Bang! Bang! Bang!

The explosive noise sent several attendants scurrying around in a panic. It was coming from a small room near Isabella’s quarters, which were located deep inside the ducal residence.

Clang!

The sound of breaking objects crashing echoed loudly. No one could tell what was happening.

A few bewildered attendants tried to approach, but the large servants guarding the hallway glared at them and forced them to retreat. But even the guards looked just as confused. They glanced nervously at the commotion inside and whispered amongst themselves.

“The lady must’ve lost her mind…”
“Is she possessed by a spirit?”
“What is happening in there…?”

Through their stunned gaze, they could see Rosie holding a massive hammer. A strong servant obeyed her command and began to smash the room apart piece by piece.

In the corner, Ashley clutched a small hammer and trembled uncontrollably. As Ashley stood rooted to the spot, Rosie swung her hammer with all her might.

Thud!

She could have done this from the beginning.

Thud—crack!

Why had she never done it before?

Thud! Crack!

Why?

Rosie swung the hammer with fury. Her long hair came undone, whipping wildly around her as she moved. Drawing a deep breath, she summoned every last ounce of strength and brought the hammer down again.

Thud! Thunk!

Then her strength gave out. The hammer flew from her hands and skidded across the floor.

The shattered leg of the bedside table and the hammer itself flew across the room, leaving a crack in the wall. Nevertheless, the destruction was a success.

Ashley approached timidly, clutching her small hammer.

“Sister… you’re not crying, right?”

“No. It’s sweat.”

In response to her tentative question, Rosie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She felt lighter, almost relieved.

She could still vividly remember being dragged to this very nightstand, being forced to lean against it, and being hit with a stick. She had begged her to stop. She had pleaded for mercy.

Ashley, watching nervously, shyly offered her a handkerchief. Rosie smiled and thanked her softly, wiping away the remaining sweat.

When a person has nothing left to lose, they can do anything. Since she was going to die anyway, Rosie felt she could do whatever she wanted. It was liberating. With every piece of furniture that broke, another knot inside her seemed to loosen.

But Ashley, unaware of the full context, remained anxious.

“But is this really okay? What if Mother tries to retaliate?”

“Don’t worry about that. As long as His Grace is home, she can’t do a thing.”

She had a plan.

Rosie glanced around the dusty, wrecked room, placing her hand on her hip.

“I should’ve done this ages ago.”

After a brief rest, she picked up the large hammer again. This time, her target was the detestable bookshelf.

It had once contained a thick philosophy book that Isabella had used to hit Rosie on the head with such force that her scalp had torn and bled.

The scar it left was large, and whenever Callios had touched her hair in the past, she had brushed him off in case he might notice.

He always stared at her strangely whenever she did that.

Rosie glared fiercely at the towering bookshelf, then turned around. Ashley flinched at the look, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gathered her courage and joined in, lifting her small hammer.

Her first hits were soft and timid, but they grew stronger. Soon, she was grabbing books and tossing them aside.

Then one of the servants who had been silently breaking things came over and pushed the bookshelf over.

“I’ll assist you as well, young mistress.”

Rosie let out a small, satisfied laugh and set her hammer down briefly.

“All right. Thank you.”

Jenny had chosen the perfect servant. He was part of Isabella’s staff, and she often beat him simply because she disliked the look of his eyes.

Yet once, just once, he had pretended not to see when Rosie was dragged away. The only reason he hadn’t been dismissed was because Isabella favoured him as one of her bedroom attendants.

Isabella’s cruelty was not limited to Rosie or Ashley. Servants throughout the manor lived in fear of her. Depending on her mood, the weak walked on thin ice every day.

Pante was no different. Whenever he was drunk, he would lash out at the attendants with a whip. With the real master away, the impostors acted like him, oppressing everyone beneath them.

And then it happened.

With the weight of the servant behind it, the bookshelf finally tipped over with a thunk, crashing onto the floor.

Books scattered everywhere, torn and tumbling across the room. Among them were the volumes that Isabella had treasured for ‘cultivating her refinement’.

Rosie looked around the wrecked room with deep satisfaction. She dusted her hands off and brushed her fingers over the end of the hammer.

“Now this feels livable.”

Seeing how content she looked, both Ashley and the servant who had helped her smiled.

That was when she arrived.

Having heard the commotion, Isabella, who had only stepped out for a short while, came storming in.

So that was why the servants had been exchanging such strange looks earlier.

The attendants guarding the door looked at each other uneasily when Isabella arrived, then quickly stepped aside.

She shoved them away, threw open the door and shrieked.

“What are you doing in here without my perm—! Ack!”

The moment Isabella saw inside the room, she recoiled in shock, falling backwards onto the floor.

In the dusty, wrecked room stood Rosie, dusting off her hands; a large servant gripping a massive hammer; and Ashley hurriedly hiding her small hammer behind her back.

Near the cracked wall lay the heavy hammer that Rosie had thrown, as if someone had placed it there on purpose.

Isabella clamped a hand over her mouth and stared at the devastation, trembling. It was clear who was responsible for this. Rosie — that insolent girl.

Still sitting on the floor, Isabella pointed a shaking finger at Rosie.

“You’ve finally gone insane! Where did you learn such vulgar behavior?! What is all of—!”

“Mother, that’s why I told you earlier.”

Rosie cut off her shrill screams with a bored, clipped tone.

“What?”

As Isabella’s gaze wavered, Rosie took a step towards her. The two women locked eyes. Isabella held her chin up with stubborn pride, while Rosie remained calm and unwavering.

Rosie stopped in front of Isabella, bending slightly at the waist and clasping her hands behind her back. Looking up at Isabella from below, she spoke with cool composure.

“I said I’d be choosing the meeting place from now on.”

Isabella’s red eyes flared, burning like fire.

“You dare—!”

Her tightly clenched lips twisted into an animalistic growl. Had she ever been humiliated like this before?

Rosie held out her hand as if to offer help.

“You’ll get dust on your fine dress. Take my hand, Mother.”

However, instead of taking it, Isabella seized Rosie’s hair with a vicious yank. Rosie felt a familiar pain jolt through her scalp — a pain she had experienced countless times before. Isabella smirked and tightened her grip.

“I’d much rather grab this than your hand.”

Ashley gasped and covered her mouth. The servants who were watching her froze in shock — most of them had never seen her behave so openly before.

But Rosie didn’t utter a single groan. She simply stared straight at Isabella.

This much pain meant nothing now.

The cold fury in her brown eyes unsettled Isabella. She was never supposed to have eyes like that — eyes that suggested she was capable of anything and had nothing left to lose.

“You should stop doing vulgar things yourself, Mother. Release me.”

“You wretched—!”

“Hurry. Everyone is watching.”

Their gazes clashed, brimming with hostility.

“You dare destroy my space? Are you prepared to pay the price?”

“I’ve already paid it.”

“More nonsense—!”

It was true. In her previous life, she had paid dearly for doing nothing. Piece by piece, she had lost everything precious to her.

Now, she was determined to do something — anything. Whatever it took.

Rosie picked up a sharp shard of glass from the floor. She heard the startled breaths of people rushing towards her, seemingly intent on stopping her.

Ignoring them, she raised the shard.

“The only people allowed to touch my hair…”

Isabella’s red eyes widened with fear.

Rosie’s hand dropped swiftly downwards.

“Only Jenny is allowed to touch my hair, Mother.”

Rosie’s long hair cascaded down her back, and then — shhh! — one section fell neatly away.

It was only a small piece, trimmed slightly at the ends. But the shock it caused was enormous.

No one breathed. Not a single sound stirred in the room.

Isabella stared dumbly at the strands of hair in her hand. She had pulled her hand back just in time; otherwise, the shard might have cut her palm open.

Fine, soft pieces of Rosie’s cut hair slipped one by one from her trembling hand. Then, suddenly, a drop of blood fell from her palm.

“Aaah! Blood—blood!”

All that panic over a tiny cut. Rosie watched her coolly and let the shard fall from her hand.

Tap.

A faint sound echoed through the ruined room just as Jenny’s frantic breath reached them.

“My lady!”

She came rushing down the corridor and skidded to a halt, eyes widening in horror.

“What on earth—! Are you alright? Your hands are a mess!”

Isabella sat stunned as everyone present ignored her — and no one cared.

Jenny had been keeping watch from a distance, ready to signal Rosie if Callios arrived. Rosie was the first to regain her composure. She asked calmly.

“Where is His Grace?”

“Oh—! Well, that is…”

Jenny turned around, her expression stricken.

The sound of footsteps — fast, sharp and unmistakably growing nearer — filled the hallway.

Then a deep voice echoed through the hallway.

“What is the meaning of this commotion?”