“I believe I have told you time and again to watch your behavior.
Your very existence is a great stain upon this family.”
“I have never behaved wrongly,” Merdi managed to choke out, her voice tight with suppression.
She couldn’t claim to be perfect, but she knew with certainty that she had done nothing to deserve such condemnation.
In every crisis, she had always chosen the path of quiet retreat.
It was the only defense she could muster.
“Then why do you suppose the Melvitch family sent this letter?”
“They hold a grudge because I exposed Vivian Melvitch’s ghost-painting.
That is the reason.”
A crooked smile twisted Margaret’s lips.
“Yes, you know that much, don’t you?
But that, too, is a mess of your own making.
This letter is no different.
Whatever the cause, they bear you malice and are desperate to tear you down.
And now their mud is splashing onto our family.”
“Vivian Melvitch never liked me.
Even if I hadn’t revealed the truth about the ghost-painting, something like this was bound to happen eventually,” Merdi retorted, her fists clenched at her sides.
The sneer on Margaret’s face only deepened.
“Such a poor excuse.
You seem to have a talent for seducing men.
What a pity your skills end there.”
Merdi’s expression twisted in confusion.
She had no idea what Margaret was talking about.
‘Clifton, too…’
Other than her father and brother, she’d never had a man in her life.
Why, after being struck, was she now being subjected to such insults?
“Are you going to play the innocent fool again?
Clifton tried to cover for you, but did you really think I wouldn’t find out you played the victim and demanded all the maids in this Annex be fired?”
Merdi’s composure crumbled.
“That’s not true.”
“Enough.
This meaningless conversation is a waste of my time.” Margaret stopped fanning herself and glared down at Merdi.
“I have no intention of tolerating this behavior any longer.
You will apologize to Vivian Melvitch, and you will ensure that such rumors are never heard again.”
She said nothing.
“If you understand that this is a place you don’t belong, you should at least make an effort.”
The sharp rebuke sent a tremor through Merdi’s bloodless fists.
She had endured countless insults, but for some reason, the word ‘effort’ ignited a rage within her.
Clifton, and now the Grand Dame—perhaps it was because the very people who seemed determined to never acknowledge her, no matter how much she struggled, were the ones preaching about effort.
Merdi’s jaw was stiff as she forced the words out.
“And what is this ‘effort’ you speak of, Grand Dame?”
Margaret let out a short, sharp breath of disbelief.
“What?”
“I have made countless efforts to become someone worthy of this Greenfield estate.
But not once have you ever praised me for it.” The sorrow she had suppressed for so long surged up, too profound for tears.
“You just hate me.”
Margaret fell silent, her expression hardening.
“You will be eternally displeased with me because I am not a noble from Elsmere.” ‘Just like your brother,’ she left unsaid.
Margaret’s lips trembled.
She looked utterly enraged.
“It seems five years have taught you nothing.” Her voice was a low murmur, as if speaking to herself, while her gaze remained fixed on Merdi.
The shadows in the room made her eyes look exceptionally black.
After a long moment of stillness, Margaret suddenly hurled her fan to the floor.
‘CLACK.’
The expensive fan skittered across the polished wood.
Emma moved to retrieve it, but Margaret raised a hand, stopping her.
Emma froze, her expression puzzled.
Margaret’s gaze shifted back to Merdi, and she gestured with her chin toward the fallen object.
“Pick it up.”
Merdi stared at the fan on the floor before slowly raising her head to meet Margaret’s eyes.
“I believe what separates humans from beasts is the ability to learn from their mistakes.
Seeing you attempt to commit the same error as before, I begin to wonder if you are capable of learning at all.”
Merdi stood frozen, unable to speak.
“Or perhaps you want another fur scarf?”
At the mention of the scarf, Merdi’s composure shattered.
Tears instantly welled in her dry eyes.
Seeing this, Margaret’s lips curled into a triumphant smile.
“If you understand, then pick it up.”
Merdi had no choice.
She slowly bent at the waist, her posture so low it looked as if she were kneeling before Margaret.
With a trembling hand, she retrieved the fan and offered it back.
Margaret watched, savoring the spectacle, before snatching it from her grasp.
She turned abruptly.
“It is the social season, so the Melvitch family will be hosting a party soon.
That would be an opportune time for your apology.”
Leaving those words hanging in the air, Margaret swept from the Annex living room as if nothing had happened.
Emma, who had been watching nervously, rushed to Merdi’s side.
“My lady, are you alright?”
Merdi didn’t answer.
“Oh, my… How can the madam be so cruel?”
Emma pulled the unresponsive Merdi into an embrace, gently stroking her hair.
For a long moment, Merdi stood motionless, as if her soul had fled her body, before slipping from Emma’s arms.
As she drifted like a ghost toward her room, Emma started to follow, but a quiet voice stopped her.
“You don’t need to follow me.”
Recognizing her need to be alone, Emma stopped in her tracks.
Once inside her room, completely alone, Merdi leaned against the door and slid to the floor.
Her fingertips were trembling uncontrollably.
“Or perhaps you want another fur scarf?”
Margaret’s threat dragged the nightmare of that day back to the surface.
Merdi squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory was already playing behind her eyelids.
A tear slipped free, tracing a path down her cheek.
It had happened two years ago.
Exhausted by the continuous, harsh bridal lessons, Merdi had skipped a class.
Imperial language, etiquette, culture, history—she studied relentlessly, but it was never enough.
Margaret always found a flaw, a failing to point out.
“Do not think of leaving this place until you realize your mistake.”
One day, after Merdi had used the wrong title when addressing a visiting countess, Margaret had locked her in the Room of Repentance.
But Merdi knew that no amount of reflection would ever satisfy the Grand Dame.
The suppressed sorrow finally broke.
“You’re too harsh… I’m not a machine!”
Margaret had looked momentarily surprised by Merdi’s outburst, a first for her.
But that was all.
The order stood.
In defiance, Merdi took her place in a corner of the Room of Repentance and stayed there through the night.
The next day, an order came for her release, but she stubbornly refused to leave.
She knew that if she broke now, her future would be an endless path of thorns.
She would forever be tormented by unreachable perfection, suffering in this very room.
Margaret did not force her, merely watched.
Then, on the seventh day, she returned.
“I will give you one last chance.”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Recognizing it as a refusal to compromise, Margaret turned away.
“Do not resent me later.”
With that ambiguous warning, she was gone.
The next day, Merdi was forced to leave the Room of Repentance.
Vincent had come looking for her, and the dark expression on Emma’s face as she delivered the news was unsettling.
Shaking off a sense of foreboding, Merdi went to meet him.
Vincent’s face was etched with self-reproach.
“My lady… some laborers came today.
They… they took Bailey.”
Bailey was Merdi’s most cherished sheep, a creature set apart by a scar on her neck she’d had since birth.
The flaw made it difficult for her to mingle with the flock, a loneliness Merdi understood all too well.
She had even tied a blue ribbon around Bailey’s neck to hide the mark.
And now they had taken her.
“Who took her?”
“I don’t know for certain.
Only that it was Grand Dame Margaret’s order… Ah, my lady!”
Before Vincent could finish, Merdi bolted from the room and ran to the sheep hut.
The flock, clearly agitated by the presence of strangers, cried out more loudly than usual.
Her eyes scanned the huddled animals.
Just as Vincent had said, the sheep with the blue ribbon was nowhere to be seen.
Margaret’s warning echoed in her mind.
“Do not resent me later.”
“It’s a lie…” Merdi muttered in denial.
No matter how disobedient she had been, surely Margaret wouldn’t do something so terrible.
She knew how precious the sheep were to Merdi; she was the one who had arranged for them to be moved from the stables to this hut.
For Merdi, who had been struggling to adjust to a strange place and a grueling schedule, the sheep were her only friends from home.
She knew each one by sight.
But just because she had defied Margaret once…
No amount of denial could change the truth.
She finally understood the meaning behind those ominous words.
A sob tore from her throat, and she wept, collapsing right there in the hut.
It was the first time she had cried so freely since she was a small child, missing her parents.
“My lady…” Vincent watched her, his expression pained, and secretly wiped a tear from his own eye with his sleeve.
Time passed cruelly.
For days afterward, Merdi couldn’t eat or sleep.
Her eyes were swollen shut, and her body felt weak.
That day was no different.
She dragged her heavy body from bed, forcing herself to start the day.
If she acted willfully again, the other sheep might disappear one by one.
She’d already had several nightmares about it.
But as she rose, she saw something strange on her desk.
It was a beautifully wrapped box.