Please Forget Me - Chapter 337

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

I couldn’t believe it. I stared blankly into the air when a thought suddenly crossed my mind.

I must have asked already.

“What happened to the necklace I gave you?” Something like that.

That must be why he knew the means by which I’d confessed my love. With my mother’s necklace.

All this time, I’d believed that the necklace would be the one thing that would let me tell which of them was lying. The Marquis or that conman. I was wrong.

‘Then what am I supposed to use now?’

No matter how hard I thought, nothing came to mind. At a loss, I must have started fiddling with the necklace at my throat without realizing it.

“I’m ashamed to say I lost that necklace… Wait. Is that what you’re wearing now?”

The Marquis even recognized it.

“Did you get it from Killian? Hah—so he stole this too. That wretch always had sticky fingers. I indulged him when he used to pilfer my things as a child, and now he’s gone so far as to steal my wife. That damn thief.”

“……”

“Dana, he told you I was the thief, didn’t he?”

“……”

“Whatever he said, it’s a lie. Don’t believe him.”

This time, I couldn’t shout liar.

‘I really don’t know anymore.’

I hadn’t achieved what I came here to do, and I couldn’t think of any other way to verify the truth. There was no reason to stay any longer.

“I’m going to step out for a moment.”

I left my seat as if to use the washroom. The Marquis had intended to leave anyway, if I didn’t return, he’d go on his own.

‘What do I do now?’

I trudged back toward my bedroom, worrying all over again.

‘My head hurts…’

Nothing but a headache, with nothing to show for it. Pressing my fingers to my brow, I opened the door.

“Oh, welcome back, madam.”

A maid who’d been tidying the bed turned and greeted me. She peeked past me in surprise, then looked puzzled when she saw no one there. It seemed Grandmother had told her I’d be returning with the Marquis and ordered the room checked again.

“Thank you. I’ll change on my own, please go.”

“Yes, madam. Ah, by the way…”

The maid, who was just about to leave after hastily finishing the bedding, paused at the door and leaned her head back in as if she’d remembered something.

“Could this be the letter you mentioned?”

She pointed to an ornate wooden box sitting on the bedroom coffee table. A locksmith had come earlier that day to open the study safe I couldn’t unlock because I’d forgotten the combination, and this letter box had been inside.

Once the maid left, I opened the box at once. Inside, neatly stacked envelopes worn soft by handling awaited me. The first thing I picked up wasn’t a letter, but a tiny lapel pin.

‘Mulberry College…’

The uniform pin Killian said he’d given me. My fingers began to tremble as I toyed with it.

‘If I open these letters, I’ll know the truth, won’t I?’

With the truth right in front of me, I felt afraid

‘I wasn’t afraid when I asked the Marquis earlier. Why am I now?’

I hesitated—open them, or don’t. As I wavered, I realized why I was afraid.

I might already know the truth.

That the Marquis was the real one.

And that wasn’t the truth I wanted.

‘I wanted Killian to be the real one.’

Fool that I was, I still wanted him. Even now, I was willfully averting my eyes from the truth staring me in the face, insisting I didn’t know, when another piece of evidence was right there.

‘What if the answer in these letters doesn’t match the truth I’ve already chosen?’

That was why I couldn’t bring myself to open them.

“Haa…”

I couldn’t avoid it forever.

Steeling myself, I picked up one envelope, slid the letter out, and unfolded it.

“Oh my God…”

The moment I saw the familiar handwriting, my chest swelled and twisted painfully at the same time.

I opened all the envelopes. Every letter was written in the same hand. Their contents were exactly as Killian had said.

“Ah…”

Only then did I notice the frame lying face-down beneath the letters. I turned it over and when I met my own eyes, sketched in pencil, tears spilled over.

That man, back when we lived in Eisenthal, used to draw me from time to time. How could I fail to recognize a style so steeped in affection?

“Killian…”

Then was everything he told me also true? That unbelievable, foolish saga of self-sacrifice.