Please Forget Me - Chapter 352

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“Killian isn’t choosing to die because he’s tired of living. He’s choosing to die for your honor.”

“…Ah.”

“Listening to everything you’ve told me, I finally understood. To avoid execution, he would have to explain why he collaborated with the enemy. And to explain that, he would have to tell your story.”

That would mean revealing everything, that we lived as husband and wife, that Felkner harassed me, all of it.

“The Marchioness committed adultery with a priest and was harassed by an enemy officer.
The moment those words are read aloud in court, a lady’s honor receives its own death sentence.”

Only then did a line I had once skimmed past lodge itself in my chest.

[There’s just one more thing I want to ask.
Please let what happened between us remain only between us. For my sake, can you do that?]

He said it was for himself, but it had been for me. He wanted me to remain silent.

“Oh… my God…”

Lady Ackroyd looked at my dazed expression and pressed her fingers to her forehead in frustration.

“You truly didn’t know until now? For a lady, honor is life. That’s the most basic truth.”

“I knew that… at least in theory.”

I had feared for a brief moment that the affair with a priest might someday be exposed, that I might be condemned. But only briefly.

“At some point, I stopped caring about honor altogether.”

“That’s unfortunate for you, but a relief for me.”

“I never imagined he’d care about it enough to give his life for it.”

And yet, wasn’t that exactly the kind of man Killian was? He cherished even the skin beside my fingernails. How much more precious would honor be to him?

He had been like that even in Eisenthal.

When filthy rumors spread that I was Felkner’s mistress, he pretended not to hear them,
while openly cherishing me in public, crushing the gossip without a word.

When Mrs. Becker insulted me as a wanton woman who slept with men other than her husband, he even resorted to threats that went against his own principles to protect my name.

He had been protecting my honor all along. And I, the fool, had forgotten.

‘You stupid man. What is honor worth, that you’d trade your life for it? Why would you die for my honor instead of living for me?’

I wanted to storm the prison, grab him by the collar, and shake him senseless. But instead, my resentment turned toward the woman in front of me, his mother.

“If you knew, you should have told me sooner.”

“I assumed you already knew.”

“If I had, do you think I’d have wasted time trying to persuade a man who could never be persuaded?”

I wouldn’t have poured out tears and time on arguments doomed to fail. I would have broken his stubborn resolve by force if necessary.

“Then you intend to kill your honor to save Killian?”

“Of course. Did you think I’d choose some so-called lady’s honor over Killian?”

She smiled awkwardly, not bothering to deny that she had suspected as much.

“If I don’t say this now, Killian will misunderstand. He’ll think an old fox like me deceived you and grow to hate me. So listen carefully.”

She warned me of everything that would happen once my honor was publicly executed.

I nodded. I had already prepared myself.

“I’ve warned you. Don’t complain later.”

I nodded once more, sealing my resolve.

I am not a Marchioness. I am not a lady.

I am only Killian Ackroyd’s wife.

If I could claim that place alone, I was willing to discard everything else.

“Very well, then…”

Killian’s mother returned to her armchair with a faintly excited smile, as if preparing for a long explanation, one I no longer needed.

‘It’s unfortunate for you, but a relief for me.’

I had already guessed what she was planning. Before she could speak, I asked first,

“You already have a newspaper in mind, don’t you?”

If Killian intended to die for my honor, then I would kill that honor with my own hands. Once there was nothing left to protect, he would have no reason left to die.

I would expose everything. I would shatter Rupert Mansfield’s killing plan and Killian Ackroyd’s dying plan, both at once.

The men who had wielded me like a weapon had had their turn.

Now, it was my turn to wield them.