Chapter 338
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Being robbed of me—and then being misunderstood as trying to steal me back—yet still choosing to protect me, again and again…
“Dana, my love for you was never a lie.”
Because he loved only me. And yet I…
“I can’t believe a single word you say.”
“…What did I ever do to you?”
I was murmuring dully when I heard footsteps approaching outside the door, along with low voices. There seemed to be several people, but one voice was unmistakable—Grandmother’s.
‘She’s coming to pester me again, isn’t she…’
Of all times—now?
I hurriedly wiped my eyes with my sleeve, erasing the tear marks. I swept the letters I’d laid out on the table back into the box just as the voices stopped outside the door.
‘I need to hide this first.’
I was just standing up with the box in my arms, expecting a knock—
Bang.
The door flew open without warning. I was about to snap at the rude old woman who didn’t know the meaning of manners when I froze.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in your bedroom.”
The one who barged in without knocking wasn’t Grandmother, it was the Marquis. Behind him, Grandmother was grinning so wide her cheeks looked ready to burst.
“Get out. Now.”
“Dana! How can you speak to your husband like that! Anyway, I wish you a pleasant night, Marquis.”
It wasn’t surprising that Grandmother shut the door and left, but…
“We’re a married couple. What’s the problem?”
The fact that the Marquis said something like that and began wandering casually toward my bed was shocking enough to leave me speechless.
‘He’s definitely drunk.’
I had to get out of here.
“It’s late, where do you think you’re going?”
He grabbed me as I tried to leave.
“Let go!”
I struggled and tried to shake him off, but he didn’t release me. When his other hand reached toward me, I thought he was about to pin me down and force a kiss, so I turned my head away.
“What’s this?”
What he was after wasn’t me, but the box clutched in my arms.
‘He might take Killian’s letters.’
My heart dropped. I instinctively tried to snatch it back, but stopped short when I saw the Marquis’s expression after he unfolded one of the letters.
“You said you couldn’t find them.”
“The maid… found them…”
It was strange. Why was it that… There wasn’t the slightest hint of panic or agitation on his face at discovering the letters.
“So. We had days like this too, didn’t we…”
Rather than flustered, he smiled with tender nostalgia, as if reminiscing, pulling out the letters one by one and reading them.
“Now do you understand how much I loved you?”
…As if he were the one who had written them.
“The letters you gave me should still be somewhere in the Stamford estate. I’ll find them and send them to you. I hope they help you realize how much you loved me too.”
Is he telling the truth? Or is he simply a natural-born liar?
No, this makes no sense. If this man really wrote these letters and drew my portrait, then it would mean Killian copied even his handwriting and drawing style and passed them off as his own.
It’s absurd. But after experiencing so many things this summer that were absurd and yet undeniably real, I couldn’t dismiss it outright.
Then there’s only one way to confirm it.
“Shall we exchange letters again, like we used to?”
“Why, all of a sudden?”
“Then we might fall in love again.”
No, so I can check your handwriting.
“Hm.”
The Marquis folded the letter and put it back into the box, looking reluctant.
“It’s not that difficult.”
“It’s not that I can’t. I just don’t want to cheapen our beginning. Do you think the two of us, who are now world-weary adults, can share our hearts as purely as we did back then?”
From the start, it sounded like an excuse. And the moment he spoke as if he’d ever been pure, I couldn’t hide my distrust.
Suspicious. He’s avoiding it because his handwriting doesn’t match the letters, isn’t he?
“Even a short one, just a single page, right now…”
I was about to ask him to write, but he cut me off.
“Dana, at our age, love isn’t about sharing hearts, it’s about sharing bodies.”
His tone was ominous. And disgusting.
His gaze crawled over me, from my face down to my waist. It was the same leering look Felkner used to give me. It made my skin crawl.
When his hand suddenly began kneading my arm, the touch was unmistakably lewd. I slapped his hand away.
“Get out.”
If he just didn’t want me to see his handwriting, he could have left. Why was he trying to force himself on me?
“Ugh…”
The hand I’d knocked away came back, gripping my arm again, this time hard enough to hurt.
‘…Don’t tell me he actually wants to do this with me? He’s insane.’
I tried to wrench myself free again, and then, by accident, I noticed the unmistakable bulge at the front of his trousers.
I recoiled in horror.
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