The Viscount of Asherton shook out his reddened, chapped palm and spoke.

“If your husband ever raises his hand against you, it won’t be because your husband is in the wrong. It will be because you did something to deserve it.”

Behind his twisted eyelids lay a hatred so deep it was hard to believe he was looking at his own daughter.

“Even if the man simply strikes you in a drunken stupor.”

“….”

Lysiana tucked her tangled hair neatly behind her ear and gave a small nod. Her cheeks had swollen so badly that even the simple act of opening her mouth was no easy thing.

“So please, conduct yourself in a way that doesn’t irritate him. Do you understand?”

“….”

“Answer me!”

“…Yes.”

The Viscount of Asherton, who had demanded her answer with the sharpness of a strict military officer, clicked his tongue. Lysiana’s response had apparently fallen short of satisfactory.

Still, he seemed to have no intention of striking her again. He turned and walked away.

The poorly oiled door closed with a faint scraping sound, and silence settled in.

“Hah!”

Lysiana let out the breath she had been holding all at once.

“Hah, hah!”

She gulped down air with a desperate hunger, like someone who had been forced underwater, and her head throbbed as her vision swam. Even so, she could not stop herself from breathing.

It hurt like a nail driving into her heart. Her ears rang and tears streamed down her face, but she could not stop.

No. She could not be stopped.

She felt that if she held her breath now, she would simply die.

“Hng, ugh…!”

With every heave of her ribcage expanding and contracting, Lysiana felt a wave of anguish wash over her.

Please.

In the end, she collapsed right there on the floor, and she kept on pleading until consciousness left her.

Please, let me escape this h*ll.

It was fine if she never received love for the rest of her life.

It was fine if people treated her like dust piled in a corner.

As long as she could break free from this household that bound her entire body and soul, anything would do.

‘We are to be married, after all. Wouldn’t it be better to see each other’s faces before the ceremony?’

That was why Lysiana had not refused when talk of a marriage arrangement with Marquis Thear Havertz, a man whose face she did not even know, began to circulate. She had gone even further, making herself small and acting obediently so as not to upset her father.

The first “assertive act” Lysiana had ever taken in her life amounted to nothing more than that.

“Remember this well. You must live like a mouse, not making a sound.”

Her mother had repeated this warning on the day she sent her off.

“Never talk back to your husband, and don’t even offend a mere maidservant. Do you understand?”

She seemed to fear that her daughter might get cast out by her husband and sent back to the estate.

“Yes. I’ll keep it in mind.”

And so Lysiana gave them the reassurance they needed.

That she would go on living like the dead, just as she always had, so they need not worry.