I’ve Decided to Let You Go - Chapter 39

Natasha’s illness didn’t get better as the day approached.

Just like before, nothing in her future had changed. She burned with a constant fever for days, so intense it felt like she was dying, just as she had in her previous life.

A few days later, while Natasha remained bedridden, the Empire’s Victory Day finally arrived. It was a day meant to honor the Empire’s achievements. Cities across the land held festivals, celebrating peace and triumph with loud parades and music.

Even the northern region of Britten joined in the festivities. But the Aschart Duchy alone remained silent. No official announcement had been made, but everyone, both staff and citizens, understood the reason.

It was out of respect for the new Duchess, whose entire family had died on this very day.

The same day when the heads of Charlier’s royal family were displayed on the walls of Letius Palace. The day the centuries-old royal house fell, and the Kingdom of Charlier was erased from history.

Alone in her room, Natasha gasped for breath. The pain in her head didn’t give her a moment of peace.

Her breathing became ragged.

Through ears that felt underwater, she heard the sound of fireworks in the distance. Each explosion made her heart race, each burst sharper than the last. She clutched her chest, struggling to breathe, small gasps escaping between trembling lips.

The moment her mind became aware of everything, the pain only grew worse. The ticking of the clock echoed inside her skull like a hammer.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was strange. A clock could never tick this loudly. But the sound took over her thoughts and became something unbearable.

It hurts. I need medicine.

Her trembling hand reached out, fingertips barely grazing the edge of the table. She accidentally knocked over the bag of medicine. It slid off and hit the floor.

Crash.

The bag must have hit the water glass. The sharp sound of shattering glass filled the air. The ringing in her ears only got worse, mixing with the endless ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She couldn’t even tell if the sound was real anymore.

Still gasping, Natasha turned her head. Clear tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Daughter. Foolish girl. Why do you try to betray us? Will you still be this foolish, even in death?

To think the only one who survived was the weakest one. How pathetic.

The cruel voices filled her head again, pressing in from all sides.

Leave House Aschart. Come with me. I’ll protect you from poverty and death, Princess.

A new voice slipped in. A hallucination, mimicking the one voice she never wanted to hear again.

That voice. That cursed voice. Repeating every vile thing he once said to her.

Why are you so eager for a marriage that offers you nothing, Princess?

I didn’t kiss you at the wedding out of consideration. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to control myself… that I’d lose all restraint and shamefully touch you in front of everyone.

It went on without pause. From the moment they first met until the day she entered the Duke’s estate.

Over and over again.

We can continue the conversation another time. For now, I’d like you to leave, Princess.

Who knows? Maybe they were right. You’re just a girl with tainted blood, raised among the unworthy.

Sieghart had always been cold. He made her feel like even speaking to her was beneath him.

That dry, indifferent voice stabbed into Natasha’s chest like a knife. She had thought she was used to it. But she wasn’t. The cruelty of a man she once loved still lingered deep in her heart. It ached like a wound torn open all over again.

The voices slowly faded, and with them, the cold, expressionless image of that man disappeared from her mind.

Then, just as her breathing started to settle, a new voice spoke. This one was soft and kind.

It must have been sudden, but I’m grateful you accepted my proposal so quickly. Thanks to you, I was able to be by your side sooner.

Tisha, you’ll come to love me.

All the honor, achievements, and blessings the gods have granted me this miracle, I dedicate it to Natasha Aschart, the new lady of House Aschart.

The voice was the same in pitch, the tone similar, yet it felt like it came from someone entirely different.

And that was the painful truth, one she couldn’t ignore.

They were the same man by face and name, yet so clearly, so painfully different.

Natasha felt as though someone was scolding her for hating the wrong person. As if to say that resenting someone innocent and gentle was pointless.

“No. No, it’s not…”

She denied it, even though no answer was needed.

She had the right to hate him. She had been hated for no reason. Even when he said he loved her, he always abandoned her in the end.

So, she could hate him too.

She had lived through ten lifetimes. Her family’s voices, filled with bitterness and blame, had haunted her each time.

But after all those tragedies, the guilt she once carried for them had begun to fade. Worn down by sorrow, she had become distant, cold even. She was finally starting to escape the fever that had clung to her for days.

But not from him.

Just when she thought she was free, another wave of cruel words rose up, wrapping around her like chains.

When Natasha finally opened her eyes, the faint night sky filled her vision.

The window in front of her kept changing shape. One became two, then four, and at one point, she saw ten. Everything swayed and split before her eyes.

“I need to call Kayeina…”

She reached out, but her hand barely lifted before falling back. She couldn’t even reach the bell string beside the bed.

Normally, just tapping the bed would be enough to call someone. But the noise from outside drowned out even that small signal.

As her fading awareness started to slip again, she heard footsteps from beyond the door. The sound was calm, composed, and strangely familiar.

“Sieghart…”

Could her hallucinations now recreate even the sound of his footsteps?

She pressed the pillow tightly over her ears and silently begged for the sound to disappear.

When she opened her eyes again, a shadow was standing in front of her. Someone leaned lightly against the bedpost, slowly moving forward. The figure was shrouded in darkness, yet still carried a distinct elegance.

Natasha stared at the person in silence. Her chest, which had been trembling with each breath, now lay still. Her fingers stopped moving too, lying quietly against the sheet.

The figure came closer. The moonlight caught the edge of his form, revealing a soft red glow that stood out against the dim blue of the night.

He was looking down at her.

This isn’t a hallucination.

If it were, his body would have warped by now. His face would have twisted into something monstrous, just like the nightmares of her family. He would have screamed at her, grotesque and terrifying.

But this was different.

Sieghart pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. Every movement was careful, gentle, as though afraid to disturb her sleep.

He took her hand and held it tightly. Then, with both care and reverence, he brought it to his lips.

He whispered something quietly.

Don’t be in pain.

His lips moved slightly as he spoke, brushing gently against her skin. His breath was warm. She could feel the words without hearing them.

Don’t be in pain.

He held her hand like it was something priceless.

Normally, Sieghart would have noticed the smallest twitch from her. But now, he was completely unaware. With her hand tucked gently against his chest, he only prayed, lips still moving in silence.

He cared for her with patient, devoted hands. He wiped away her sweat with a dry cloth, placed a cool towel on her forehead, and even sprinkled crushed herbs gently onto her tongue.

The bitterness of the medicine was familiar. So was his touch. It was strange. This was the first time Sieghart had ever cared for her like this, yet the moment didn’t feel unfamiliar at all.

That person…

A memory stirred—someone from her very first life. A person she had never fully remembered. No name, no face, no identity.

The one who helped me…

The one who cared for her when she was sick and alone. The one who had been there, quietly saving her when no one else could.

Was it you, Sieghart?

It was hard to call it a coincidence. Too much lined up for it to be chance.

As Natasha tried to recall the memory, her lips parted. She wasn’t even fully aware of what she wanted to say, but the words formed naturally, as if they had always been there.

“Thank…”

He didn’t respond, just waited.

“Thank you.”

Her hand, hidden under the blanket, gripped the fabric of her nightdress tightly.

“You can go now. You should enjoy the festival.”

From Sieghart, a faint sigh escaped.

“The festival.”

The festival.

He repeated the word the same way he once had before.

And this time, the words Natasha hadn’t heard back then finally surfaced.

“How could I possibly enjoy this festival, Tisha?”

She said nothing.

“Not that day, not today. Standing in front of this celebration, I feel smaller than ever.”

A quiet silence fell between them, and Natasha slowly opened one eye. Her blurry vision picked up only color and shape.

“How could I ever love today?”

She still didn’t answer.

“When the day itself feels like a punishment for what I did to you.”

In the dim light, his red silhouette trembled. The soft hue of his figure seemed to fold inward, as if something inside had collapsed.

Within that quiet moment, his pain showed.

And Natasha felt it too.

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