No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 102

First, I checked that the door was fully shut. Then I pressed my ear against it to make sure no one was standing outside.

“You should walk in with Viscount Damier,” I said.

Margaret’s eyes widened. “Walk in… together?”

“Yes. Holding Viscount Damier’s hand isn’t exactly unpleasant, is it? You’re not marrying him because Baron Artois said so—you chose him. Walking in together would be meaningful and look beautiful, too.”

“No,” she said instantly. But her tone wavered—she was already half-convinced.

“But… I’ve never seen or heard of a bride walking in with her groom.”

“And have you ever heard of a bride walking in alone?”

“Well… no. But this is different. I wanted to walk in alone to make it clear to everyone that Baron Artois means nothing to me. And people understand why I’d reject him, considering his past. But walking in with the groom…”

Honestly, I had only said it to redirect her spiraling thoughts. Her sudden outburst needed something to ground it, and this idea seemed to do the trick.

The choice was hers. I was just relieved I’d managed to shift the conversation before her painful family history spilled out any further.

In this world, a bride walking down the aisle alone was almost unheard of—considered disrespectful to the sanctity of marriage itself.

And yet, this was also a world so patriarchal that while a father might be criticized for failing in his duties, a child who rejected their father faced harsher judgment.

That was why Margaret had been forced to invite Baron Artois.

Letting him sit in the front row while she walked in alone would already spark gossip—but it could at least be forgiven as a daughter’s sorrowful defiance.

But to walk in with her groom instead? That would paint Margaret as a scandalous rebel, someone tearing up tradition with both hands. She wouldn’t just be the talk of tea parties, she’d be the dessert.

Whether or not Viscount Damier agreed, Margaret would be the one blamed. And she could even lose the hard-won favor of the Viscountess.

That’s why I was sure she’d never go through with it.

Even as Baron Artois’s illegitimate daughter, Margaret had always stood tall. But that pride came from trying to fit into noble society—not from wanting to tear it down.

“It’s not a bad idea,” she said.

“…What?”

“Cecilia, could you go get Daniel? I want to talk to him about it.”

I stood frozen, waiting for her to take it back.

“Didn’t you just say it was out of the question?”

“I did. But then I remembered—whenever I’ve actually listened to you, things never turned out badly.”

A miraculous case of rewriting history. Margaret had rarely taken my advice in the past—and when I’d tried to push her away, she’d taken it as some twisted test of friendship.

“You’re impossible, Margaret.”

I gently lifted her veil and looked her in the eye.

“I was just saying that to distract you. You were so tense—I just wanted to shift your thinking for a moment.”

“If I want to humiliate Baron Artois, this is the best way. He gets to sit in the family seat, pretending to be the perfect father. But if I walk in with Daniel? Just imagine him—face twitching, fists clenched, unable to even get up and stop me. It almost feels like this whole wedding was just for that.”

Margaret wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly how risky this was. But her desire for revenge outweighed her concern for her reputation.

She was going to do what she wanted no matter what. Acting like she’d come around just because I suggested it was laughable.

I gave up trying to reason with her.

“I’ll go get the Viscountess.”

“What about Daniel?”

“This wedding? All he has to do is stand still at the altar. His mother arranged everything—the ceremony, the guest list, and probably the way the Damier family will treat you from here on out. Her opinion is the one that matters.”

Margaret gave me a lopsided smile.

“But I have you, Cecilia. And behind you is the Queen. And let’s not forget grumpy old Ricardo, who never leaves your side.”

So she didn’t care about the Viscountess’s opinion at all.

“Well I care,” I said. “I want to stay on her good side.”

“Why?”

What I meant was that the Queen’s protection and Ricardo’s unshakable loyalty weren’t enough. I still wanted to be seen as respectful by the Viscountess.

But Margaret’s gaze sparkled with expectation, like she already knew the answer and just needed to hear me say it.

“Why, Cecilia? Tell me. Shouldn’t the Viscountess be the one trying to impress you? You’re the Queen’s favorite, the heir to the Rosette family, and—though I hate to admit it—the woman Ricardo’s been devoted to for who knows how long. So why do you care what she thinks?”

It wasn’t a hard question. All I had to do was say it was because I cared about her. That I wanted the Viscountess to treat her kindly.

And it wouldn’t even be a lie. That was part of it.

But I found myself hesitating.

Maybe it was because Margaret was getting married. Maybe thinking about her wedding made me remember my own parents—how unhappy they were, how even their one and only child—me—had been enough to ruin their already fragile marriage.

It was strange.

This shy reluctance to speak… it was something I’d never felt in my past life, or in Cecilia’s body either.

All this time, I’d thought Ricardo’s devotion was just a burden, something suffocating for someone as “defective” as me.

And now, here I was—feeling something like embarrassment.

Because Margaret was brave. Because she was getting married on her own terms. And maybe… because for the first time, I was realizing just how alone I’d been.

I hadn’t been there for my mother’s final moments, but I didn’t need proof to know she must’ve cursed me until her last breath. It was a certainty too obvious to question.

And yet, Margaret—despite her own ambitions—had accepted a marriage with Viscount Damier to stand beside me as an equal.

Whether their relationship would still be stable years from now… whether they’d remain friends, if not lovers, was something only time could tell.

As I followed that thread of thought, I realized what I’d been feeling wasn’t the shy embarrassment I’d assumed. It was guilt.

It was me who had forced my parents into marriage. Because of my existence, they had no choice but to marry in haste.

And if Margaret were to someday die cursing me, just as my mother had…

“Cecilia,” Margaret said suddenly, her voice subdued.

With a calm expression, she offered me the only chair in the bridal suite, then brought the glass of water I’d handed her earlier to her lips.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I was just thinking…” I murmured, taking a sip of my own water.

“That if your decision to marry hadn’t been influenced by me, it might’ve been better. That if you ever come to regret it, I hope I won’t be part of that regret. A selfish thought, I know.”

Saying the words aloud made the guilt even heavier. They say marriage is a woman’s grave.

And I had essentially told Margaret, “If you’re going to the grave, better to walk there on your own.”

“That really is a selfish thought,” Margaret said.

“I know.”

“And a foolish one too.”

She sat beside me, using the footstool as her seat, and gently ran her hand over my knee.

“Of course Daniel and I aren’t going to live happily ever after. This marriage is a contract, plain and simple. Honestly, it’s not that different from most others. But at least I chose him. Marchioness Federica only gave me a chance to meet him, told me to take a look. And after that? It was all my decision.”

Her pure white wedding dress and veil still looked like a burial shroud to me.

“If I ever do regret this marriage, I won’t start by blaming you. I’ll curse Daniel first, then pray that the Viscountess rots in hell, and after that I’ll ask the gods to make sure Marchioness Federica never gets into heaven. Then maybe I’ll blame you.”

Strangely, her words made the veil look a little less like a shroud.

The fact that I wasn’t first on her list of people to blame was somehow comforting—proof, perhaps, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

“But still,” Margaret said, “if I’m going to do this, I want at least one genuine round of applause from you. Maybe not your congratulations, but something real. So… I won’t walk in with Daniel.”

It was her way of sparing me—from carrying responsibility I didn’t want.

Margaret was far too good a person to be my friend.

She had wanted to be my friend for the same reason Ricardo did. Because I didn’t care about status or lineage, and treated everyone the same. She once declared boldly that she wouldn’t let go of someone like that.

“You’re the one who should be running away from me,” I blurted.

Aside from Ricardo, Margaret was the only person I’d ever said that to.

And unlike Ricardo, Margaret wasn’t damaged or broken. That was why I’d always felt somewhat secure with her.

I had believed—still believed—that someday she would realize I wasn’t the impressive person she thought I was. That I was just rotten through and through, and walk away on her own.

Yet here I was, overwhelmed by the irrational urge to save her.

Why? Why couldn’t I just let her go? Why pretend to reach out with a hand I didn’t mean to extend—what was I hoping to gain?

I asked myself, but no answer came.

To me, relationships had always been transactions. I gave people what they wanted in exchange for fleeting companionship. When they discovered who I truly was and left, I never begged them to stay. That was the deal.

It had been no different with Margaret.

She wanted a higher social standing, and I offered her that.

I connected her with Viscount Damier through Marchioness Federica. Our deal was done.

Ah. That was it.

The deal was over… but Margaret wasn’t running away. That was what unsettled me.

Instead of fleeing, she’d found a way to stay—by entering the Queen’s palace, no less.

“You’ll still serve Her Majesty as a lady-in-waiting… even if I’m not there, right?”

The bells chimed, signaling the start of the ceremony. I asked urgently.

Margaret, now veiled, was busy practicing how to walk properly down the aisle while finding her direction under the sheer fabric. I wasn’t sure she’d even heard me.

“Margaret, promise me,” I said. “Even if I leave, you’ll become one of the Queen’s ladies. Forget about me—live your own life.”

The door to the bridal suite opened.

Viscountess Damier entered with a bright smile. “Lady Cecilia, you deserve applause just for managing to keep Mag in here this long. Unfortunately, as nothing more than a mere viscountess, the only thing I can offer you is an escort to the guest of honor’s seat. I’m heartbroken about it, truly.”

Two maids entered behind her, carefully lifting the edges of Margaret’s veil so it wouldn’t drag.

I tried to read Margaret’s face beneath the soft, gauzy fabric.

But all I saw was her waving excitedly at me, looking somewhat thrilled.

And that was the last thing I saw before I had to leave the room.

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