This Marriage Must End In Tragedy Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Bluntness and Attack
"Liar. I bet you're thinking something completely different inside, aren't you?"
Trish's eyebrow arched sharply. But Ansi, her eyes lowered, remained completely composed.
That calmness, that very demeanor, irked Trish. Not just today—it always had.
Rain always wore that unreadable, expressionless face. And for a mere maid, there was an air of dignity about her. She didn’t even seem to realize her place. That alone was enough to grate on Trish’s nerves.
Even now, after being chastised for a mistake, she acted like she was merely indulging a child’s tantrum.
"You’re making a mockery of me, aren’t you?"
Trish’s eyes narrowed into slits. Before Ansi could reply, she snatched up a plate of cookies and flung it to the ground.
The cookies scattered across the sandy ground, rolling in every direction. Ansi’s eyes widened in startled dismay.
That reaction finally brought a flicker of satisfaction to Trish. With a sharp jerk of her chin, she plopped down messily onto the picnic mat.
"Clean it up. Not a crumb left."
Popping a grape into her mouth, Trish stared Ansi down as she chewed, her gaze laced with an insolent amusement.
And clearly, she had no intention of taking her words back.
If she ordered it, Ansi had no choice but to comply.
Resigned, Ansi reached for the sand.
The cookies had broken into pieces on impact. Their color so closely matched the sand that she had to look carefully to tell them apart. On her knees and bent forward, she painstakingly combed through the beach, gathering shattered bits into her hands. Sand clung to her sleeves and stuck to her skirt. Trish’s occasional, carefree laughter rang through the air.
Suppressing the swell of unnecessary emotions, Ansi focused solely on the task before her.
It was only when she finally stood, having retrieved every last piece of cookie, that it happened.
Off in the distance, a man was walking toward them, and their eyes met.
His violet eyes were fixed on this very spot. The expression carved into his mouth was unreadable, impossible to interpret.
Had he seen everything?
Suddenly—and absurdly—Ansi found herself reflecting on what she'd just done.
She had, quite literally, crawled around on all fours, separating crumbs from sand.
It was strange. Moments ago, it hadn’t bothered her at all. It was just something that had to be done—instinctive, unthinking. But now, shame rose, sharp and hot.
“Was it difficult for you?”
His soft voice seemed to echo in her ears.
A strange, inexplicable feeling welled up within her. Was it humiliation? Or perhaps despair? Ansi’s face flushed red.
"I’ve finished collecting the cookies, My Lady. If there’s nothing more you need from me, may I return now?"
Ansi wanted nothing more than to leave this place. Keeping her head bowed, she tried to keep her voice calm, to betray nothing of her emotion.
But Trish responded with the same condescending tone as always.
"You’re not leaving until the picnic’s over. What, you’re trying to slack off now?"
"My shift is over, and—"
"How dare you talk back to me?!"
Trish shrieked. Ansi flinched, her head snapping up in surprise.
Trish had leapt to her feet, her expression as though she’d been gravely insulted. Her voice rose in a tirade, sharp as blades.
“Your mother—doesn’t she die if she doesn’t take her medication?”
Ansi’s face went blank.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Trish continued.
Trish stepped closer, a smirk twisting her lips. Ansi’s blue eyes locked onto hers. Something fierce flickered in them, and for a brief moment, Trish flinched.
Ansi inhaled sharply before replying.
"Please refrain from saying such things. I don’t want to discuss my family’s private matters this way."
"Why do you think it’s private? It involves me too. Who do you think pays for your mother’s medicine?"
Ansi’s grip on the cookie plate tightened.
In her mind, she weighed her options. What was the best response right now?
If she were to shoot Cardian with a gun, both she and Sophia would likely end up dead. That kind of ending, she had always been prepared for.
But not some meaningless, pathetic death.
If she were dismissed now, would she be able to find another job? She’d only been a maid for a year. Without references, it would be nearly impossible to get hired again. Especially if it came out that she’d been fired for conflict with her employer.
And Trish—Trish knew she held Ansi’s lifeline in her hands. That’s why she flaunted her power so shamelessly, sure of her invulnerability.
No matter how much shame or injustice Ansi endured, this childish, cruel girl couldn’t even begin to imagine the idea of her skull being split open for it.
"Kneel. Beg for forgiveness."
So then, Ansi understood—her best option right now was to apologize. Even if it meant kneeling.
A little pride meant nothing compared to securing her future.
But what made it so unbearably difficult was that her enemy’s younger brother was watching.
Even if no one else understood, the thought of looking servile before Orphe alone was unbearable.
"With all due respect, My Lady, I don’t believe I’ve done anything warranting either an apology or kneeling."
She hadn’t finished thinking, but her mouth had decided for her. Yet Ansi knew—sometimes, instinct made the most rational choices.
"Even if I am your maid, I don’t believe I deserve to be humiliated in this way. Especially not over matters concerning my family, who don’t even work in Ziden…"
Her mouth continued forming words, but even then, her nerves were trained on the approaching presence.
The sound of footsteps treading on soft sand grew nearer and nearer.
Carried on the warm breeze, a familiar scent wrapped itself around her body.
And just as Trish reached out to force Ansi to her knees—
“They do say the Southern way of speaking is rather blunt.”
A man’s voice, tinged with a faint trace of amusement, crashed over her like a wave. Though she had sensed his approach, Ansi still felt as if her heart plummeted in her chest.
Trish's voice faltered, shrinking to a whisper. Her words trembled at the edges.
Damion, who had intercepted Trish’s hand, gently lowered it. His movements were graceful, courteous. His voice that followed carried the same air.
“I often struggle to distinguish bluntness from aggression. Perhaps the young lady could enlighten me.”
At the gentle lilt of his voice, Trish suddenly felt that she could answer anything he asked. As she nodded absentmindedly, his low voice dropped down over her like a curtain of night.
“Then why not get on your knees and beg?”
The man's voice was glacial. His violet eyes, now cold and still, shimmered with unmistakable contempt.
Trish’s entire body stiffened. Her eyes quivered, and soon, they brimmed with tears. Watching her, Damion’s lips curled into a mocking smile.
“Tell me—was that bluntness, or an attack?”
The Viscounty of Ziden was far busier than usual.
The young lord of Orphe had made an unexpected visit, stating he would stay for a while.
While he strolled through the garden, the staff bustled about in their respective roles, preparing for their esteemed guest. All the while, they stole chances to whisper their speculations about the visit.
“They say the young lord of Orphe is staying for dinner. What’s going on?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He must be interested in our young lady. It hasn’t been long since the last party, and now he’s back again.”
“Oh my! You must be right. But how on earth did that happen?”
“Rain, you were with them earlier. Tell us—does it look like the young lord has eyes for Miss Trish?”
The questions were now directed at Ansi. Curious eyes locked onto her as she quietly continued polishing a plate and shook her head.
Though she said that, Ansi couldn’t suppress the unease gnawing at her.
What exactly was that man up to?
Damion had appeared as if he were her knight, swooping in to rescue her. Yet he had barely spared her a glance before walking off with Trish. That heavy, solemn tone from earlier now seemed like an illusion—his voice toward the viscount’s daughter was warm and gentle.
Sorry. I was joking, Rein. You knew I didn’t really mean it, right? You can head home now.
Trisha had tossed out those words lightly, but all her attention had already shifted to the man. The tears that had once welled in her eyes were forgotten, and her cheeks now glowed with anticipation
Ansi’s shift had ended, and her plans had just collapsed before her eyes. It was time to head home.
But she couldn’t bring herself to leave just yet.
What if he revealed her identity to Trish?
The more she thought about it, the more uncertain she became. Did he even truly like her in the first place? Could someone truly fall in love at a mere glance? He didn’t seem the type to do something so foolish.
Her doubts and worries looped endlessly in her mind, and before she knew it, night had fallen. As the crimson hues deepened in the sky, so too did the restlessness in her chest.
And now, under the high-hung moon—
Ansi, who had been sitting against the outer wall of the manor, thinking in the wind, finally stood up.
She couldn’t just sit around and wait anymore. She had to confront Damion de Orphe now, even if it meant drawing a line.
The guest room he was staying in was on the second floor of the manor. She stooped to pick up a small stone, intending to toss it at his window, but soon gave up and brushed off her hands.
It might be a little risky, but sneaking up the second floor while avoiding people’s eyes seemed to be a better idea. And so, with a heavy heart, she started toward it.
It was then that a large hand grabbed her arm.
“What did Trish say to you today?”
It was Rabou Ziden, the son of Viscount Ziden. His face was twisted in a grimace as he stared at her. As he drew closer to Ansi, the strong stench of alcohol hit her like a wall.