Ryan could not believe what that reckless woman had done.
Even her last words before passing out had been utterly childish.
— “So let us live while eating delicious things.”
Yet contrary to her words, her physical condition was dire.
She had plummeted from the third story, and it was only natural that she was severely injured, having absorbed the brunt of the impact in Ryan's place.
Had it not been for the thick shrubs below, matters would not have ended with merely broken bones; the physician told him she would not be able to walk properly for several weeks.
He had also heard there might be head trauma, but with no way of knowing for sure at the moment, they had to wait until Anasta woke up…
Ryan’s heart sank with dread at those words.
This woman was teetering between life and death because of what he had done.
It felt as if he had killed her himself.
‘…Why did you jump with me?’
It started with fear, gave way to confusion, shifted to denial, and in the end, only Anasta remained.
Soon, Ryan began to blame Anasta for leaping after him.
‘I didn't kill her; she chose to do this,’ he thought, but the notion only deepened his torment.
“The young lady wished to save you, my lord.”
The head maid had said as much, but Ryan simply could not comprehend Anasta.
He had never once treated her with kindness; he had only tormented her to drive her away, so why would she want to save him?
‘Damn it…’
He had thrown himself from the window because he truly wanted to die.
No, perhaps it had really been his pride.
Seizures were frequent for him, but yesterday's had been different.
His mind had slipped away into a blinding haze of vertigo, and his body had convulsed beyond all control.
What had infuriated him most was the pity in Anasta's eyes.
Even though she had been sold to him, she dared to pity him.
In that single instant, Ryan's pride had shattered.
In her gaze, he had seen his own paralyzed legs, his trembling arms, and his face twisted in screams of agony.
Ryan had felt wretched—wretched that a woman had laid bare his deepest vulnerabilities, and wretched that he had been reduced to such a state.
He had wanted to die from that sheer sense of humiliation.
It had felt as though that woman drove him to death, so he should have resented Anasta; yet the exact opposite had happened.
He was unharmed, and she was the one lying there.
‘Damn it, damn it, damn it!’
Ryan hated this woman.
He hated her to the point of madness.
He had disliked his first impression of her, and he was enraged that she always acted contrary to everything he expected.
Anasta woke up two days later.
The moment she opened her eyes, the physician asked for her name, the year of her birth, her current whereabouts, and her last memory.
Anasta answered in a daze, and finally asked after Ryan's condition.
“The young master was not gravely harmed, thanks to you, my lady.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
“Rather, we are glad that your head is uninjured.”
“My body aches all over, though.”
“You suffered fractures, including to your leg, so you will not be able to walk for several weeks. You will need to use a wheelchair.”
Anasta gave a small nod.
Afterward came the head maid, then the butler, and then the maid who had been changing her bedsheets.
The Duchess also paid an unexpected visit.
“It seems the cleaning is going surprisingly well here,” the Duchess remarked as she surveyed the room, then cast an appraising eye over Anasta’s condition.
“It is true your body is resilient, seeing as it ended with only this much injury.”
“…I am sorry, Madam.”
“I heard you saved Ryan? I was told you sensed the danger first and threw yourself after him. He was quite grateful to hear of it.”
By “he,” she meant the Duke.
“Whenever Ryan suffers sudden seizures, he becomes extraordinarily sensitive. This was not the first time he has attempted to take his own life, but I never expected him to throw himself out the window. He is truly reckless.”
The Duchess sighed, rubbing her temples.
“His room must be moved down to the first floor. In any case, now that your body is in this state, get some rest.”
Anasta had ended up with an unintended respite.
As soon as the Duchess stepped out, she relaxed her tense nerves and leaned back against the bed.
Then she looked at the door opposite her room. He must have heard that she had awakened, yet the place was as quiet as a grave.
Ryan Soltaire.
‘Does he hate the thought of seeing me?’
Perhaps his hatred had only grown because she had ruined his plans to die.
Anasta smiled bitterly and closed her eyes.
Right now, she desperately needed sleep, far away from any thoughts of Ryan or anything else.
Drifting into a deep slumber on the bed for the first time in ages, Anasta dreamed of Natasha.
Natasha had been the one who always stayed by her side whenever she wished to die.
She had held her tightly whenever she shivered from the cold and taken blows from their parents in her stead, leaving scars upon Natasha's body rather than Anasta's.
Even so, the ever-smiling Natasha had always aspired to draw closer to God.
She used to say constantly that she wanted to become a nun once she was free.
She wished to heal the wounds of those in pain and hold them in her embrace.
Anasta had felt that such a calling suited Natasha perfectly.
Yet that sweet dream had been shattered by the arrival of a certain baron.
“I like this child.”
He was a shady man who looked upon a young girl’s age with dubious interest.
He had pointed his finger squarely at Anasta.
She had been seventeen, and the soft contours of womanhood were just beginning to show.
“Will you give me this girl?”
At the Baron’s words, the Countess standing beside him had furrowed her brow.
“That child is still only fifteen. She is far too young to marry.”
Anasta had been seventeen.
The Countess had lied because Anasta was prized as a “luxury good.”
She intended to sell her to someone of far greater standing and wealth.
“Fifteen, you say?”
“Yes. You know that marriage at fifteen is not yet permissible, do you not?”
Yet the Baron belonged to an immensely wealthy family. His fortune eclipsed that of most houses, so he replied with smug assurance, “I will pay tenfold the sum.”
“What? B-But…”
It seemed inevitable that Anasta would be sold.
Anasta had curled into herself, trembling.
She had known this day would come eventually, but not so soon.
She hated the thought of being sold to that man more than death itself.
At that moment, sensing her sister’s trembling, Natasha grasped her hand tightly.
“Take me instead of Anasta.”
Natasha spoke in a steady voice without a hint of a tremor.
“Anasta is always sickly and cannot handle household chores, but I am good at everything.”
“Good at everything, are you?”
“Yes. I can do anything you command.”
At that, the man, who had not budged an inch, let out an unsettling laugh.
Natasha flinched at that revolting smile, but quickly nodded.
“Please, take me instead.”
“What is your name?”
“Natasha. Natasha Winterlit.”
Anasta could not comprehend her sister, who had sacrificed herself in the depths of despair.
Why, why did Sister do that…?
“Anasta, you can do this. You can read, and you are far better than I am.”
Overjoyed the moment they received the coin, the Count and his wife sold Natasha off without ever giving Anasta a chance to object.
Before she departed, Anasta had clung to Natasha’s shoulders.
“Sister, don't go. Please don't go! Let's run away together!”
“Don't do this. Do you want to be beaten again? Anasta, I am getting married, but you are clever, so you will be able to escape this house.”
“Sister…”
“Just wait a little while. I will be married to a wealthy husband, so I will have money. When that time comes, I will come looking for you, all right?”
Natasha boarded the carriage the very next day.
With the loss of her sister, Anasta’s resentment toward her parents only deepened.
Yet when Natasha’s letters ceased, she changed her mind.
She resolved to marry into a family of higher standing than the Count's to earn money, and then set out to search for Natasha.
And so it was…
Anasta felt movement nearby.
Judging by the prevailing silence, it seemed to still be the dead of night.
Was the person beside her the head maid? Or the butler?
“…Damn it.”
It was Ryan's voice.
Holding her breath, Anasta could barely manage to part her eyelids.
‘Why is he here?’
Had he truly come to attack her? She had lain in bed thinking he would not threaten someone who was ill—had she miscalculated?
As she hesitated to open her eyes, she sensed him pulling away.
Click.
The sound of the door shutting echoed. Only then did Anasta lift her lids and slowly push herself up.
· · ·
She soon guessed the reason. He had come to check on her.
A dying husband.
She had planned to flee with her sister after marrying and collecting her reward, yet here she had found a man just as miserable as herself.
Perhaps he was a man far more like her than he ever realized.
END
