No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 128

In truth, Ricardo had simply looked up—and found himself completely captivated by the sight of Cecilia standing at the window, gazing down on him like a queen.

He wasn’t the least bit hurt that she had rejected his absurd contract. He had expected that much.

Honestly, if she had accepted it, he might have questioned whether the ghost of the late Countess of Linton had returned from the grave.

But what did catch him slightly off guard was her sudden order for him to leave.

Just moments earlier, things had felt… good.

Her “assignment” had filled his chest with cautious hope.

It wasn’t about false faith anymore—it felt like a leap, a promise to truly face each other as equals.

Of course, Ricardo had no intention of tying himself to her officially—not until his mother was long gone, not until the Bastian name itself had crumbled to ash.

But the world didn’t run on official declarations. It ran on informal bonds.

Even the king proved that.

That pitiful, insecure man couldn’t handle a queen more capable than himself, so he lowered his standards and found a woman of lesser status—someone who allowed him to feel powerful again.

He had no idea that Karola, though low-born, harbored ambitions just as fierce as the queen’s.

The alliance between the queen and Karola was surprisingly effective.

Karola would bear the future heir, and the queen would rule as queen mother.

Karola would never be formally acknowledged as the birth mother, but in exchange, the queen promised to raise the child and provide full support.

And Karola was content. Because even if her name was never mentioned, she knew her child would take the throne.

What real power did she have, anyway? The king wanted someone ordinary—just like him.
So Karola had to smother her burning ambition, bury it beneath a demure smile.

In that sense, it was the king himself who had forced the two women to become allies.

One had power but no heir. The other could give birth but would only ever be called a mistress unless she found a different path.

Back at the Rosette estate, Ricardo smiled faintly as he watched Cecilia’s silhouette fade behind the curtain.

He didn’t literally believe the soul-swapping story or that the old Cecilia was dead. He just wanted this Cecilia—the one who stood before him now.

She was changing, slowly but surely.

She still insisted that all relationships were just transactions—and that once the deal was done, there was no need to meet again.
Yet she had been quietly heartbroken after pushing Margaret away.

His smile twisted a little.

Now she was the Viscountess of Damier. But when Cecilia opened up to her, Margaret had responded only by examining her own wounds—never once thinking about what Cecilia had just exposed.

It was disgusting.

Ricardo had always kept eyes and ears around Cecilia.

After hearing that she’d left the Damier estate looking shaken, he’d immediately captured one of their maids to extract details of the conversation.

Not that he had done it personally—Margaret loathed him.

While the maid had been running errands, someone had quietly intercepted her. It didn’t count as kidnapping. No one noticed.

Ricardo stared up at Cecilia’s window.
Even the faintest shadow was gone now. Only then did he look away.

Letting that self-important butler kick him out had been worth it.

Because Cecilia had seen him. She’d been surprised—and for a brief moment, her expression had softened.

For someone who’d spent the night outside, getting misted with cold dew, that single look was more than enough.

“Maybe I should’ve just asked her to marry me.”

“If you had, you’d be standing out at the gates—not here by the front door,” came a voice from behind.

Ricardo didn’t flinch. He had already sensed someone approaching.

It was Justin, carrying a blanket, hovering between wanting to help and not knowing how.

“My mother said if you catch a cold like this, you’ll only make Lady Lia feel guilty.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ah, that woman. Ricardo thought of Lia’s former wet nurse—the one who hovered around her like a brooding hen—with little emotion.

He also recalled how Lia, convinced she wasn’t the same person anymore, found that affection a little uncomfortable.

“She’s sharp. Already planning ahead. I didn’t even think of the aftermath. If she’d been born a noblewoman, she might’ve been a brilliant matron.”

Justin, who usually acted far more mature when around Lia, just sighed under his breath at Ricardo’s teasing.

“They say Lady Lia plans to move to Nathan. Are you really going to follow her all the way there, my lord?”

Nathan. A good region.

Ricardo had visited once. There was no denying the place was peaceful.

And ever since Matias took over as steward, it had become even more well-managed.

Cecilia probably believed Matias had hidden his administrative skills all this time.

But truthfully, it was Ricardo’s help behind the scenes that had made the difference.

Even a peaceful land like Nathan wasn’t entirely free of corruption.

Ricardo had sent agents in advance, providing Matias with everything he needed.
It wasn’t Matias who took control of the estate—it was Cecilia, with Ricardo quietly clearing her path.

Matias wasn’t a textbook knight. He was a man ruled by loyalty to friends.

He probably knew Cecilia didn’t see him as one. But still, he’d chosen to believe they were close—just because he wanted it to be true.

Thinking of him didn’t irritate Ricardo as much as remembering Margaret…
But his smile still curved into something slightly bitter.

What gave them all the right to claim her as a friend?

It had been a long time since Ricardo’s feelings for Lia could be called “faith.”

Thanks to the queen, he had come to understand the truth.

He didn’t worship Lia.

He wanted her.

A woman who helped others freely and without hesitation—
Only to quietly calculate when it was time to disappear.

And even as she offered her kindness, she was already preparing her escape.

“If Lia says she’s going, what power do I have to stop her?”

It was only after a pause that Ricardo realized Justin was still standing there, waiting for a response. He finally replied, voice low and deliberately indifferent.

He meant it that way.

He didn’t like this young, overeager butler.

He wasn’t Cecilia’s old nanny like his mother had been, yet he always tried to imitate a mother hen, fussing over her as if it were his role to protect her.

Justin, who was always poised in front of Lia, suddenly looked unsure—taken aback by how cold and dismissive Ricardo now appeared.

“She doesn’t seem like someone who wants to be a duchess,” Justin murmured.

In the darkness, Ricardo’s golden eyes looked almost beast-like.

There was no human emotion behind them—none that Justin could read. That made them even more terrifying.

Justin felt an odd urge to step back, to vanish out of Ricardo’s sight.

“Do you know who dies faster than a well-informed servant?”

Ricardo hadn’t moved. He stood just a few paces away, perfectly still, but Justin felt as though he were being choked.

“One who talks too much.”

The message was clear—don’t meddle in your master’s affairs.

Justin had always believed he would do anything for the woman who, even after all she had endured, still cared for him and his mother.
But when faced with real danger, he could only step back and leave in silence.

After sending the arrogant butler away, Ricardo returned his gaze to Lia’s darkened window.

He waited, prepared to smile the moment even the faintest shadow reappeared.

Faith.

The word echoed through his mind.

He thought back to the conversation they’d had before she ordered him out.

Yes, there had been a time when he worshipped her with religious devotion. But what was faith, if not a kind of reverence—and what was reverence, if not a form of love?

He’d gone on and on about how he trusted her, how she was the only one who truly understood him.
He had said he’d bark like a dog if it would help her.

But that last part—his willingness to be degraded if it meant staying near her—he’d never spoken aloud.

Still, the truth was this: even those words had been a way to keep her close.
His real desire had always been to bind her to him, no matter the excuse.

When she gave him that “assignment,” what he saw on her face afterward was unmistakable: longing.
And he had been intoxicated by it.

The very fact that she’d given him such a task proved she had started seeing him differently.

And he had answered sincerely. He had even drawn out that flicker of longing from her—finally, something he had wanted to see.

“And then suddenly, she throws me out, babbling about not repaying kindness with betrayal.”

Marriage, once he inherited the title of Duke of Bastian, would no longer be an issue.

Cecilia thought the Duchess of Bastian had a great deal of power over him, but to Ricardo, she was nothing more than a shield—someone to keep his mother at bay.

The duchess would often bring up his mother, as though holding her hostage.
And Ricardo, calculating that it was easier to play along than to start a war, pretended to be respectful.

But once he became Duke, neither the duchess nor his biological mother would matter anymore.
They were no longer his bloodline—no longer worthy of concern.

“Just because it’s not dangerous doesn’t mean you should leave a child by the riverbank.”

Neither the duchess nor his mother posed any real threat.
But if there was even a sliver of risk—and Cecilia was the one involved—Ricardo couldn’t take the gamble.

He had a habit of reaching out when he saw someone hurting.

That was the real reason he had opposed her meeting his mother. Not out of deep strategy—but petty jealousy.

He had finally gotten Margaret out of her life.
There was no way he was letting someone even more infuriating take her place.

Out of habit, Ricardo glanced at Cecilia’s window again.

The curtains were drawn, the room dark.

But he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

Straightening his posture, Ricardo softened his expression—letting himself look just the right amount of pitiful.

He waited until the footsteps grew close, then turned as if startled.

“Lia.”

His voice was rough, purposefully hoarse.

Cecilia froze.

“Why are you still here?”

The words were stern, but Ricardo heard the worry beneath them.

Her concern was always a gift, and he savored it.
He coughed—twice, dramatically.

“What’s so funny?”

She’d seen him smile. From that distance.

Maybe her vision was unusually sharp when it came to him.

“You shouldn’t be doing this. If word spreads that the young duke was left standing at the front door—”

“Ricardo.”

He interrupted her.

He didn’t care much about being called “Lord” or “Sir,” but when she avoided his name, it stung.

She always called him Ricardo.
Was this part of her effort not to “repay kindness with betrayal”?

“Please, call me Ricardo. Lia.”

Ricardo was strong enough to stand outside for hours, even fake a cough, and still smile.

But Lia—pale from the cold—looked like she might collapse.

He took off his coat.

Moving slowly, careful not to startle her, he stepped closer and gently draped it over her shoulders.

To his relief, she didn’t pull away.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured.

It wasn’t really meant for him.
It sounded more like she was scolding herself.

Ricardo waited quietly.

“I shouldn’t have come out either. It’s my fault. I should’ve just ignored it. You…”

“Lia.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore.
He dropped to one knee in front of her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t—”

“Then please don’t punish me.”

His voice was gentle, but urgent.

“Even if punishing me brings you some joy, I’ll accept it. But right now, you don’t look like someone who’s enjoying this. You look more miserable than I am—shivering like this, suffering more than I am in the cold.”

Ricardo had been knighted, but he’d never really understood what chivalry meant—and didn’t plan to learn.

But he still remembered the illustrations from a fairy tale Penelope once secretly lent him.

He raised her pale hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it.

“You can throw me out as many times as you want, Lia. I’ll stay. I’ll act like I was never thrown out to begin with.”

When he looked up, her face was so pale it could’ve been mistaken for a farewell— as if she’d just heard his dying words rather than his confession.

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