Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 81

Otis swallowed hard and cautiously voiced the question that had been gnawing at him. He didn’t realize that what stirred faintly in his chest was hope.

“…Do you have feelings for him?”

Isaac. He watched him through the crack in the window—Isaac seated across from Calliope, who had her arm looped around his and was eagerly pointing out different items on the menu. That ornate dress—couldn’t she have picked something less attention-grabbing? The patrons inside were so distracted, one man nearly snorted beer through his nose.

“And what business is that of yours?” Berchia replied sharply.

“I just…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Not only because it was difficult to say—but because he himself had no idea how to explain what he was doing here, following those two around like some jealous fool.

Still, the quick-thinking part of his brain was already calculating. If Calliope had developed feelings for Isaac—well, the Esteban family and the Dylas house were both royalists, after all. Political engagements could be broken if necessary. And if she ended up taking Isaac away, she’d be left all alone in the aftermath…

His lips felt parched.

Berchia was eyeing him with narrowed eyes. Her expression said, I know exactly what you’re thinking. She didn’t hide her distaste when she finally spoke.

“Don’t even think about manipulating someone else into being your fallback.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t drag someone into your mess just so you have someone to scoop up later. It’s disgusting. I don’t plan to do that, and you shouldn’t either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

“I’d have to understand to figure it out, wouldn’t I?”

Berchia’s lips pressed into a firm line. Her voice turned cold and decisive.

“I’ll handle my own business. You worry about yours.”

“…Did you just say you? You just called me you?”

“So what if I did?”

With that, Berchia turned her head sharply as if to say she was done speaking. Otis stood there with his mouth hanging open, stunned silent. Do women start speaking like that after spending time with her? he wondered. But no one was going to answer that question—not even himself.

Inside the pub, Calliope and Isaac were seated at a modest table, sipping chilled drinks and sharing a roast turkey dish.

Luckily, Isaac seemed to handle the turkey just fine—it was at least proper food compared to the skewers. They’d considered trying a drink, but neither of them found alcohol particularly appealing, so it was easily passed over.

Calliope chatted non-stop at his side.

“You know, this street hasn’t changed at all.”

“It hasn’t,” Isaac agreed.

“Which makes sense, really. Oh, and if you go that way, there’s a strange little game stall.”

“What kind of game?”

“You shoot arrows to knock things over. If you hit the prize, you get to keep it. But sometimes the arrow shatters the prize, and then they just give you the pieces. Isn’t that absurd?”

“…That sounds like a scam.”

“Exactly! But it only costs one bron per game. Can’t expect much for that price, right?”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s fair.”

He was oddly serious about analyzing the fairness of the game, which made Calliope laugh. She reached over and gently stroked his cheek.

“Let’s come back sometime. Make more memories. Ones that only we share.”

“…I’d like that,” he replied quietly, almost aching with sincerity.

Calliope assumed he was reminded of her past with someone else. But Isaac… Isaac was silently suffocating under the weight of every memory she recalled that had nothing to do with him.

As far as he knew, she had never walked these streets at night since they got engaged. But she knew this area too well—every corner, every smell, every story. Even if they were just drinking chilled juice, Isaac felt as though he were intoxicated—drunk not on wine, but on the distance between her joy and his silence.

After about an hour, the two left the pub, agreeing it was time to return before it got too late. Calliope walked ahead, her dress flowing like flower petals with each bounce of her step. Isaac followed just behind, ever the vigilant escort.

They turned down the alley where their carriage was supposed to be waiting.

“…What?”

The coachman was nowhere in sight.

They figured he must’ve stepped away briefly, since they’d taken longer than expected. It was strange—but both of them were still floating in the evening’s warmth, not quite alert enough to realize what was wrong.

But Isaac noticed something the moment Calliope reached out to open the carriage door.

Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.

“Isaac?”

“There are footprints.”

Calliope looked down—and saw them.

Aside from their own, there were other footprints in the dirt. Several of them. They circled the carriage… and led straight inside.

Before she could fully register what was happening, the carriage door burst open—and masked assailants in black leapt out.

“Lady Calliope, behind me!”

“What on earth—?!”

At Isaac’s sharp command, Calliope instinctively stepped behind him. There was no point in getting in his way—his skill was leagues ahead of hers.

But while Isaac took on three attackers at once, one hidden assailant sprang forward, aiming directly for Calliope.

“…!”

She reached for the sword Isaac had given her. But before she could fully unsheathe it, a familiar vision flashed before her eyes—brief but clear. All the masked attackers lay sprawled on the ground. A vision of victory.

Yet while her vision played out, the masked figure had already closed the distance.

She didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t shut. Instead, she met his gaze—those narrowed eyes above the mask—and locked on.

He hesitated. His brows furrowed. But then he swung his blade—

CLANG!
The clash of steel rang through the alley.

And the person who had blocked the blow was—

“Lady Berchia?!”

“Back off!”

“And this way, my lady!”

“Otis Glayderth?!”

“Well, now you’re dropping the formalities, I see.”

“What—why are you both even here?!”

“That can wait.”

Otis stepped in, drawing his sword, and positioned himself in front of Calliope. Berchia and Isaac could easily handle two or three opponents each—so his job was to shield Calliope.

And it proved to be the right call.

One of the attackers collapsed in a spray of blood—Berchia’s doing. The other three, who had been engaging Isaac, fell shortly after. The difference was that Isaac had used the flat of his blade and the sheath—knocking them out without killing them.

Calliope was relieved. They needed to be alive—to answer questions.

She stepped forward to examine the unconscious men, frowning as she knelt.

“They’re dead.”

“Looks like they had time to bite down on poison. In the middle of getting their asses handed to them, no less.”

Poison?

Calliope’s eyes narrowed as she inspected the bodies more carefully. Meanwhile, Berchia wiped blood from her blade with a sharp flick and cast a side glance at Isaac. His hand was trembling—just barely.

Berchia watched Calliope remove the masks from the attackers, then walked over to Isaac and whispered low enough that Calliope couldn’t hear.

“That hesitation—do you really think you can protect Calliope like that? You should give it up.”

Because the truth was, Isaac hadn’t spared them for the sake of an investigation.
He had simply… hesitated. He had never taken a life before.

Berchia scoffed under her breath and circled around the carriage—only to find the coachman’s corpse nearby.

“Just your average assassins. But why were they targeting you?”

“I don’t know,” Calliope replied. “Could they have been after Isaac?”

“No, they were clearly after you.”

“Maybe they just wanted to eliminate witnesses too.”

She remembered. Back when Isaac first revealed his strength, opposition from rival houses had come quickly—and violently. Even assassination attempts weren’t off the table.

I should’ve known they’d strike while we were alone. He had shown his hand early, and so the backlash had come early too. She grit her teeth. I overlooked it.

While Calliope seethed internally, Isaac stared down at his trembling hand. Berchia’s words repeated like a curse in his ears.

“That hesitation—do you really think you can protect Calliope like that?”

Calliope blinked slowly as she looked at him. Had I coddled him too much? she wondered. She had raised him the way she wanted to—but the truth was, in the past, he had handled his first kill with chilling calm.

Back then, no one respected him. No one loved him. He’d been raised in a world where taking a life didn’t require a second thought.

But Calliope shook her head. No. This is better. It’s good that he values life. Isaac will grow—slowly but surely.

She approached and took his hand—still trembling—and held it tightly.

“It’s alright, Isaac. You did well. Thank you for protecting me.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it gently.

“Don’t be upset. This hand saved me.”

“…Lady Calliope…”

“If you hadn’t noticed those footprints, I would’ve been killed the moment I opened that door. I’m grateful, Isaac. My knight.”

“…Yes.”

The tension in his eyes began to ease. Calliope, sensing his weariness, gently pulled him into her shoulder and embraced him.

It’s okay. This is all part of change.
She comforted him like that for quite some time.

Later, Calliope returned to the Marquess’ estate.

Outwardly, it looked like nothing had happened. But the blood on Berchia’s clothes and blade quickly drew attention.

She made no attempt to hide it.

Instead, she walked straight to the Marquess’ office to report the attack.

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