Her chest ached like it was being pierced with needles, and she started to tremble.
He really was going to get engaged to Clara?
Then what chance did she and Henry even have?
Thinking about it, a bitter smile crept onto her lips.
But even if there wasn’t an engagement, they were never going to happen anyway.
All of it…
just some dumb fantasy she’d convinced herself to believe.
Lydia let out a dry laugh.
Yeah, she knew it all along, but just the thought that maybe—just maybe—it could work out between them…
it was enough to make her feel like she couldn’t breathe.
Clara had just been happily soaking in the attention after Helen mentioned her and Henry’s possible engagement.
She was practically beaming—until she saw Henry’s expression.
Stone-faced, unreadable.
Like he couldn’t care less.
Instantly, her joy froze solid.
Her fingers clenched slightly as she lowered her eyes, only to spot Lydia walking over.
She bit her lip, then, without hesitation, sneakily stuck her foot out—
“Ah!”
Lydia gasped, eyes wide in panic as her body tilted forward.
The bowl in her hands tipped, and the soup she’d been carrying splashed right onto Helen, who’d been chattering nonstop.
Silence.
The entire dining room went dead still.
No one even blinked.
“AHHHH!!” Helen was the first to snap out of it.
She jumped up, face twisted in fury, and without warning, swung a slap straight across Lydia’s face.
“You again?!
You worthless little brat!
Looking to die, are you?!”
“You can’t even carry a bowl properly!
My God—Helen, are you okay?
That slap sent Lydia crashing to the floor.
Already injured, she couldn’t take another hit like that.
All she felt was dizziness and the sharp sting of pain from head to toe.
—I’m sorry, Mrs.
Lawson!
I didn’t mean to…
I think someone tripped me, so I—
Lydia scrambled to explain, kneeling on the floor in panic.
“You miserable creature!
Don’t act all innocent in front of me!
Just seeing you pisses me off!
You’re a jinx—you don’t deserve to be anywhere near our Henry!
If this were the old days, you’d have been drowned already!”
Helen shrieked as she raised her hand again, ready for another slap.
“That’s enough.”
Henry’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife.
He turned, eyes locked onto Lydia’s mess of a figure, and said coldly, “Get out.”
Lydia froze, slowly lifting her head to look at him.
“You deaf?
I said leave.
Now.”
His frown deepened, giving Helen a brief glance to stop whatever she was about to do, but his tone toward Lydia didn’t soften one bit.
She could tell he meant it.
And that was almost funny.
Had he ever, even once, joked with her?Every time he gave an order, wasn’t it always so cold and harsh?
Eyes rimmed red, Lydia shot Henry a look, biting her lower lip as she pushed herself off the floor.
Looking completely disheveled, she turned and dashed out of the Lawson estate, vanishing into the vast, dark night.
What a ridiculous end to this whole mess.
James wore a polite smile, but his eyes were locked on Lydia’s retreating figure, a flicker of something unreadable surfacing in his gaze.
“Enough, Helen.
Don’t get yourself worked up over a clueless maid.
It’s totally not worth it,” Clara said, clearly thrilled by Henry’s indifference toward Lydia, her voice now extra sweet as she gently comforted Helen.
“She finally knows her place!” Helen spat, her jaw clenched in fury.
“Henry, if you dare bring her here again, don’t even bother stepping into this house!”
Henry didn’t say a word, face grim. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
He turned just in time to see James casually looking away.
Their eyes met for a fleeting second—brief and silent.
After sitting for a while, Henry grew more and more distracted.
That last look from Lydia before she left, that figure running into the night without a second glance—it lingered, gnawing at him.
Irritated, he tossed his napkin aside and said, “I’m done eating.”
With that, he strode out of the house, ignoring Helen’s shouting from upstairs as she chased after him in newly changed clothes.
…
The Lawson estate was halfway up a hill in the outskirts, and tonight was bitterly cold.
Lydia had fled from the house alone, her steps unsure as she hurried through the pitch-black wilderness.
The wind howled like it could slice skin, and the road ahead was completely deserted.
She hugged herself tightly, terrified.
She couldn’t tell how long she’d been walking, only that her body had gone eerily warm, so numb she barely felt the cold.
Her limbs ached.
Her vision blurred.
And yet, every time she staggered, the pain from her injuries dragged her back to awareness, forcing her to grit her teeth and keep moving.
Each step felt like she was walking through molasses.
But no physical pain compared to the heaviness in her chest.
That image—Henry’s deadpan face, like he’d never known her—it crushed her.
Tears welled up uncontrollably, streaming silently down her face.
Her heart felt like it had already been shattered into pieces, patched up, and tearfully stitched back together, only to be ripped apart all over again.
Again and again.
She should’ve gotten used to this kind of pain.
But somehow, it still cut deep.
Every single time.
Sometimes, Lydia hated herself—hated her own weakness, her lack of pride.
Even after everything Henry had done, after every cold word and cruel action, she still couldn’t stop loving him.
—Ah!
Her blurred vision failed her.
One misstep, and Lydia’s foot slipped.
She tumbled, rolling uncontrollably down the slope.