Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 38

The Marchioness’s voice was cold  like ice in the dead of winter but Calliope could tell it was meant to be gentle in its own way.
In this life, she had spent enough time with Circe to recognize the difference.

Calliope blinked slowly, feeling an itch of discomfort stir inside her.
It didn’t take long to figure out why.

“Is it really okay for you to tell me so easily that I was re-registered into the family just for an engagement?”

Yes, that was it.

In her past life, Illan had hidden the true reason for her reinstatement — or at least, he thought he had.
He probably believed he hadn’t “hidden” anything.
He had simply chosen not to say it aloud.

But today, the Marchioness had casually said it — calling it “the task you were always meant to do.”

Circe raised an eyebrow and asked back:

“Didn’t Illan tell you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Calliope answered.

“Then why are you asking so calmly?”

“Because I had already guessed,” Calliope said smoothly.
“It’s not hard to figure out, is it?
Why else would a daughter from a former marriage, left ignored for so long, suddenly be brought back?”

Circe pressed her fingers lightly against her forehead, as if nursing a headache.

Calliope watched her carefully, still wearing that quietly puzzled expression.

In her previous life, she had thought the entire family had conspired to hide the truth — that she was just a pawn, dragged back for convenience, only to be discarded once she served her purpose.

And honestly, that probably was still the truth.
The difference now was— “I thought Illan made a deal with you,” Circe said.

“He did,” Calliope replied flatly.
“You must have seen the list of properties and wealth he promised to hand over to me.”

“Yes. I assumed he offered it to you as compensation — that he was trying to lessen the damage, in his own cold way,” Circe said.

“I didn’t expect you to care about the damage at all,” Calliope murmured.

The words sounded biting, but her tone was oddly calm — almost emotionless.

Circe raised her gaze, looking at the girl who shared no blood with her.

“I hate useless things,” she said simply.
“People, objects… even actions.”

“That’s… very human of you,” Calliope said lightly.

“Human?”

Calliope tilted her head and shrugged, as if they were talking about something trivial.

“People who truly despise useless things usually don’t care about others’ wounds.
They see compassion itself as pointless.
But you clearly don’t.”

For a moment, Circe fell silent.

And Calliope thought to herself: Through frequent meetings, she had come to realize something — This woman, who looked as though she were carved from ice,
was even more calculating than she had imagined, but in her own way… still human.

“I wasn’t saying you act out of kindness,” Calliope continued, “but that you hold yourself to a strict line — a personal sense of right and wrong.”

Circe was detached when it came to emotions — that much was obvious to anyone who observed her closely.
When others cried, she stayed dry-eyed; when others raged, she remained calm.

Knowing herself so well, she had drawn her own boundaries — perhaps because she knew that if she let emotions rule her, she might destroy everything.

“Someone who can control themselves… is far more human than someone who can’t,” Calliope said softly.

Circe, understanding the weight of the words, said nothing.
Instead, she simply gestured with a flick of her hand, telling Calliope she could leave.

Calliope nodded obediently and stepped out of the office.

A nearby maid, who had been silently watching the exchange, approached and spoke quietly:

“Regarding your engagement with House Esteban…
please let us know what date you would prefer, my lady.”

It was supposed to be the Marchioness herself who said this — but seeing Circe so deep in thought, the maid had spoken up instead.

Calliope smiled faintly at the loyal maid.

“This weekend would be good.”

“So soon? Will that be all right?”

“The sooner, the better,” Calliope said without hesitation.
“It suits the family’s needs, too, doesn’t it?”

“…Understood.”

On her way back to her room,
Calliope stopped halfway down the corridor at a massive window.

Through the clear glass, she could see the garden spread out below — and beyond it, a piece of the sky framed like a painting.

The brilliant blue sky, with not a single cloud, looked eerily familiar.
It looked exactly like the sky she had seen the day she died.

But as evening approached, the colors grew muted. Clouds began to gather. It looked like it would rain heavily tonight.

Meanwhile, at House Esteban:

The entire estate was steeped in a cold, heavy atmosphere — like a colorless mist pressing against the skin.

The servants moved quietly, eyes cast down.
They were long accustomed to the oppressive feeling.
After all, ever since the death of the lady of the house, who had passed away giving birth to the second son, the Esteban household had always smelled faintly of dampness and sharpness — like old wounds that never healed.

The head of the family, Velta Esteban, was currently occupied at the royal palace as the Commander of the Royal Knights.
Thus, the duties of running the household mostly fell to his heir — the eldest son, Erben Esteban.

Inside the office,
Erben sat at his desk, meticulously reviewing documents, while his younger brother — now fifteen years old — stood silently before him.

The tension in the room was so thick that even a single deep breath might shatter it like ice.

The servants standing nearby didn’t dare move. They kept their eyes forward, frozen like statues.

At last, Erben spoke, his voice slicing through the silence.

“You’ve already heard about it, I assume.”

Only Erben, the heir, had the authority to break the suffocating atmosphere inside the office.
He spoke without once lifting his gaze from the documents,
and his younger brother, Isaac, simply nodded silently instead of answering aloud.

“The Anastas family has rejected even the Glayderth Duke’s engagement proposal and is proceeding with ours.
This is a clear signal they intend to align themselves with the royal faction.
Father said His Majesty wishes the union with Anastas to be completed smoothly as well.”

Isaac nodded again — wordlessly.

Speaking was not permitted for him, especially in front of family.
And Erben wasn’t seeking a conversation — this meeting was only to deliver orders.

“Don’t ruin this,” Erben said coldly.
“As long as you don’t cause trouble, everything will proceed without incident. You should be grateful your useless body can at least be of use in this way.”

For the first time, Erben raised his eyes and looked at Isaac.
This was the only time he ever demanded an answer when it was to crush him, to demand obedience.

After a moment, a strained voice answered: “…Yes.”

Satisfied, Erben dropped his gaze back to the desk.

“No matter how the Marquess’s daughter behaves, your job is to maintain the engagement.
You know well enough that your cursed eyes terrify noble ladies — so act carefully. Now, leave.”

He had no further words for his brother — only a silent wish for him to disappear quickly.

Knowing his brother’s nature all too well, Isaac left the office without even pausing to bow.
The servants and knights stationed outside the heir’s office kept their heads rigidly forward,
pretending not to see the second son pass by.

Like Erben said, those deathly white eyes stared somewhere far into the empty hallway.

No one followed him.
No one spoke to him.

It wasn’t a new pain.
It was the life he had always known.

Rain poured from the sky.

Ever since her meeting with Circe earlier that evening,
the clouds had thickened, and the downpour had been relentless.

Calliope stood by the window of her room, fully dressed and prepared.

She remembered — the day she first met Isaac in her past life had been brilliantly sunny.

Of course, now that the timeline had shifted, it made sense the weather would change too.

Still… she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.
When she saw him again, she had wanted everything to be perfect.

“My lady, it’s almost time,” her maid said softly.

Because of the rain, the meeting with Isaac would be held in the greenhouse of the Anastas estate.

The greenhouse had been newly built when Circe married into the family — even grander and more magnificent than the one at her original home, Duke Dylas’s estate.

It was said that a fortune had been poured into it, layer upon layer of magic to control temperature, humidity, and lighting perfectly.

Calliope had never even stepped inside it in her previous life.

“The Marchioness was very considerate,” Calliope murmured.
“We could have just met in the drawing room.”

“That’s true,” her maid agreed with a soft laugh.

When Circe noticed the continuing rain, she had nonchalantly handed over the key to the greenhouse, saying it wouldn’t be bad to meet there instead.

Now, holding that key in her hand, Calliope hesitated for a moment.
She felt… something had shifted inside Circe, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

The moment Calliope stepped into the greenhouse, she was greeted by the sound of endless raindrops striking the transparent glass walls — a sound like something crumbling apart, or perhaps like a heart pounding too fast.

The greenhouse was filled with rare plants gathered from across the continent.
Calliope sat quietly at a garden table, waiting.

Waiting for him — and in doing so, pulling old memories painfully back to life.

Their last meeting. Back then, it had been a night bathed in silver moonlight. The night before he left — before everything ended.

Calliope had been unable to resist — she had gone to find him, the man she loved, the man she believed had betrayed her.

He had seen her and passed by with a face as cold and closed as a locked gate.

She had called out to him.

“Did you ever love me?”

He had turned his back to her — his face unreadable.

Their engagement might have been a political arrangement, but Calliope had foolishly believed they had loved each other.

At that moment, all her certainty crumbled.

She could no longer guess what lay inside his heart.

“…I—”

“Don’t say it.”

She had stopped him — because if the words “I never loved you” or “I don’t love you anymore” left his lips, she would have broken completely.

Instead, she had begged.

“After you return… tell me then.”

Her voice had trembled pathetically.
A voice full of desperate hope, fragile love, and overwhelming fear — the voice of someone standing on the very edge of a cliff.

But his reply had been merciless.

“Don’t wait for me.”

Calliope had gasped for breath.
And like a final breath leaving a dying body, she had whispered:

“I love you.”

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