undo this marriage, one way or another.”

She had already chosen the woman she believed should marry into this family—one who lacked nothing in status, education, or pedigree, save perhaps for looks.

For Alberto to have married a woman as pitiful as that—Bianca simply could not accept it.

“Did you really think I’d be scared of some pathetic threat?”

Bianca’s eyes burned with the fire of battle—she was clearly determined to find some flaw in Rabiana no matter what.

***

Rabiana sat stiffly on the bed, at a complete loss.

It felt like she’d been struck by lightning.

She found herself wondering if tending the greenhouse had somehow been a mistake.

Just then, the door opened.

Her whole body tensed again.

She couldn’t even rise—she just sat frozen as the door closed.

Thump. Thump.

The heavy, steady footsteps drawing closer were familiar enough now that she didn’t even need to hear the voice.

“Your Grace…?”

“Yes.”

“Ah—”

The moment she confirmed it was Alberto, a wave of relief washed over her.

Her body felt like it had lost all strength.

His tall figure, dimly visible, stopped in front of her.

Slowly, he lowered himself.

She tilted her head slightly, not knowing what he was doing—until she felt a light touch brushing her ankle and instinctively pulled her foot back.

Alberto looked up at her for a moment.

Her face was tense with obvious anxiety.

Her hands, resting on her knees, were clenched into fists.

What lingered in his mind was her ankle.

The way Bianca had yanked her around so violently that she couldn’t even stand afterward—it had stuck with him.

Rabiana wasn’t someone important to him. She was a woman to be used, nothing more.

And yet, the fact that she had suffered because of him nagged at him.

It had to be that.

“Your ankle.”

His hand moved toward her retreating foot—as if to catch it—but stopped short.

Close enough to feel the warmth, but never touching.

So close, the fine hairs on her skin seemed to stand on end.

Rabiana quietly swallowed.

Her heart pounded wildly.

“May I touch it?”

Lately, Alberto had started asking her every time—before laying even a single finger on her.

She had always been grateful for that courtesy.

But now, it made her uncomfortable.

She understood it was to examine her injured ankle, and yet—because of the heavy air between them, or perhaps the low, resonant tone of his voice—

She couldn’t bring herself to say yes.

Rabiana felt parched.

She gave a small nod, intending it as permission. But Alberto didn’t move.

Uncertain if he had even seen her gesture, she bit her lip.

Just as she finally worked up the courage to speak aloud—

“…!”

Her ankle was suddenly caught.

“Ah!”

His fingers pressed firmly into the hollow of her smooth ankle, and Rabiana’s shoulders jolted.

A sharp twinge of pain ran up her leg and shot to the top of her head, making her reflexively grab Alberto’s shoulder.

Alberto, looking up at her, began to gently rub the bone just above her heel.

He hadn’t meant to.

He had only grabbed her ankle firmly when she resisted—but the movement had happened unintentionally.

Rabiana knew that, but for some reason, it still embarrassed her.

“It really is injured.”

Alberto exhaled quietly.

His jaw tensed as he held back his anger.

“I’m sorry. You went through that because of my family.”

He hated interference from others.

He hated the idea of a wife’s family meddling in his life so much that he had deliberately chosen someone who wouldn’t do such a thing.

So naturally, he also disliked causing others trouble.

Give nothing. Take nothing.

That simple rule had cracked.

And today again, the fact that his family had caused Rabiana harm unsettled him.

How was he supposed to make this right?

“It’s fine. Please don’t worry about it.”

My family…

Rabiana repeated the words to herself and smiled faintly.

Just as she had Lawrence, Alberto had his own people too.

She didn’t feel sad or disappointed knowing she wasn’t family to him.

But there was a quiet bitterness in her chest.

Maybe it was because the servants treating her like a lady had made her forget her place for a moment.

“How could I not worry?”

Rabiana hadn’t forgotten.

Not once—ever since she heard him say, in the carriage, that the only reason he married her was to avoid hassle.

She felt uneasy. It seemed she had bothered him without meaning to…

“Because Your Grace married me so you wouldn’t have to care….”

“It never meant I wouldn’t care whether you were hurt because of my family.”

Cutting her off, Alberto released her ankle. For a moment he simply looked up at her. He couldn’t read her feelings without seeing her eyes, yet she didn’t seem upset or angry.

The sight instead ignited something in Alberto’s chest.

Why is this woman so unruffled? No matter what happens, she never grieves or gets angry. Even when treated unfairly, she accepts it as if it’s nothing—that detached attitude clashed completely with Alberto.

In every single way, he and Rabiana did not match.

“Any request you would make of me.”

“… ”

“Is there none?”

Alberto pressed down the rising anger. He’d once vented that fury on her and regretted it—he’d learned from that. Besides, the target of his anger now was Bianca.

He wanted to repay this debt by granting Rabiana any request—an utterly selfish mercy meant only to ease his own mind.

Rabiana was aware of that. She heard his quiet sighs, his troubled tone—proof he felt sorry.

It was only a sprained ankle. Nothing serious.

She wanted to decline, say he needn’t do anything, but feared that might anger him, so she hesitated.

What request would ease Alberto’s mind….

She desired nothing—

‘Put every flower in the greenhouse back the way it was.’

What she did want was to keep tending that greenhouse. It had started as Julia’s request, yet she’d grown attached. She wanted to continue. But it was overstepping. The greenhouse had once belonged to Bianca’s mother, so Bianca’s anger was understandable.

A stranger suddenly wrecking her mother’s greenhouse—of course she would be furious.

“My…”

Rabiana finally chose something else. But the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out.

She had chosen this because she happened to be injured—and because it might lighten Alberto’s sense of guilt.

Still, it felt like she may have gone too far.

“My?”

Alberto latched onto the trailing word, urging her to continue. Rabiana clenched her fists and spoke with determination.

“Please… wait on me.”

“…What?”

The relief she’d felt didn’t even last three seconds.

When Alberto repeated it, as if he hadn’t heard her right, Rabiana realized she really had crossed a line and her face flushed.

It wasn’t that she intended to treat the head of a noble house like a servant.

But even without seeing a doctor, she knew. It felt like needles were pricking her ankle, and just moving slightly sent cold sweat down her back—she would need to rest for at least a few days.

So if she was going to ask for something anyway, she figured it might as well be simple.

“I-I’m sorry. Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”