The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 65: Ending It

“It’s been a while, Duchess.”

“Ah, Marisela, it has been a while.”

The Duchess stood awkwardly nearby, glancing around the room.

There didn’t seem to be a suitable place for her to sit. Sitting too close to her son would seem improper.

It was probably because I had brought Raphael along.

“Raphael, get up.”

Without a word, Raphael stood. I followed suit.

I couldn’t just sit there alone.

“Please have a seat here, Duchess.”

“…Duchess. Oh, alright, Marisela.”

After hesitating and glancing at me for a long moment, the Duchess finally sat down.

“…Marisela, should we move to a different room?”

“Move where? This room is more than spacious enough compared to our home.

Just bring over a chair.”

Because of my smaller frame, I wasn’t as noticeable while seated.

Standing and looking down might create more of a commanding presence.

Libian called for a servant, and after much struggling, they brought in a large sofa.

I sat on the sofa with Raphael, holding his hand.

My hands were trembling.

Since the Duchess had entered the room, it had become harder to breathe.

I was trying to seem unfazed, inhaling deeply through my nose, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there wasn’t enough air.

It was as though I lacked oxygen, leaving my head feeling light and dizzy.

“Libian, the Duchess is here now, so let’s start talking.

Honestly, I thought it was all over. I didn’t expect we’d ever meet again, let alone have any follow-up conversations.”

“…We came to apologize to you, to… to make amends.

We wanted to tell you we were sorry.

That day, you left so quickly, without taking anything with you.”

“You were the one who sent Raphael and those useless servants to accompany me.”

“And now that some time has passed since your marriage, the family should—”

I cut Libian off.

I knew what he was about to say.

He wanted to bring up the child—my child, currently in my womb.

The Vitelsbach family has an oddly strong sense of familial identity.

Of course, that only applies to those they recognize as family.

While they seemed to consider me part of the family now, back then they treated me worse than livestock.

It was only natural to worry that they might treat my child the same way.

If my child truly wanted to be part of this family someday—if they earnestly desired it—then maybe, when they were older and capable of making their own decisions, I might consider sending them here.

But only after I had created a safe place for them to return to.

After all, much of the knowledge and sense I have now came from this place, even if I didn’t particularly value it.

“For now, I’m satisfied with having a house large enough to hold all my instruments.”

“…Marisela.”

“Or should I be more formal since the Duchess is here? Shall I call you ‘Your Grace’?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm. I understand what you’re trying to say.”

“You don’t understand anything.

Duchess, do you know why I ran away from this mansion that day?”

“B-because of what I did to you.”

“And what exactly did you do?”

“I hit you… and abused you terribly.”

“Well, you seem to know the answer.

Then again, it’s not surprising. After all, I’m just the pathetic daughter of a whore.”

Given the power dynamics, I suppose it was an easy choice for her.

She must have mistaken her hatred for someone else, lashing out at me as if I were the enemy who had stolen her lover’s affection.

With no consequences to fear, why wouldn’t she take the opportunity to crush me?

“Even now, if your feelings toward me suddenly changed, you could crush me like a bug whenever you wanted.”

“I… I hated your mother so much that I ended up hating you too….”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation before?”

The Duchess began to cry.

Though older now, she had aged gracefully, eating well, sleeping soundly, and maintaining her appearance. A few more wrinkles, but she remained beautiful.

How did someone once so confident, so driven to cultivate and create, end up so broken?

“Even so, I want to apologize to you. I know we can’t restore our relationship to what it once was… but maybe we could, just a little… I should apologize to your father, too, but he’s already passed away.”

Restore our relationship?

It was never good to begin with.

Was she hoping to go back to the very first time we met, before she ever hit me?

But had there ever been a time when being around me brought her happiness?

For me, it has always been misery.

Aside from the cheap satisfaction of breaking the daughter of her enemy, all I ever gave her were negative emotions.

Thanks to her, even my emotions are all twisted now.

If Raphael fell in love with someone else and left me, it would be devastating, of course.

But I doubt I’d hate him—or even the woman he fell for.

If he chose to leave me, it would be because she could make him happy in ways I never could.

She could do what someone like me couldn’t.

I’m not the kind of person who can share love; I only seem capable of taking it away.

Even when others try to reassure me otherwise, it never has much effect.

I stay silent because I know bringing it up would only darken the mood.

That’s likely why I couldn’t muster anger at the Duchess.

Normally, such thoughts would make me furious.

“Duchess, our relationship is one where we’ve tried to kill each other. You worked hard to destroy me to the point where I’d take my own life, and I, twisted as I am, tried to kill you before Libian shot me, forcing me to flee like a fool.”

The Duchess seemed to wrestle with my words before finally responding.

“…Can’t we just pretend none of it ever happened? I gave you permission, after all.”

If someone kills under permission, does that mean they won’t be arrested?

Oh, right, there’s no police here. Ha.

Not that it would matter much if there were.

Even when my life and everything I valued were utterly destroyed, the law was never on my side.

“Can you erase everything you did to me from your mind, Duchess?”

The Duchess shook her head.

“And just the same, I can’t forget what happened to me.

No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I hallucinate to cover it up or try to drown it out with drugs, it never goes away.

And when it rises up in my dreams, there’s nothing more horrifying.”

If I weren’t holding Raphael’s hand, I might have stood up and lunged at her right then and there.

I always act rational, pretend I’m unaffected, but deep down, I’m an intensely emotional person.

When I’m angry, I lash out. When I’m sad, I cry. When I’m happy, I laugh.

That’s why I’ve been able to hate the people in front of me.

Even if that hatred does no good for the child I’m expecting, I can’t stop myself.

Ending It

You could call it selfishness on my part.

Someday, my child might regret not having grown up in this mansion or receiving its education.

I won’t ask for understanding.

It’s all my fault, after all.

But even so, I’ll never let them stay here.

“Libian, what you’re suggesting is for us to live here again, isn’t it?

Me, my unborn child, and even Raphael. That’s why you so graciously allowed Raphael, a mere orphan, to take on a surname.”

I don’t need it.

We can get by just fine without some lofty title.

Whether they’re nobles or knights, all their supposed greatness is the same in the end.

There’s no need to aim for some extraordinary achievement.

Just existing is enough.

Especially if it’s someone you love.

Judging by the expressions on Libian, Eileen, and the Duchess, I could tell what they were thinking.

“It doesn’t have to be here,” Libian said. “We could build a villa in a scenic area nearby. You could—”

“Shut it.”

“…If it’s a boy, we’ll ensure he receives an education beyond what even the Academy could offer. If it’s a girl, we’ll dress her in gowns more lavish than anything even the imperial family could afford and send her to social events adorned with jewels.”

I didn’t respond to Libian’s words.

“Eileen, Duchess.”

“Yes, Marisela, what is it?”

The Duchess looked at me with a faintly dazed expression, while Eileen, caught mid-sip of her tea, coughed violently before managing a reply.

“Do you remember when you rode with me in the carriage to attend the party in the capital?”

“…It’s impossible to forget,” the Duchess admitted.

Eileen nodded in agreement.

Well, a lot of memorable things had happened there.

Like how I had stolen Olivia’s precious first kiss—the one the Crown Prince was supposed to have.

Considering it was the first thing mentioned when they came to visit me after so long, I suppose they were bitter about it.

It was just a fleeting kiss, but they were clearly still worked up about it.

Not that my question had anything to do with that.

“When I spoke with His Majesty, wore a glamorous dress, and danced with those of high rank—did I look happy to you?”

Beautiful women and men twirling to the sound of music, under dazzling lights, in a space so extravagantly luxurious that even a passing laborer might weep blood at the sight of it.

Yet, in that paradox of opulence, I was the most miserable person in the room.

They say high-end courtesans often dream of attending such places.

Perhaps they’re unaware that all they’ll face there is neglect and disdain. 

Or maybe, like moths to a flame, they’re drawn to the brilliance despite knowing the truth.

Neither Eileen nor the Duchess could respond.

I rubbed my belly as I continued speaking.

I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, as if my lips had curled into a smile without me realizing it.

“This child will grow up happier and more loved than anyone else.”

Even if that’s a lie.

Even if I can’t truly love them.

I’ll make it look like I do, and I’ll find a way to show them love, no matter what.

“Even if they’re naïve or clueless, that’s fine.

Even if they’re an airhead with their head full of flowers, that’s fine too.

Why do they need to be exceptional? Just existing happily in the world is more than enough.”

It felt like I’d been doing all the talking, but oddly enough, I didn’t mind monopolizing the conversation.

“So, I think it’s time to truly put an end to this.”

This ambiguous relationship, these clumsy feelings of guilt, this uncomfortable sense of obligation—

It’s dragged on long enough.

It’s time to wrap things up.

Rather anticlimactic, isn’t it?