The Villain Family Opposes Independence (13 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 5

Adenmir unconsciously furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected to hear something so utterly unforeseen—it felt unreal.

Was she serious?

Elodie avoided his probing gaze by covering her cheeks with both hands.

“I’m embarrassed.”

Suddenly, her unusually flushed cheeks caught his eye.

Her face was so crimson it made him wonder how he hadn’t noticed sooner.

“Since I’m already engaged, I can’t possibly set my heart on someone else.”

She didn’t seem to be lying. The Elodie Ferdia he knew simply didn’t know how to tell falsehoods—she might flare up in fury or act outrageously, but never deceitfully.

People didn’t change overnight, so this had to be the truth…

Yet for some reason, feeling uneasy, Adenmir blurted out,

“Who is it?”

“Must I really tell Your Highness who it is?”

Elodie’s wide-eyed counter-question made Adenmir feel oddly rebuked.

“…No.”

She had no obligation to reveal whom she liked.

Not even if the person asking was her fiancé.

“In any case, that’s why I can no longer remain engaged to Your Highness.”

Elodie started to lift her teacup but set it back down again.

Seeing her fingertips tremble, Adenmir guessed she was nervous.

A teacup couldn’t possibly be that heavy.

“When do you plan to submit the annulment letter?”

Adenmir quietly watched Elodie’s lips as she once again spoke of annulment.

‘Annulment, annulment again.’

It wasn’t impossible.

Elodie Ferdia wasn’t fit to become empress, so it was Adenmir’s duty to decide what to do about her once he ascended the throne.

In fact, this worked out well.

Since she was willingly stepping away, he had no reason to object.

Because Elodie herself had proposed the annulment, Duke Ferdia couldn’t blame him. Thus, their political alliance would remain intact.

But…

‘Then why don’t I want to play along?’

He didn’t feel like simply granting his betrothed’s parrot-like request for annulment.

This strangely rising, childish defiance didn’t feel like his own.

He stared at his fiancée, who seemed unusually impatient.

Everything still felt suspicious.

Her sudden confession of having someone else, her repeated insistence on annulment—

No matter how he thought about it, the famously ambitious Elodie Ferdia wasn’t someone who’d easily relinquish the position of imperial consort.

Adenmir studied Elodie closely. Something new became visible.

She was sweating coldly, as if burdened by guilt.

He’d already heard rumors that she’d begged Duke Ferdia daily to secure this engagement with him.

After going to such lengths, she wouldn’t so readily suggest annulment.

She clearly still held feelings for him.

Adenmir was certain.

The greedy Elodie Ferdia would never give up the throne of empress.

“Princess Consort.”

“Yes, Your Highness…?”

Elodie’s voice was barely above a whisper. He noticed she couldn’t even properly lift her face.

Adenmir finally voiced the doubt he’d long harbored.

“What exactly are you scheming?”

“…What?”

“If you’re trying to win my attention like this, you’d better stop.”

“…What?”

Elodie, whose cheeks had been flushed earlier, now looked pale as she gazed up at him. Adenmir rose from his seat.

“If you truly wish it, I won’t refuse the annulment—but this isn’t something to rush. We should discuss it again later.”

“…”

“Regarding the matter of His Majesty’s birthday banquet I asked about earlier, we’d best correspond by letter.”

“…”

Elodie remained silent even after his words.

She pressed her forehead and kept her head bowed low.

‘Now she’s pretending to be unwell to gain my sympathy. Ridiculous.’

He had no intention of falling for such shallow tricks. Not wanting to be toyed with, Adenmir headed toward the door.

Just then—

Thud.

Hearing an unusual sound from behind, Adenmir turned to see Elodie collapsed limply to the side.

“Princess Consort.”

Was she even faking a faint now?

Curious to see how far she’d go, he crossed his arms and stared at her fallen form.

It wasn’t long before something felt genuinely wrong.

“…Princess Consort.”

“…”

“Princess Consort?”

No answer came.

Striding over in large steps, Adenmir checked her condition.

Her body burned like fire. Her breathing was unstable, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

This wasn’t an act—she had truly lost consciousness.

“Princess Consort!”

He shook Elodie to rouse her, but she wouldn’t wake. Watching his unconscious fiancée, he furrowed his brow.

“…Damn it.”

Having grown up among knights since childhood, he rarely interacted with women.

Even his fiancée Elodie was no exception.

At most, they’d shared a dance at formal gatherings.

Faced with a collapsed person, his hesitation was brief. Scooping Elodie up, Adenmir stormed out of the reception room.

“Someone!”

He called out while walking down the corridor, but no servants were visible in the guest wing where Elodie stayed.

It felt as if he’d entered a haunted mansion.

This was strange.

Regardless of her status as a bastard, she was Duke Ferdia’s only daughter—how could there be so few attendants stationed in her residence?

He rarely visited the Ferdia estate himself, and when he did, he’d assumed servants were simply avoiding notice. But apparently that wasn’t the case.

In any event, he couldn’t just leave a patient unattended. He carried Elodie into the nearest guest room and laid her down.

“What a mess.”

He’d come only to casually discuss the imperial birthday banquet and gauge Elodie’s intentions—but now he was dealing with something completely unexpected.

Sighing and rubbing his temple, he spotted a maid passing through the open doorway.

As he recalled, this was Elodie’s personal attendant who always accompanied her—Martha, wasn’t it?

She was the second servant he’d encountered in this wing. The first had served tea and then vanished.

“You there.”

“Yes?”

“Your mistress has collapsed.”

The maid glanced into the guest room and nodded knowingly.

“Oh, she’s fainted again.”

“What?”

“I’ll fetch the physician.”

Watching the maid bow politely and back away, Adenmir felt even more bewildered.

‘Oh, she’s fainted again?’

Was that really an appropriate reaction to one’s mistress collapsing?

Being here was making his head spin.

First, his fiancée abruptly demanding annulment for no clear reason, then this incomprehensible situation in the guest wing.

At least he had to wait until the physician arrived. He pulled a chair over and sat beside Elodie.

Though she still looked unwell, she didn’t seem close to death.

Amidst this, he realized his earlier assumption—that Elodie had been nervous, trembling, and sweating—had all been mistaken. Shame washed over him.

What had he been saying to someone clearly unwell?

“Ha.”

As he gripped his throbbing head and sighed, something caught his eye.

“This is…”

Hidden beneath her sleeve until now, he noticed she wore a bandage on her arm.

The poorly wrapped bandage had come loose, revealing beneath it…

A long, straight gash made by something sharp.

Having trained daily with swords and seen battlefields, he recognized wounds instantly.

A self-inflicted cut.

Clearly made by a blade—though not deep, that wasn’t what mattered.

“What on earth…”

No permanent staff in the guest wing.

Servants acting as if their mistress fainting were routine.

And now this wound on her arm.

Adenmir’s gaze shifted to Elodie’s face as she lay unconscious.

In that moment, the fiancée he’d always found tiresome suddenly looked unfamiliar.

[This is the timeline separator]

Waking with a slight headache, I grimaced.

“Ugh… my head.”

My body still felt weak from lingering poison, but after sleeping, I felt considerably better than before.

As I pressed my forehead with my left hand, something felt off—I pulled my hand away.

Bandage.

I’d remembered that when making an antidote, using one’s own blood eliminated the need to wait. I’d only meant to prick my fingertip, but accidentally cut my arm instead.

My unsteady condition after poisoning must have made me slip.

The bandage I’d clumsily wrapped myself hadn’t applied proper pressure, but this one was clearly done by a professional.

“That grumpy old physician—who always refused to treat bastards—actually came? How odd.”

Though never overtly hostile, many in the household disliked me for being a bastard, including the Ferdia family’s own physician.

Truthfully, neglect was so familiar it hardly surprised me anymore.

“But where am I? Who am I…?”

Now fully awake, I realized this bedroom was completely unfamiliar.

It seemed to be a guest room in the wing—but why was I here?

Then it struck me: I’d been speaking with the First Prince in the reception room.

I pieced together what must have happened. I’d apparently collapsed during our conversation.

Just then, Martha entered.

“You’re awake. I brought lukewarm water. Here, take your medicine too.”

After collapsing so often these past few days from poison, Martha wasn’t particularly shocked to see me unconscious again.

Since I’d explained it away as a side effect of my recently awakened power—not fully active yet—she seemed to accept it without question.

“Mm. Martha, where’s His Highness the First Prince?”

“He left as soon as the physician arrived.”

So I really had collapsed in front of the First Prince.

‘Well, what can you do?’

People faint in front of others sometimes—it happens.

Thinking nothing of it, I swallowed the medicine Martha offered.

Whether medicine or poison, my body would neutralize it anyway—but if I refused, Martha would worry.

More importantly, I wondered how the annulment discussion had concluded…

“His Highness asked me to give you this when you woke.”

I read the note Martha handed me.

[I’ll arrive at the mansion thirty minutes before the birthday party begins. Let’s meet then.]

“Huh?”

A strange noise escaped me involuntarily.

I couldn’t understand it at all.

“Why won’t he agree to the annulment?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s fallen for you?”

I scoffed and tore the letter in half.

‘Nonsense.’

From the start, the First Prince had disliked our engagement but maintained it for political reasons.

So when I claimed to have feelings for someone else, I’d expected him to immediately demand annulment—since the fault was clearly mine, he could blame me while preserving their political alliance.

Though the First Prince’s interference with my independence was deeply annoying, I’d decided to set him aside as a low priority for now.

‘It’s fine. I still have time.’

I had three years until my sister’s adoption—plenty of time to resolve everything neatly.

My independence preparations were progressing steadily. Until then, I’d quietly hoard money like a dead mouse!

…That was what I’d thought.

But a few days later, while walking down a corridor, I immediately ran into a minor but troublesome obstacle.

“I greet you, my lady. Where are you headed?”

A familiar face—one I’d often seen, but hadn’t encountered since regaining my past-life memories.

The moment I saw him, a passage from the novel surfaced in my mind:

[Who could have known? Hector Arald, Duke Ferdia’s trusted advisor, the loyal hound who would one day stab his master in the back.]

Hector Arald.

The future traitor.

And the very man who, three years later, would switch the poison in the failed assassination attempt on Estelle—exposing me as not of Ferdia blood.