“Wh-what…!”
Before the stunned Ryan could utter another word, Anasta had already raised the glass of water and swallowed every drop along with the medicine in a single gulp.
Clack.
The glass was set down on the table.
Anasta then spread open the hand that had held the pills and stared at him.
“I took it.”
“Are you insane?! Do you have any idea how potent that medicine is? No one knows what side effects a healthy person might suffer if they take it!”
Ryan sprang from his bed and lunged toward Anasta.
Though she was slightly taken aback by the height of this man who stood nearly two heads taller than her, her surprise was nothing compared to his utter shock.
He gripped her jaw tightly and forced her mouth open to inspect the inside.
“Damn it! Did you really swallow it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to end up crippled? Or have you lost your mind and developed a death wish? Why on earth did you swallow it?!”
“I told you I would.”
“Head Maid! Butler! Now, summon the doctor at once! Right now!”
Ryan’s voice rang out with a tremor, followed by the distant echo of footsteps as the Butler and the Head Maid came rushing over.
Anasta alone remained entirely calm. She retrieved the pillbox from her pocket and held out the morning dose to Ryan.
“Here. Take your medicine.”
“Is that really what you have to say in a situation like this?”
“If you will not take your medicine, then I shall refuse treatment as well.”
Ryan turned pale.
This woman… she truly was mad.
“Young Master! What happened?!”
At that moment, the Head Maid and the Butler threw open the door and burst into the room.
Though they had brought a guard along, both froze in their tracks upon seeing Ryan unharmed.
“Where is the doctor?”
Ryan demanded, but Anasta cut in before anyone else could answer.
“There is no point in having the doctor come. I will not accept an examination unless the young master takes his medicine.”
“Come now, hurry.”
Anasta produced another pill.
“Otherwise, I might die.”
Ryan let out a bitter, mocking laugh when he realized her obstinate display was an exact reflection of what he had done just moments ago.
“Damn it! Fine, so shut that cursed mouth of yours!”
She was a sly woman, nothing short of a witch.
In a thoroughly foul mood, Ryan snatched the medicine from Anasta’s hand and tossed it into his mouth.
“Drink the water too.”
Anasta handed him the water, and he begrudgingly gulped that down as well.
“Are you satisfied now? Now let the doctor see you!”
“Head Maid, could you bring me a bucket?”
“What are you talking about? I told you to get treated!”
“I will. But first, I need to vomit up this medicine.”
“What?”
While the Head Maid stood bewildered by what was unfolding, she fetched the bucket, and Anasta calmly stepped outside.
And Anasta, having vanished with an innocent look upon her face, did not return until lunchtime.
Ryan was in the foulest of moods.
‘Wretched woman.’
He had heard that after stealing and taking his medicine, she had shoved a finger down her throat to force herself to throw up.
Fortunately, the pill had come back up whole before being digested, and the doctor had examined her immediately.
Since the doctor had left without concern, she was plainly fine, but she had certainly received a harsh scolding.
She had likely been forced to endure tedious lectures about how her life had been in danger.
Ryan hoped that madwoman had come to her senses, but his hopes were quickly dashed.
Anasta walked in carrying his lunch, her face as tranquil as though nothing had ever happened.
“It is lunchtime, Young Master.”
· · ·
Ryan despised this woman. He despised the way she had manipulated him with that theatrical medicine stunt.
He had no desire to eat the food she brought, but he knew she would simply eat it all herself if he refused.
With his stomach aching from taking medication on an empty stomach, he snatched the tray from Anasta’s hands.
Despite his simmering rage, he chewed his food with immaculate elegance and absolute calm.
Anasta, for her part, did not utter another word; she merely stepped back and began quietly reading a book.
“Why don't you just get out of my sight?”
Anasta nodded at Ryan's words.
“I merely wished to clear the table the moment you finished. But if my presence disturbs your meal, I shall return to my room.”
That infuriatingly monotonous tone.
Ryan furrowed his brows in annoyance.
“That book—what kind of book are you reading?”
Anasta’s eyes widened slightly, as though she had not expected the question.
“It is a book on theology.”
“Hardly suits you. You're a madwoman.”
“It is good for cultivating the soul. Besides, I am not that mad, am I?”
“A sane person doesn't take someone else's medicine.”
“…I was told that to persuade the other party, one must step down to their level.”
“Who said that? That book?”
“No, my sister.”
“Ah, so you have a sister.”
Ryan cared nothing for her family or her personal life.
In his eyes, she was someone who would leave after a week, or a month at most.
Yet he noticed how her rigid expression softened and grew warmer at the mention of her sister.
For the first time, Ryan saw the ghost of a genuine smile on Anasta's face.
‘The Sold Bride.’
He remembered his stepmother's words about her before she arrived.
She had said she was a count's daughter who had received a strict upbringing in etiquette and bridal decorum.
And that she was a captivating woman of breathtaking beauty whom he would undoubtedly take a liking to.
At the time, he had assumed it was merely lies meant to entice him into marriage, but looking at her objectively, Anasta Winterlit was indeed beautiful.
Yet that beauty had no effect on Ryan.
He had known many beautiful women before falling ill, and to him, beauty was nothing more than an exterior shell.
“That sister seems very dear to your heart.”
Ryan asked, feigning curiosity while plotting to uncover her weak point.
“Of course.”
“And what of your parents?”
“…My bond with my sister was particularly close.”
“More so than with your parents?”
Anasta seemed momentarily flustered, and a sly smile crept across Ryan’s lips.
“Just curious. Why do you long for your sister but harbor no fondness for your parents? Were they really that awful? Well, no ordinary parents would send their daughter off to marry a dying man.”
· · ·
“They abandoned you, didn't they?”
Ryan laced his words with deliberate cruelty.
“Are you hoarding money to live on your own? Ah, or to live with your beloved sister?”
Ryan did not stop there; he pressed on.
“But did you know? While you toil away here, your parents are living in the lap of luxury on the gold and land Soltaire handed them.”
“You weren't merely abandoned—you were exploited to the very end. Doesn't that make you seethe? That you alone are the one suffering?”
· · ·
“Just thinking about it sickens me. Why don't you flip the table on everyone?”
“Since you had the guts to swallow that medicine, you must have courage. Or are you just a fool who lacks the spine for this?”
“Young Master.”
Anasta slowly stepped closer to Ryan.
He thought she would be furious, yet she wore a faint smile, like someone who had just received praise.
“Thank you for your concern for me.”
“Concern? Who? Me?”
“You are entirely correct. They were never true parents. And the thought of the gold received as my price going to them makes me want to tear everything apart.”
“Then do it.”
“However, in spite of everything, I am a loyal woman. I will not abandon my ill fiancé and walk away.”
Were those words sincere, or merely clever wordplay?
One thing was certain: the blade Ryan had tried to drive into her heart had failed to leave even a scratch.
On the contrary, he was the one left flushing with vexation at her response.
Every night before sleeping, Anasta wrote a letter.
Natasha was always the recipient, but the address remained uncertain.
Thus, Anasta sent letters to every address where she suspected Natasha might be, hoping that one would arrive and yield a reply.
Tonight as well, Anasta placed the letter inside the desk drawer after ensuring it contained not a single suspicious sentence.
And when she gathered her blanket and pillow to head out into the hallway, she felt wetness beneath her feet.
Anasta realized that water had pooled across the floor beneath her.
“I spilled it by accident.”
Ryan stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest with a cold detachment.
He claimed it was an accident, but his deed had been entirely deliberate.
“Then I shall go fetch a mop.”
Not a ripple crossed Anasta’s face as she went to look for a mop the maids might have left somewhere.
A moment later, she found some dry towels in a storage closet at the end of the wing.
When she returned carrying the towels, she found her blanket tossed right in the puddle, thoroughly soaked.
There was no doubt Ryan was the one who had done it.
…How childish.
She now understood how he had harassed the maids and driven them away.
She sighed, wiped the floor, then stepped into the room to hang the blanket over the windowsill to dry.
Even after waking the next day, Anasta’s ordeal did not come to an end.
She was subjected to a brief, brainwashing-like lecture from the Butler, reminding her that even if she became part of the Soltaire family, she remained at the very bottom of the hierarchy.
He told her she had no right to aspire to a high station and must never dare to look above her station.
Anasta knew her place perfectly well, and she had never coveted such status to begin with.
All she wanted was money.
Her living expenses and the handsome settlement she would receive once this cursed marriage reached its end.
For that reason, she continued to serve Ryan his meals and medicine with unflagging devotion.
“Are you finished eating?”
From that day forward, Ryan never missed a meal or dodged his medicine again.
Instead, he took his meals regularly and swallowed his medication right on schedule.
Yet his temper tantrums only worsened.
How many glasses did he shatter? How many times did he chase off the maids who came to change the linens?
And how often did he scream at whoever was cleaning the room, shouting, “Get out of my face!”?
One maid eventually resigned, and another left in tears.
When the Butler, unable to bear it any longer, inquired about the source of his discontent, Ryan answered as though he had been waiting for the question.
“Have Anasta attend to all my needs.”
“Pardon?”
“Isn't that why you brought her here? To wait on me.”
“But that lady is to be your wife, Young Master.”
“Nonsense. You already treat her like my maid as it is. That's why you dumped the hardest tasks—mealtimes and medication—onto her.”
And so, Anasta found herself confined to Ryan’s room for twelve hours a day.
END
