There Is No Paradise Where I Ran Away To (14 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 7

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When the occasional floral scent of the woman lingering in the humid air vanished, it left an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The carriage, spacious enough that even stretching one’s legs met no resistance, felt as hollow as the base of his throat.

‘Sayer… Raven, is that you?’

The name that slipped uncontrollably from his lips struck Edwin’s heart. He had believed that name, worn down by wind and eroded by currents over so many years, had long lost its original shape beyond recognition.

But he was wrong.

Revived on Ebelline’s lips, that name still held intact the full horror of fourteen years past.

Clenching his fist brought back the sensation of gripping that fragile throat; opening his palm recalled the thrill of returning the stolen breath.

‘Ah, so you’re Duke Beitnes. My apologies.’

When he finally met those innocent eyes, he felt somewhat deflated and somewhat underwhelmed. Facing Vivian Ebelline—gaunt as a dry twig—was far less overwhelming than he had anticipated.

You’ve grown so much. Without remembering my face. Without remembering anything at all.

Casually offering pity, making promises lightly, forgetting just as easily.

That was precisely why his hands had closed around her throat.

Turning toward the window, he found it blocked by red curtains. Trying to understand Vivian’s discomfort that had made her avert her eyes outside, he pulled the curtains open.

Beyond the window, the rain still fell.

Clenching and then opening his hand again, he recalled the moment he had grasped Ebelline’s life in his grip. Simultaneously, he pictured Vivian Ebelline as she had been fourteen years ago.

‘Have you eaten anything?’

‘What will you do once you get to Newway?’

‘I read it in a book. It said bad things don’t happen all the time. So no matter where you go, the world will be on Sayer’s side.’

The little girl had chattered naively. When he scoffed, her ash-gray eyes, startled by something, cast a weak trembling shadow beneath her lids.

‘Right. Since good things always happened to you, all that’s left is for bad things to occur.’

‘That’s exactly what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?’

Vivian Ebelline had sulked at his sharp retort. Vivian Ebelline had admitted her mistake and apologized.

Now that he thought about it, though it had rained that day in spring, the air had somehow held warmth. The only temperature he could recall from that day—when he’d felt neither cold nor heat—was

the flush blooming on Vivian’s pale cheeks.

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Grass and trees that should have shown vibrant hues under the sunlight turned black beneath the ashen sky. The dark clouds blanketing the world poured rain as if intent on swallowing everything whole. Vivian swayed unsteadily under the weight of the heavy downpour. Her wrist gripping the umbrella stung, and the soggy mud dragged heavily at her steps.

‘Stop the carriage.’

Despite her resolute pace, Sayer’s voice caught her by the ankle.

‘Your family destroyed mine. Your father killed my father, my mother, my siblings—all of them.’

Why only now?

‘Why am I running away? To survive. To live long enough to exterminate every last Ebelline.’

Why only at this moment?

‘If you let me go instead of killing me here and now, you’ll regret it. One day, I will surely kill you.’

The young boy’s voice had trembled, twisted by fury. Only now, fourteen years later, did he truly understand it.

At nine years old, he had been far too young to comprehend the full tragedy of that day. He had only felt pity. Guilt. Sorrow. He hadn’t clearly distinguished what it truly meant to lose parents, to lose family.

Ever since grasping the truth, that unpleasant emotion had trailed him like a shadow—too immense to ignore.

Guilt.

His father had disappeared; his mother had left for Preston and never returned. Only after his once-harmonious family had shattered and scattered did he begin to fathom how Sayer must have felt—how utterly devastated he must have been.

And what had he said to Sayer then?

His inner guilt spilled out with his tears. Sayer’s grip on his ankle tightened, rooting him in place.

‘It’s been a while, Miss Ebelline.’

When he saw Ebelline again after fourteen years, what must he have thought? Where had the patience come from—to greet her calmly while burning inside with vengeance?

‘But not today.’

‘Enough for now. We’ll wait for the right moment.’

Until he could speak so calmly, in a voice stripped of moisture, about the tragedy of fourteen years past—what pain must have tormented him?

If I were in Duke Beitnes’s place—if I were him—

His legs finally gave out, and he sank heavily to the ground. The umbrella rolled far away, and Vivian barely held herself upright with both arms.

Tears fell into the shallow puddle. In the ripples they stirred, he saw the family of the man his father had executed.

The eleven-year-old who had been powerless to affect that event now suffered under crushing guilt.

Because he loved his father more than anyone else. Because, despite his father having ruined another person’s life so utterly, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

This selfish, hypocritical man.

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Only now did he claim to understand Sayer. Only now did he feel guilt—and yet he still worried about his beloved father’s tarnished name, internalizing the public’s scorn.

Vivian clutched the ascot tie around her neck and wept. Inside her heart, a storm raged as violently as the downpour outside.

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Unseasonable darkness fell as storm clouds swallowed the sky. Charlotte, who had been reading, gradually grew uneasy in the dimming light. Once the servants lit the room’s lamps, she settled comfortably back into her book.

But a sudden flash of brightness shattered her focus. Almost instantly, a thunderous boom—like the sky splitting apart—shook the air.

Was His Grace traveling safely? The rain was growing heavier; the road must be rough. Charlotte sighed deeply.

She hadn’t realized that Edwin’s instruction this morning—before leaving for the capital—saying “Don’t make a fuss,” actually meant he’d vanish without even saying goodbye. Had she known, she wouldn’t have so readily assured him she’d stay calm and let him go.

“Miss, shall I prepare dinner early?”

Merian asked Charlotte, who was gazing out the rain-streaked window, lost in thoughts of Edwin.

“Yes, please do.”

“Shall I inform Miss Ebelline as well?”

Charlotte closed her book with visible annoyance and set it firmly on the table. Though she disliked Vivian Ebelline from head to toe, she had decided she quite liked the way Vivian looked at her and Edwin—as if they were truly married.

That look alone had planted a faint spark of hope and possibility in Charlotte, who had never seriously considered becoming his wife.

To become His Grace’s wife. To become Lady Beitnes.

Just imagining it made her heart swell—but unease crept in as Vivian’s face flashed unbidden into her mind.

“Yes. His Grace expressly commanded we dine together, so of course we must. Please tell Miss Ebelline dinner will be served shortly.”

It was unusual for Edwin to concern himself with every meal of a house guest. Charlotte was curious about his true intentions in so generously allowing Vivian to stay.

He wasn’t that kind of person—not one to let strangers into his home, not one to be swayed by a beautiful woman, not one to pay such attention to others.

“Oh, by the way.”

Merian, about to leave, paused as if remembering something.

“I nearly forgot—Miss Ebelline said when she returned that she wouldn’t join dinner tonight. She claimed she’s unwell and wishes to rest quietly.”

Charlotte’s brows furrowed slightly. She let out a quiet sigh, inwardly mocking the pampered Ebelline. At their first meal together, Vivian had barely touched her food and received a stern reprimand. Since then, she’d behaved—but now, with no one left to scold her, she clearly felt entitled to her own little world.

“Really? What did she say hurts?”

“She didn’t specify—just that she feels unwell and exhausted…”

Feigning illness was still illness; perhaps she should just pretend not to notice.

“But she really did look unwell. Her expression was like a corpse’s.”

“Her expression looked like a corpse’s?”

“With such heavy rain, she must have gotten thoroughly soaked on her way back—probably caught a cold.”

Yet she’d left in His Grace’s carriage.

“If she’s ill, she ought to eat more to recover quickly, shouldn’t she?”

“Huh? Where are you going, Miss?”

“How can I sit idly when we have a guest in the manor who’s unwell? Go down and bring Miss Ebelline some soup she can manage, and some nourishing herbal tea as well.”

“Yes, yes—I’ll do that right away, Miss.”

After parting with Merian, Charlotte headed straight for Vivian’s room. She couldn’t just leave Vivian Ebelline be. If Vivian still mistakenly thought herself mistress of this house, Charlotte needed to set her straight—once and for all.

Today, I’ll definitely say something. I’ll crush that pride of hers until she’s properly subdued.

At Vivian’s door, Charlotte knocked. Receiving no reply, and unwilling to wait, she opened the door herself. Her eyes met Vivian’s, who stood hastily knotting a scarf before the mirror—and a sharp pang of embarrassment pierced Charlotte’s chest.

“W-Windler Miss.”

Vivian finished tying the half-made knot and rose to her feet. Her skirt was caked in mud, and her normally neat hair hung in utter disarray—as if something dire had happened.

And her face—

Her already sunken cheeks were smeared thickly with mud, making her complexion match Charlotte’s earlier description: corpse-like. Charlotte, who had come prepared to confront Vivian’s feigned illness, lost all her resolve. Words stuck in her throat, and an awkward silence hung between them.

“…What’s the matter? What happened to you?”

“…I fell on my way back.”

“Then change your clothes quickly! I heard you’re unwell. If you’ve been out long in this rain, warm yourself with a hot bath right away. Sophie should have drawn one for you.”

Vivian gave a faint, nearly imperceptible nod, her eyes dull. Those storm-cloud eyes had lost their light, as though dying.

“Merian will bring you soup and herbal tea shortly. Since you said you won’t eat dinner, at least have that.”

“Thank you, Windler Miss.”

In that moment, Charlotte felt ashamed for having doubted and insulted her. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she ran her fingertips over the hem of her dress, suddenly at a loss for words. She wondered why Vivian insisted on wearing that mismatched scarf—but decided not to press further.

“I came after hearing from Merian that you were unwell. You do look quite ill.”

“Yes… just a little…”

“Then please rest well. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to speak up.”

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With a polite bow, Charlotte turned to leave—but halted mid-step. On the cabinet beside the door, neatly arranged ascot ties caught her attention.

They were just as disheveled as Vivian herself—muddy stains dragging down the value of the fine fabric by several notches.

Moreover, Charlotte knew Edwin’s wardrobe inside out—and recognized instantly that this ascot tie was identical to one of Edwin’s.

“What’s this tie?”

“Huh? Ah—um, that’s…”

“Why is a man’s tie in Miss Ebelline’s room?”

Under Charlotte’s suspicious glare, Vivian grew visibly flustered, fidgeting helplessly.

“I-I bought it as a gift.”

Charlotte’s hand, reaching to examine the tie more closely, froze.

“I stopped by the dressmaker’s earlier and bought a gift for His Grace—to thank him for letting me stay. But I fell on the way back, and it got dirty…”

Charlotte tilted her head, then quickly dismissed her suspicion. To be precise, she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly she’d suspected—there was simply no reason for Edwin’s tie to be in Vivian’s hands. She convinced herself it was merely similar in style, not the same.

“Coincidentally, His Grace owns a very similar tie. You should choose a different gift.”

“…Yes. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Then rest well.”

Even as she closed Vivian’s door, an inexplicable unease lingered in Charlotte’s heart. She left, attributing her discomfort solely to having spoken ill of and insulted Vivian.

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