Eventually, the Female Lead Ran Away (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 4
“Just in case you were wondering, I had no intention of deceiving you. I simply didn’t mention it because such trivial tasks aren’t usually counted as proper experience.”
Despite Deborah’s explanation, Zen kept his hand covering his eyes.
Honestly, Deborah shouldn’t have been in a position where she needed to justify herself or persuade Zen. Yet Zen didn’t seem angry—more hurt. Guilt crept into Deborah, prompting her to apologize.
“If I’ve offended you in any way, I sincerely app—”
Again, Zen cut her off.
“Stop. It’s not as if I deserve an apology.”
“…….”
“……I understand why you didn’t say anything. I really do.”
His halting voice carried a sigh as dense as mist.
“And yet….”
Zen, murmuring softly, took a deep breath. His eyes, feigning composure with visible effort, met Deborah’s once more.
“…Fine. Let’s just set that aside for now.”
“Thank you…?”
Deborah replied as if swept away by a wave, unable to fully conceal her confusion.
“Your surname is Johnson, correct?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“So both your given name and your surname are quite common.”
Zen gave a self-deprecating smile. Deborah didn’t think he was picking a fight over names, yet she partly acknowledged his point.
‘I’ve met at least five other Deboras by now. Wait—was it six?’
But she rarely encountered someone sharing her surname.
Johnson wasn’t rarer than Deborah, nor had she never encountered anyone named Johnson before. It was simply that she hadn’t been “Deborah Johnson” for very long.
“My maiden name was Baker.”
Deborah added lightly, hoping to lift his low spirits.
At that casual remark, Zen’s eyes first scrunched shut as if struck by a stone, then flew wide open.
“What did you say?”
“Baker was fairly common too, but still less so than Johnson. So—”
“No, wait!”
Zen exclaimed urgently. Deborah blinked rapidly.
“Just… wait a moment….”
Zen’s beautiful golden eyes drifted through the air. Instead of his pomade-perfect hair becoming disheveled, his eyelashes trembled pitifully.
After turning over this simple, obvious fact from every angle, Zen swallowed hard and finally forced his lips open.
“You’re… married?”
“Yes.”
Embarrassment flickered across Deborah’s face, though her posture remained poised.
At twenty-eight, Deborah’s age was one where having two children wouldn’t be surprising—just as it wasn’t unusual for Zen to be preparing for marriage himself.
“…….”
By the time the warm tea cooled to lukewarm, Zen parted his heavy lips. Yet it took even longer for his voice to actually emerge.
“Your husband….”
What finally came out, after several faltering attempts, was a shaky utterance barely resembling a word.
Rather than guess what Zen might say next, Deborah chose to wait patiently.
“When did you meet your husband…? No—more importantly, where is that man now, and what is he doing?”
Anger seeped into his voice.
The vivid blood vessels on his flushed face and his trembling fists revealed the depth of his fury.
To Deborah, however, his accusation felt utterly incomprehensible.
Why on earth would he ask that? And why refer to her husband as “that man”?
She wasn’t pleased—but still…
“I don’t see why it’s necessary to ask when I met him during this interview.”
Deborah calmly pointed out the misdirection of his question. Unlike Zen, she wasn’t the sort to lose her temper impulsively—nor was she one to stay silent when she had something to say.
‘It’s not unheard of to avoid hiring married women as live-in maids.’
So she understood being asked if she was married. But asking when she’d met her husband? That was purely personal.
‘There’s no reason for that. Curiosity, perhaps—but Zen?’
The Zen she knew wasn’t the type to care about a stranger’s private affairs.
‘And that reaction—it’s not curiosity. He’s just angry.’
Could he suspect she’d hidden her marital status?
In this world, one form of discrimination was refusing to hire married women as personal maids for noble ladies.
Advertisements boldly stating “No married women accepted” raised no eyebrows. Yet this job posting hadn’t included such a clause.
‘Though perhaps it’s so taken for granted here that they didn’t bother writing it.’
Regardless, Deborah had nothing to hide.
“But what is ‘that man’ doing now? What kind of husband lets his wife become a live-in maid in someone else’s household?”
Zen narrowed his brows and asked again. Deborah’s dark lashes fluttered slightly.
‘Honestly, why? Anyone watching might think I’ve been sold for money.’
While it wasn’t common for married women to take live-in maid roles—husbands earned, wives managed homes, according to societal norms—some wives did work out of necessity. Still, most took odd jobs locally instead of residing in another’s house, which was itself hard to secure.
‘But why is this man so furious?’
Could he, as a gentleman, pity her plight? Was he angry that her husband brought shame upon men everywhere?
‘You?’
If it were anyone else, maybe. But not Zen.
‘You couldn’t possibly have that kind of decency.’
Deborah remembered vividly how cruelly he’d treated Dia.
‘He’s just picking a fight.’
With a faint smile, Deborah replied.
“It was pure luck that I could work at Lady Saint’s residence. I’m certain any woman who’s ever served as a maid would wish for an employer like her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you bragging that you met Lady Saint thanks to your husband?”
Zen clenched his fists until they nearly burst and exhaled a hot breath.
“Are you defending him right in front of me?”
Hot breath naturally carries moisture—and so did the words born from his.
After a brief blink, Deborah lowered her lashes gracefully and spoke.
“Because no one else will speak for him.”
Zen gritted his teeth. To his barely concealed resentment, Deborah’s voice rang clear yet hazy, like a sunlit afternoon drizzle that doesn’t even dampen one’s collar.
“The dead cannot defend themselves.”
Zen’s eyes widened. Deborah offered him a gentle smile as he stood frozen.
Only then did Zen notice that her calm dress wasn’t just an ordinary black gown.
‘…Mourning attire.’
By this nation’s rigid customs, a widow wore dark-colored dresses for three years.
“…When?”
“I’m not sure.”
Deborah silently counted the days in her mind before replying.
“In twelve months, I should be able to take off this mourning dress.”
Her smile was as faint as a single drop of dye in a clear bottle of water.
At that moment, golden afternoon sunlight poured through the window, illuminating her. Her dull black dress shimmered like brown silk dusted with gold.
The sight was dazzling—yet to Zen, she seemed ready to vanish at any instant, as if she might shatter at his touch.
“…….”
So all Zen could do was keep his hands tightly clenched.
[This is the timeline separator]“Huh…?”
Deborah couldn’t make sense of the situation. She should have been at the hotel, boarding a train to Bumers as early as tomorrow morning.
“Young Lady, please check the contents of your luggage.”
A handsome footman handed her the small travel bag she’d left waiting in her hotel room.
Inside the modest bag, secured by a single humble lock, lay exactly the few belongings she’d brought.
“Yes. Everything’s here.”
“Good. Then I’ll take my leave.”
The footman closed the door behind him, and the click echoed through the room.
‘How high must this ceiling be for such a small sound to echo like this?’
Deborah looked up again at the room she now occupied. It stretched wide in every direction—larger than an average commoner’s entire home.
‘This is just a room?’
Moreover, the spacious chamber overflowed with luxury. The wallpaper was exquisite, and every piece of furniture gleamed with fine ivory hues.
And the subtle scent of lily of the valley filling the air…
‘Not overpowering at all. It feels as if real flowers are planted throughout.’
After glancing around cautiously, Deborah sat on the bed. It was so plush it felt like resting on a cloud.
‘Good heavens. A better bed than Lady Saint’s?’
What on earth was this man thinking, giving her such a room?
‘No—it’s not just a nice room. It’s practically like being imprisoned.’
Deborah sighed deeply, recalling her recent conversation with Zen.
[This is the timeline separator]“…….”
Zen gazed silently at Deborah. His eyes held something—pity? Sympathy? She couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it defied description.
“…I see. Understood.”
At Zen’s quiet reply, Deborah smiled and said,
“Once I return, I’ll be sure to tell Lady Saint about Mr. Baker’s kindness to me. She’ll surely be pleased.”
Zen’s expression instantly crumpled.
“You’re returning?”
Deborah, startled by his reaction—‘What now?’—hid her bewilderment and replied,
“Yes. Well, I’ll go back to the hotel today and take the train tomorrow.”
Zen’s already sharp eyes narrowed further as he spoke.
“You cannot return to the hotel. Nor will you take any train.”
At his words, Deborah’s brows furrowed.
‘What is this man talking about?’
When the male lead is punished by carrying the female lead’s child and having periods like a woman
“I’ve given birth to two children for you, yet you still think about him.
Was I nothing but his substitute to you from beginning to end?”
Synopsis:
Meng Huan, a scumbag who has dated countless girlfriends, transmigrates to a female-dominated country.
Day 1: Whether it’s female dominance or not doesn’t matter. The beauties here are passionate and amorous. Isn’t it easier to date them than in modern times?
Day 2: After a night, Meng Huan discovers the differences in the female-dominated world. Men here actually have chastity locks and menstrual cycles. This hinders his ability to perform, damn it!
Day 3: What’s wrong with sleeping around? I don’t want you to marry me. I’m meant to be a playboy. I don’t care about male virtues… What? You want to drown me in a pig cage? Marry, I’ll marry!
Day N: Meng Huan inexplicably vomits and receives the shocking news of his life… He’s pregnant.
_____
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MANGA DISCUSSION
1 Comment
Chapter Comments (3)
Then she didn’t remember him at all? She said her maiden name was ‘baker’ and the ml was zen baker.
Hm, the fl entered the real deborah and forgot everything? Poor ml
Dang. Will that “lady saint’ be a villain? She wanted the story to progress like the OG novel
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Blairwoods
Her smile was as faint as a single drop of dye in a clear bottle of water.
I like the FL. She’s so calm and serene