There Is No Paradise Where You Escaped - Chapter 42

Charlotte rolled the pen in her hand absentmindedly, hesitating to put the nib to paper. Despite spending a long time on the letter to Baron Zimmerman, she had only managed to write one sentence and couldn’t go any further. This was her third letter, following the two previous ones, yet she still wasn’t accustomed to it.

Baron Zimmerman’s replies were always brimming with joy, but this only weighed on Charlotte’s heart. She doubted whether she could be the wife of such a good man while harboring an impossible love.

Half-resigned, Charlotte set the pen down and turned her gaze to Vivianne, who was staring blankly into space. Lately, Vivianne’s mind hadn’t been entirely present. She looked dazed as if searching for someone sent far beyond the universe.

Vivianne seemed lost in deep thought, and Charlotte suspected it had something to do with Edwin, but she didn’t dare speak to her about it.

“Miss Aveline.”

“Y-yes?” 

Vivianne snapped back to reality, startled. She blinked and looked at Charlotte in confusion before settling her gaze on the nearly blank letter on the desk, with only one line written on it.

Sighing softly, Vivianne read aloud the sole sentence:

「Hello, Baron.」

When Vivianne looked up at her reproachfully, Charlotte pouted.

“I don’t know what to write.” 

Charlotte placed both hands on the table,  as if in complete surrender.

Vivianne understood. It must have been feelings she couldn’t express—having to whisper a false love while carrying feelings for someone else.

But, as she had learned, marriage didn’t always start with love. She wanted to comfort Charlotte, to tell her that this pain was temporary, but she lacked the courage to mention love to someone who was already so disheartened.

“You can’t keep writing down what I recite. That would be disrespectful to the Baron, who’s trying to express his love.”

Love.

Love… The word sounded so trivial and valueless. It felt like something that could be easily crushed if held too tightly or vanish like mist if you looked away for even a moment.

Love was hollow and futile, a luxury in the face of tragic reality. Yet, it was beautiful.

That radiant, vibrant word stirred the heart and warmed the soul.

That man—cruel and indifferent—did he even know what love was? His desires could not be called love—nor should they be.

That man, who shamelessly harbored desires for his hated enemy, a woman who wasn’t even his wife, surely couldn’t grasp the noble emotion of love.

To desire without greed.

Despite everything, Vivianne realized she had gone too far to believe those words anymore; she felt hopeless and frustrated. She had trusted him, only to be abandoned in despair, knowing that someday Edwin would give in to his own desires.

“But, Miss Windler, I’m curious… Why hasn’t the Duke married yet?”

What if a man who didn’t know love actually understood it? What if he had loved someone, lived an ordinary life, built a family, and become a loving father? Would this path of vengeance have changed, even slightly?

Why? Why hadn’t he married?

For a man so focused on revenge, he was healthy and surrounded by countless temptations. If he had made the mistake of desiring her, surely he had also failed to resist other temptations.

“Married?”

“Yes. I imagine there must be plenty of eligible young ladies around the Duke. I’m sure there have been numerous marriage proposals. It’s surprising he’s still single. I was wondering if there was a particular reason.”

“Well… I’m not sure either. Maybe it’s because he’s always so busy with work. That’s for sure.” 

Charlotte’s voice was firm. Though her answer wasn’t entirely satisfying, Vivianne awkwardly nodded, letting the brief conversation about Edwin end.

As they wrapped up, Vivianne’s eyes fell on the blank paper in front of Charlotte. Vivianne tapped it lightly with her fingertips.

“Now, go on and write. How about starting with the recent storm? Begin with the weather—it’ll help the rest flow naturally.”

Under Vivianne’s guidance, Charlotte reluctantly picked up the pen again. The sound of scribbling filled the room as Charlotte’s pen glided across the page, and Vivianne watched to ensure a few more lines were written.

Charlotte described the storm in vivid detail, noting how the holly tree in the garden had snapped under the force of the wind. She wrote about how shocked and frightened she’d been upon hearing of it.

That day, Vivianne had learned of the holly tree’s fate as soon as she returned to her room, right after her fight with Edwin. While they had shared an intense moment—his hands on her body, his fingers grazing her cheek—the holly tree had been in the garden, fighting a losing battle against the fierce wind and rain, only to snap violently.

Vivianne, lost in bitter memories, closed her eyes tightly, biting the inside of her cheek in displeasure. Her neck felt warm, and she reached up to touch it. As she ran her hand over her face, she realized her cheeks were burning, so she walked to the window.

A chilly breeze greeted her. Autumn had begun to set in, cooling her heated skin.

────── ✾ ──────

For the first time in a long while, Edwin’s manor was bustling with guests.

In the club he belonged to, it had become customary for members to take turns hosting seasonal gatherings at their manors or villas to maintain close relationships.

These so-called parties revolved around pleasure-seeking activities—they would gather in the card room, play games, bet money, drink, and smoke cigars until their eyes could barely stay open. Among these pleasures was another: gawking at Vivianne, fallen and exposed, as if she were a monkey in a zoo.

The rumors of Vivianne Aveline’s beauty had long been whispered about, and a story originating from a dressmaker’s shop in Farrington had spread widely, adding to her air of mystery.

Now, with Vivianne openly running errands for Edwin in exchange for receipts, those who finally glimpsed her golden hair and gray eyes could not conceal their astonishment. Vivianne understood their startled stares all too well.

If Edwin had thought such glances would embarrass her, he had miscalculated entirely.

She had shared quarters with servants; she couldn’t possibly be humiliated by the people she’d once worked alongside.

Vivianne was accustomed to being the subject of gossip—as Baron Zimmerman had once remarked, “making money is a dirty business.” The world was full of contradictions.

Though the sun had dipped below the horizon, plunging Rodinia into darkness, the manor blazed as bright as day.

The drunken guests would likely pass out at the first light of dawn. Just after nine in the evening, Edwin instructed Abernathy to ensure that Vivianne was no longer allowed to enter the card room.

It was a relief since she had grown tired of being constantly interrupted by drunk nobles and their female guests.

With nothing left to do, she planned to call it a day and head back to her room—until Edwin emerged from the card room seeking her. Until that moment, Vivianne had been filled with the simple desire to wash up and lie down.

Meeting Edwin in the quiet tea room, Vivianne glanced at the checkbook on the table—the one that would serve as a receipt. Thinking he had called her out simply to write one, her frustration over not being able to lie down quickly faded.

“Good work today.”

“Looks like even Your Grace can get drunk.”

“Why? Is it only when I’m drunk that I can say ‘good work’?”

“… Did you enjoy the card games? Did you win a lot of money?”

Sitting there like a dog eagerly awaiting dinner, drooling, she couldn’t feel good about it. Her heart raced as she stared at the checkbook, and she disliked the feeling of being reduced to a mere opportunist. She wanted to hurry and get the receipt from him so she could leave.

“I won so much money that I got some complaints.”

“… You should have stopped at a reasonable point.”

“Shouldn’t I win money if I’m going to write a receipt for you, Miss Aveline?” Edwin said lazily, smiling.

His posture, voice, and blue eyes showed no trace of intoxication. Yet something about his smile made him seem drunk.

“How is it that our Duke looks so dangerously seductive when he smiles? If I were still an unmarried maiden, I would have thrown myself at him.”

She tried to banish the vulgarities she’d overheard in the cardroom from her mind.

Did the nobles of Neway feel no shame? How could a woman say such things with her husband sitting right beside her? And how could her husband then burst into laughter at it?

She had thought they were all simply drunk and half-crazy, but now… she could at least understand what they had meant.

“… Then hurry and write it. I’m tired and want to sleep.”

Vivianne straightened her posture, holding her head high. Having to constantly bring up money felt miserable.

Even though she was rightfully demanding the payment she had worked for, money still had a way of reducing a person, shrinking her into something small and insignificant.

Once again, Edwin let out that loose, careless smile as he pulled out his fountain pen and began writing the receipt.

It was around that moment that a thought crossed Vivianne’s mind—her mother must have once stood before him, looking at him with the same gaze she had now.

Their manor had been on the verge of being auctioned off, their funds nearly depleted. In that desperate situation, the Duke of Baytness’s offer to lend them money must have felt like salvation. And yet, discovering fourteen years ago that this very man was the runaway youngest son of the Raven family—how devastating must that realization have been?

Her drifting thoughts snapped back into place at the sound of paper tearing. Right in front of her, held between Edwin’s index and middle fingers, was the receipt.

“Um… Your Grace. I have something I’m curious about. May I ask?” Vivianne hesitated as she took the receipt from him.

“Anything.”

“How… did you come to know my mother?”

Edwin looked into Vivianne’s softened gaze. She was fascinating—constantly walking the fine line between fragility and resilience. At times, she seemed as if she would crumble at the slightest touch, yet she was strong enough to withstand even the fiercest storm.

“I approached her first after learning that your manor was going up for auction.”

Her already large eyes grew even wider in surprise, making the gray within them shine more vividly—like a pair of rare gemstones that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world.

“Madam Aveline told me she needed 700,000 mori, and I agreed to lend it. She was overjoyed. She even vowed to repay the favor one day. But then…”

As he recalled Madam Aveline’s expression that day, Edwin realized from whom Vivianne had inherited her eyes.

Madam Aveline had looked at him with those same eyes. No—Vivianne had inherited them entirely: the sorrowful, expressive gaze that had crumbled so helplessly at that moment.

“Y-You’re a survivor of the Raven family? The runaway youngest son of Raven… Sayer Raven?”

The moment Madam Aveline learned the truth, thick tears had rolled down her cheeks. Edwin hadn’t stopped her from crying. He had let her weep, waiting for the words that would follow. But none ever came.

She had simply cried, and once her tears dried up, she said nothing.

“So, are you still going to borrow money from me? If you ask, I’m willing to lend it. So tell me—do you still want my money?”

In the end, when he could no longer bear the silence, he broke it first. And Madam Aveline, her head bowed low, hesitated before nodding.

He understood that wretched feeling all too well—the torment of being backed into a corner with no way out, the anguish of having to abandon pride and resign oneself to survival. The way despair clawed at the back of your head, how it sank its teeth into your nape, refusing to let go.

“I have no other choice. The sin of that day… that day’s…”

Madam Aveline trailed off as memories overwhelmed her—the day the House of Raven vanished into history.

When her ceaseless tears grew tiresome, Edwin summoned Roarke and handed over the 700,000 mori. He then presented Madam Aveline with a promissory note, which she signed without properly reading.

Despite knowing her creditor’s identity, she never questioned his willingness to lend the money. She must have believed she could repay it soon—that securing funds from her family would smother the fire before it spread. She never imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that she would never again set foot on Neway soil.

“The truth is, that day…”

Just before leaving with the trunk of 700,000 mori, Madam Aveline turned back for the first time.

“It wasn’t my husband who proclaimed the purge to suppress the rebellion. Mayr forged our family’s crest and used our name to crush even the last remaining seed.”

The look in her eyes now was entirely different from the tears she’d shed earlier. They were brimmed with hatred and venom, a silent testament to years of suffering.

“We were victims of Mayr, too!”

As Madam Aveline shouted, Edwin saw an overlap—the same breathtaking, gemstone-like gray eyes now reflected in Vivianne.

“Even though your mother knew I was Sayer, she still chose to borrow the money. I lent it, she signed, and that was the end of it.”

“…”

“You don’t believe me?” 

Seeing the doubt in her gaze, Edwin let out another languid smile.

“Then ask her yourself—when your mother returns.”