This Marriage Must End In Tragedy Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Accumulation of Hatred
Spring in the South carried with it the tranquil scent of the sea. Warmer than the capital, the breeze tickled Damion’s cheek. It was not an unpleasant sensation.
The venue, Viscount Ziden’s manor, was in a place with a fairly decent view. The mansion’s exterior was pleasant enough, bathed in the sunset glow filtering through the clouds.
So maybe it would have been better not to decorate it at all.
The garishly adorned entrance, smothered in brightly colored flowers, was jarring enough to drain the moment of its charm.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t go in,’ he thought.
“Are you Major Orphe, by any chance?”
Damion turned around.
The man before him had thick brows, light brown hair, and a stature a hand’s span shorter than his own… It was the young Count of Bercel, one of the South’s most venerable houses and lord of vast estates.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Count Bercel.” Damion offered a mild smile and extended his hand.
Bercel’s face lit up as he shook it. “So, you know who I am, Major.”
“I’ve heard much of House Bercel and had hoped to meet you… But I’m no longer a Major… I left the military.”
“Yes, I heard you’ve been living in the capital for some months now. Then… would ‘Sir Damion’ be appropriate?”
“Whatever’s most comfortable for you.”
The two stepped into the banquet hall. It was already teeming with guests… and with flowers. Far too many flowers. It said all one needed to know about the host’s atrocious taste.
Still, the delicate strains of violin music offered some consolation.
Damion decided to find comfort in that. Not that he could really focus on the music, given the ongoing stream of conversation.
“By the way, will your older brother be joining us? I mean, Duke Cardian de Orphe.”
“No, my brother’s tied up with work.”
“Oh! And yet here you are in his place… such brotherly affection, how admirable.”
Damion gave a faint smile in response. He chose not to mention that he’d only dropped by because he originally had a business trip to the South.
“Oh, Damion. What a surprise to find you here.”
A group of men had noticed them and approached. One was the president of a hotel invested in by the elders of House Orphe, the other was the son of a man who owned much of the South’s train station infrastructure.
Damion picked up a wine glass… a gesture of acceptance to join the conversation.
A servant soon came by and poured white wine into their glasses.
Thus began the exchange of measured, highbrow conversation with each man carefully maintaining a courteous distance.
Damion was well aware that their stiff, dignified composure was performative… meant to impress the women nearby.
The sidelong glances were blatant enough to be almost comical.
As he grew weary of the charade, he noticed a woman.
In a corner of the hall, a brunette haired servant was quietly clearing the dishes.
There was nothing remarkable about the scene. And yet, Damion found himself unable to look away.
Was it because she kept scanning the room as if searching for someone, even while she cleared the table?
Or perhaps it was how her lips remained tightly pressed, betraying a tension in her slightly thin frame?
Or perhaps… it was her oddly familiar appearance.
“Honestly, investing now seems too risky. Don’t you agree, Damion?”
Drawn back to the conversation, Damion slowly turned toward his companions. He took a sip from his glass and offered a languid smile.
“Who’s to say? Now that the bubble burst, now might be the perfect time.”
The conversation resumed its course.
But when Damion turned his violet eyes back toward that spot, the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Who would’ve thought he'd see the same woman with a gun to her head, in a place like this?
“I’d prefer you didn’t, not tonight. I’d rather avoid having a nightmare tonight, if you don’t mind.”
It was deep in the night, in the secluded garden, far from anyone’s sight.
The woman turned to him, startled.
She was pale to the point of translucence, her skin gleamed like moonlight. Her eyes, blue and luminous as the sea, brimmed with wariness. And they were… once again, familiar.
Well, whatever the case.
“I’m not a fan of nightmares.”
For now, that alone was reason enough to stop her from dying.
‘The man looks like an angel.’
That’s what Ansi thought as she watched him under the moonlight.
His neatly combed platinum-blonde hair and carefully shaped brows gave off an air of nobility. His smooth skin and crimson lips lent him a delicate beauty, yet the sharp lines of his nose and jaw introduced something decadent, something dangerous.
Though he smiled and spoke gently, there was a chill in his eyes… There was a hint of coldness lurking beneath the surface… And it struck her as oddly familiar.
“Have you ever tried apricot tart?”
This question came completely out of nowhere. Ansi furrowed her brows as she stared at him.
The man continued nonchalantly. “You should… before you die.”
His eyebrows furrowed, showing a hint of disappointment… and then he reached into his pocket. His red lips curved in quiet satisfaction as he stepped closer.
Ansi quickly rose to her feet and stepped back, yet his calm, unhurried stride outstripped her retreat.
In no time, he stood before her and held something out.
Ansi accepted it, more from surprise than intention. When their fingertips brushed against each other, she flinched involuntarily.
“It should be worth a decent sum. Sell it in the morning.”
“Why… are you giving this to me?”
“I guess… you can call it your price for staying alive. Or the fee for sparing me a nightmare.”
The man let out a brief scoff. Only then did Ansi realize the misunderstanding he had fallen into.
He must have thought she was trying to take her own life. And so, he gave her the pen so she could sell it and use the money to survive.
He was arrogant beyond belief, but in some ways, it worked in her favor. It was far better than having him realize she had been planning to kill someone.
Ansi curled the hand that held the fountain pen into a fist. Confirming her silence, the man turned and walked away without a second glance. A gentle breeze blew from his direction as he left, carrying with it a faint trail of musk.
Surrounded by the lingering trail of that scent, Ansi lowered her gaze.
That was the name that was engraved on the pen. The Maron marquessate, Marques de Maron. It was a family name she’d heard of before.
‘So, he wasn’t from the House of Orphe at all.’
A dry laugh escaped her lips. Turning her back to the direction he’d gone, Ansi started walking the opposite way.
"I'm sorry, Miss Rain, but I can't give you anymore medicine on credit after this," the pharmacist said hesitantly, furrowing his brows.
His voice held an unmistakable note of guilt, but Ansi knew how much he had already helped her.
She nodded in understanding saying, "Yes, I'm grateful for everything you've done for me up to now. I promise I'll pay for the medicine next week."
"Of course. You're going through a lot. Are you getting off work in the morning again today?"
"Your mother must be waiting. Better hurry home."
The Viscount Ziden estate employed both live-in and commuting servants. Ansi was among the latter. After work, she always returned to her home on Wart Street, which wasn't far from the estate.
It was a small flat with just one room off a narrow living space on the third floor of a rickety building… but she knew better than to complain. Just having a space to rest her head was a blessing in itself.
But as she reached for her key, she sensed something was off.
The door handle had been broken.
A terrible feeling swept over her like a tide. Ansi threw the door open.
The room had been torn apart. Furniture and dishes were scattered everywhere and food was spilled all across the floor.
“You really should come home earlier, Rain.”
Ansi’s eyes darted towards the source. A young man emerged, wearing a face of feigned regret.
"I stopped by, but no one was home. If you go skulking around in the middle of the night like a stray cat, then this is what you get."
"Don't look at me like that. I'm only here to warn you… you still owe us a lot."
“Don’t be ridiculous. I paid off the principal and interest.”
“Well, a new interest clause was added before you cleared the debt. So now you have to comply.”
“This isn’t fair. That clause wasn’t part of the original agreement!”
“Quit acting so righteous like some kind of moral maiden.”
Geris suddenly reached out, seized a fistful of her hair and yanked it hard.
A scream tore from Ansi’s throat as pain exploded across her scalp. Geris leaned in and whispered into her ear.
“Rain, if you had wanted fairness, you would’ve gone to a bank. But you didn’t… Because no one lends to trash like you except us.”
Ansi’s eyes burned red with rage as she glared at him.
Geris chuckled, clearly enjoying the look of anger on her face. Her lips trembled as she groped at the hem of her skirt.
“Going for your gun? You know why I never take it away? Because I’ve got one too. And I could put a hole through your skull before you even switch off the safety button.”
With that, Geris shoved her hard onto the floor. As she lay there with her breath knocked out of her, his sneering laughter echoed over her.
“I’ll be back next month.”
The door closed harshly behind him.
Silence fell. It was as if the whole thing had been a nightmare.
Thank God she had sent her mother to Madam Merhi’s house today. Originally, she'd done it to prepare her mother to flee in case the police came her after she'd killed Cardian, but she hadn’t anticipated… this.
Ansi forced herself up and began to clean the mess. Without a word, she set the chairs upright, gathered the scattered clothes, and picked up broken glass.
A sharp sting lanced through her finger. Blood welled up in tiny beads. Her body slumped where she stood, collapsing to the floor.
Her breath soon became ragged gasps.
This time, the burning churn of grief and fury refused to subside.
If only she hadn’t borrowed money from scum like him. If only she’d had enough to pay for her mother’s medicine. If only the Rubelsa estate’s assets hadn’t been confiscated. If only that bastard, Cardian de Orphe, had never existed…
Had she known her hatred would build up like this, she would have just killed him back then at the Orphe ducal manor.
She shouldn't have run away in fear. She should’ve just slit his damn throat right there and then.
Sleep never came easily… her father’s crimson-streaked dog tag and her brother’s final, agonized cry replayed in her mind like a ritual of torment.
Time in Ansi’s mind had frozen still. It had never moved past that day, a year ago, when her father and brother died.