Eventually, the Female Lead Ran Away (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 6

Zen quietly watched Deborah carry the cake into her mouth.

‘This is really awkward.’

Deborah struggled to chew and swallow the cake with great effort. When her eyes met Zen’s, she gave him a playful wink, but Zen swiftly averted his gaze and hooked his fingers around the teacup’s handle.

‘Who exactly are you trying to avoid right now…?’

At that moment, Deborah still doubted it. Surely he wouldn’t actually make her eat all of it? Maybe if she just finished this one slice, they could resume their conversation.

But the moment her plate emptied, Zen placed another dessert onto her side plate.

“Mr. Baker, it’s fine. I’ve eaten enough.”

“How can anyone possibly feel full from just one slice of cake? Eat more.”

“No, I really—”

“…Could it be that you find this unappetizing?”

Zen frowned as he spoke.

“Huh?”

Deborah was about to ask what he meant when—

“…You there!”

Zen called out to the footman waiting outside the drawing room. The footman, graceful yet hurried by his master’s summons, approached promptly—but Zen scowled fiercely at him, twisting his handsome face into an intimidating glare.

“Go fetch the head chef.”

“Mr. Baker!”

Deborah cried out in alarm. Zen, still facing the footman, rolled only his eyes toward Deborah.

His profile was mesmerizing—every feature, from his gleaming nose and cheeks to his thick, long lashes, resembled a marble sculpture meticulously carved by a master artisan. There was not a single flaw.

It was impossible to believe this was the same man who had worn such a frightening expression just moments ago.

“It’s delicious. Truly. I’ve never tasted a cake this good in my entire life.”

Zen let out a sigh, accepting Deborah’s unconvincing excuse in silence. Then he turned his head back toward her.

The quick-witted footman bowed and swiftly exited the drawing room. To prove her words, Deborah lifted her fork once more.

‘What on earth am I doing right now?’

And so, Deborah kept eating until Zen prepared to leave. Had the footman—likely summoned by someone’s request—not come looking for Zen, she might have been forced to finish every single dessert there.

“They say you must depart now.”

“Haaah…”

Zen let out a deep sigh and reluctantly rose from his seat.

“I have many duties awaiting me, so I must take my leave. I likely won’t return until this time tomorrow… no, perhaps not even until noon.”

“In that case, I’ll return to my hotel for now and visit you tomorrow—or rather, the day after.”

At Deborah’s reply, Zen furrowed his brow.

“What are you talking about? Didn’t I clearly state earlier that you can’t return to the hotel? Have you already forgotten what I said?”

Deborah stared at his pouting lips with an incredulous expression. Seemingly pleased by her look, Zen lifted the corner of his mouth—making his handsome face even more dazzling.

“I’ll have your belongings from the hotel room brought here immediately. If you need anything else, just ask the servants.”

“Mr. Baker.”

“Oh, and let me make one thing clear: don’t even think about stepping beyond the estate wall before I return. I won’t allow it.”

Stunned by his somewhat harsh words, Deborah swallowed hard a few times before speaking.

“…Did I just hear you wrong?”

“No, you heard me perfectly. You’re free to wander anywhere within the walls—say, the garden—but whenever you leave your room, you must always be accompanied by a servant. No exceptions, under any circumstances.”

Zen’s unilateral declaration left Deborah feeling dizzy.

“Mr. Baker.”

Deborah called out to him again. Though her voice trembled, it was Zen whose eyes wavered.

This place was unfamiliar to Deborah, so his gaze should have felt equally strange—but somehow, it felt oddly familiar. Was it because she had read his story?

“Master.”

The footman called to Zen once more, surely urging him to hurry. Zen’s look toward the servant was brimming with annoyance.

“Well then.”

He looked down at Deborah again.

“I’ll be off.”

With an arrogant smirk on his stunningly beautiful face, Zen turned and walked away.

Deborah found Zen utterly infuriating. But if she had to name the most annoying thing about him, it was that despite acting so arbitrarily, he remained breathtakingly beautiful.

‘You really are something.’

[This is the timeline separator]

Anyway, because of Zen’s outrageous behavior, Deborah felt like both her head and stomach were about to burst. And now they wanted her to eat even more?

‘This is torture!’

Deborah meant it sincerely.

“I’m sorry, but I’m truly full. If I eat any more, I’ll surely get indigestion.”

“Then perhaps I’ll bring you a light, easily digestible soup. Just try a single spoonful. It’s fine if you leave some.”

“No. I can’t possibly waste such fine food. So please, grant me this one request? If Mr. Baker says anything, just tell him I refused firmly. I’ll say the same to him myself.”

The maid hesitated briefly, then left the room after saying, “Then please call for me whenever you need anything.” Deborah simply nodded in reply and, the moment the maid disappeared, collapsed onto the bed.

‘Ugh, this is so uncomfortable. Truly unbearable.’

Not even this cloud-like bed, this princess-like room, or her stomach full of sweet, soft delicacies could ease the dreadful reality that she had somehow stepped into this horrific story.

‘What’s going to happen now…?’

Deborah carefully reviewed the novel’s plot as she remembered it. She recalled a lady’s maid appearing—but only as a minor villain who looked down on Dia.

‘Could I possibly be that villain?’

Well… that seemed unlikely too. This novel didn’t feature many villains to begin with.

Moreover, she couldn’t even recall the name of that insignificant, passing antagonist—the lady’s maid. But if the maid’s name had been ‘Deborah,’ it surely would’ve rung a bell.

‘Right. The name Deborah definitely never appeared in this story.’

She wouldn’t stake her life on it if someone demanded absolute certainty, but Deborah felt reasonably sure.

‘If I really become Dia’s maid, the story will change.’

Though even then, it would only mean the nameless minor villainess changed from ‘some maid’ to ‘Deborah.’

‘But surely a change like this won’t drastically alter the future?’

As Deborah remembered it, the horrifying course—where a vengeance-obsessed man ruined an innocent woman’s life—would remain unchanged.

Sighing absentmindedly in conflicted emotion, Deborah suddenly shook her head.

‘No—wait. Do I really have to become a lady’s maid?’

She pressed both palms firmly against her cheeks, making her mouth gape open like a startled goldfish.

‘I really, really don’t want to!’

Deborah had thought about this repeatedly: she didn’t want even the tiniest role in such a dreadful tale.

She just wanted to live an ordinary life.

Just as she’d dreamed when marrying her husband—to live honestly, even if a little poor; to enjoy no great fortune but also suffer no injustice; to live peacefully and depart this world gently.

“Ah… I’m not asking for great fortune. Why can’t I even have that small measure of peace?”

Suddenly, a wave of sorrow overwhelmed her. Of course, compared to the misfortunes Dia would soon face, her current plight seemed minor.

[This is the timeline separator]

Inside the jolting carriage, Zen held a thick bundle of documents. The papers were densely filled with budgets sufficient to build several large factories and plans for the forced acquisition of a company.

Once Zen forcibly acquired the company, restructuring would be inevitable. The livelihoods of families whose members didn’t survive the cuts might be at risk—but Zen felt no sympathy. He despised the very notion of pity.

“Thanks to Marchioness of Forea, the acquisition of Jelaman Co. should proceed smoothly.”

Todd, seated opposite Zen with dark brown hair and eyes the color of tree bark, spoke.

Most people knew Todd as the representative of Baem, an automobile company—but in truth, he was nothing more and nothing less than “Zen’s man.”

“Yes. She really is extraordinary. That’s why she keeps waltzing over my head every single time.”

Zen replied with a bitter smile.

Marchioness of Forea—that eccentric woman! Truthfully, she was the reason Zen stood where he did today.

[So this is how wretchedly Verrain lives here.]

The elegant noblewoman who once extended her cold hand—if she had truly cared for ‘Verrain,’ Zen would never have taken it.

But she didn’t care for Verrain at all. Quite the opposite—she desired his downfall.

That was why Zen accepted her hand. Yet he never imagined she’d be accompanied by ‘Debbie.’ Could this too be part of her scheme? Zen pondered briefly.

‘No. She couldn’t have known I was searching for Debbie.’

Then this must be a cruel coincidence—or perhaps divine compensation for all the suffering Zen had endured thus far.

‘It’s still burning.’

Wherever Deborah’s gaze landed, his skin flushed hotly and refused to cool. If her fingers had touched him, not just her eyes—how foolishly might he have acted, like a child?

‘But I’m not that same person anymore.’

So much time had passed. Ten years—a span long enough that Zen hadn’t recognized her voice at first.

‘But your failure to recognize me wasn’t because of time.’

Zen smiled bitterly. Just as his mouth tasted sour, as if he’d chewed on bitter herbs, a sweet voice echoed in his memory.

[Here, how is it? Delicious? Doesn’t it lift your mood?]

That moment when Deborah had playfully shoved a treat into Zen’s mouth and grinned shyly was now a distant past. Yet Zen couldn’t help but wonder.

‘What’s the difference between you then and you now?’

It was almost embarrassing that he hadn’t recognized her voice immediately—because there was almost no difference between the her of then and the her of now. Still headstrong but never obstinate, always warm no matter the circumstance.

‘Last night, I imagined how you might have changed—but now I feel foolish. You’re exactly as you’ve always been.’

Zen let out a quiet chuckle and gazed out the window. Gas lamps flickered on, illuminating the dark city streets—a tiresome sight.

‘Why did you disappear back then? You were quite beloved among the Heather Family.’

Yet Deborah had vanished abruptly—and once she disappeared, everyone in the Heather household acted as though she’d never existed.

[There’s no such person, so never come looking again.]

The terror, despair, and helplessness Zen had felt then were beyond words.

‘Back then, I was powerless—and Mr. and Mrs. Heather soon returned to their homeland.’

What exactly had happened? And what kind of life had Deborah lived since vanishing from Zen’s sight?

‘…You were married.’

Just who could that man have been? What wretch had taken the place beside you? While I missed you, he must have looked upon your smiling face, playfully kissed you, and placed his hand on your cheek—how dare he.

“…”

The bundle of papers in Zen’s hand crumpled miserably.