No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 54

Justin stepped back. Sir Juan extended his arm protectively in front of me.

I pushed past him and shoved Justin aside.

“Countess Linton.”

The woman’s dazed expression and vacant voice suggested she hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet.

“So you were home.”

I was just as taken aback.

Even if the building Elodie was living in belonged to me, what we were doing counted as attempted trespassing.

We had just opened the door using a key stolen without the resident’s permission.

“I heard you’d gone on a trip with Edgar.”

I tried to sound calm, but my face was burning.

I was grateful I had a veil covering it.

“I wasn’t feeling well… so I decided to rest at home.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Elodie answered without resistance—likely because she hadn’t yet recovered from the shock either.

“Are you ill? You should take care of your health, for your fans’ sake.”

It wasn’t the kind of thing one should say to a mistress.

What would a typical person do in a moment like this?

Maybe Sarah had a point—maybe I should have just gone for her hair the moment I saw her.

“Thank you for your concern. It’s nothing serious. I should be fine by the time Edgar returns…”

Elodie’s eyes, which had been nervously darting about, finally dropped completely to the floor, unable to meet mine.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be fine once Count Linton returns…”

Her words trailed off and disappeared into the air, unfinished.

“How shameless can she be,” Margaret muttered loudly, not even pretending to lower her voice.

Elodie, who had already been bowing her head, shrank even further.

“Please, come in.”

After a long silence, Elodie opened the door wide from the inside.

“You’re not in good health, and standing out here will only make it worse.”

With a complicated mix of emotions, I stepped inside the door she had opened.

But I blocked the others who tried to follow in like sausages on a skewer.

“Sir Juan, take Justin and go back to the carriage. Sarah is alone.”

Sir Juan dragged the protesting Justin away by force.

As for Margaret, I wasn’t in a position to give her orders.

I had already tried asking politely once—and the fact that she was still here proved how little effect that had.

“Whether Cecilia believes me or not, I’m going to do what I must—as a friend.”

All I could do was hope Margaret’s idea of ‘what must be done’ didn’t involve yanking Elodie by the hair.

“Sorry the place is such a mess.”

Elodie led us to the living room sofa, cold sweat on her brow.

Despite her words, the home was neatly maintained.

“I’ll bring something to drink. It might not be to your taste, though…”

I sat on a low-backed sofa.

My eyes scanned the apartment. It was about thirty pyeong (roughly 1,000 square feet).

On the way up, I’d noticed that apart from the top floor Elodie occupied, each level housed two units.

If this was the largest at thirty pyeong, the other units likely averaged about half that size.

It was a four-story building, so seven tenants in total.

Even considering its seedy past and remote location from the city center, it wouldn’t fetch an unreasonably low price.

While doing rough calculations in my head, Elodie returned with a tray carrying three teacups.

“It’s black tea.”

Margaret didn’t even glance at her cup.

Having lost my breath on the stairs, I quickly took a sip.

“Sorry… I’m sure you’re not used to this kind of thing…”

The taste wasn’t bad. I wasn’t well-versed in tea, so I couldn’t tell how it compared to the refined blends I’d been served in noble households.

“I know why you came.”

“Do you?”

Elodie said, anxiously picking at her nails.

“You’re wondering if Edgar—Count Linton—is really away on business, aren’t you? You must know too—he’s a terrible liar. He once told me he decided to live honestly because he gets caught anyway.”

He. How sweetly she referred to him.

“You really are thick-skinned for a stage actress, Miss Elodie,” Margaret said bluntly.

As usual, she made no attempt at politeness in her criticism.

“With Cecilia right here, you say he? I bet you acted sweet in front of Count Linton too—painting Cecilia as the villain.”

I hadn’t come to argue with Elodie over Edgar.

I reached under the table and tapped Margaret’s knee.

“I’m sorry. It’s just a habit… slipped out without thinking…”

It was already the third time she’d apologized.

“I don’t care what you call Edgar. We had an agreement, remember? As long as you didn’t ask for more, I said I’d be fine with it.”

“Yes… you did say that.”

Then and now, Elodie didn’t seem to believe it.

“I didn’t come here planning to sell your furniture while you were away.”

After being caught unlocking her door with a stolen key, it was hard to sound credible—even to myself.

“As Countess Linton, I only meant to assess the Linton estate.”

There was no need to tell her this building was actually mine, or that I’d come to estimate its value down to the last coin.

“Edgar’s assets?”

“As his wife, I should be fully informed of the family’s holdings. I can’t keep using my poor health as an excuse to let Edgar handle all of my responsibilities.”

Edgar had always kept his list of assets a tightly guarded secret from Cecilia.

But for Elodie—someone likely unfamiliar with the ways of the nobility—the excuse sounded plausible.

Edgar was naturally suspicious by nature.

Even if he had set up a household with Elodie, it was unlikely he had revealed everything to her.

As Sir Juan once said, this villa was the kind of place a man like Edgar would use for make-believe.

What made playing house so appealing was that you could ignore reality and enjoy only the parts that were fun.

As expected, Elodie nodded blankly.

“Yes, Edgar’s assets… Of course. As his wife, you have every right to manage them.”

She tried to regain her composure by lifting her teacup, but her hand was trembling.

“If this house were something you earned on your own, Miss Elodie, I would indeed be intruding. But if Edgar gave it to you, then I have the right to oversee it as well.”

When Martha looked into the ownership records of the villa, it had been confirmed that the deed was now in Cecilia’s name.

Before her, it had belonged to Madame Rosette.

Cecilia needed to know when and how Edgar had come into possession of the building.

If the transfer had occurred at the time of their marriage, it could serve as definitive proof that there had been a contract of some kind between Edgar and Madame Rosette.

One building wouldn’t be enough—but it could be the foundation for expanding the investigation.

“How long have you been living here?”

The clinking of porcelain echoed in the room as Elodie’s teacup tapped against her fingernails.

“I… I was—”

“Miss Elodie.”

Sweat was pouring down her forehead like rainfall.

Only then did I remember she’d said she was unwell.

I’d assumed it was just nerves caused by my presence—but Elodie was more seriously ill than I had thought.

“Miss Elodie, I’m not interrogating you. I’m just asking for information necessary to manage the property.”

“S-sorry, I’m so sorry, madam…”

With a thud, Elodie collapsed.

Had Margaret not leapt to her feet, I might have just stood there, blankly watching her fall.

“Hey—are you alright?”

Margaret pulled Elodie’s limp body from the floor and laid her out on the sofa.

“She’s burning up. She really was sick.”

I swallowed hard.

I’d seen this kind of scene far too many times—women gasping for breath, losing consciousness.

My mother had known many ways to put her life at risk.

Each failed attempt became another layer in the trauma I carried.

“We need to call a doctor.”

Margaret’s calm voice snapped me back to reality.

“If Cecilia gets caught being here, that would be a problem, right?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“I’ll tell the caretaker. Let’s go.”

Margaret was right.

If word got out that I had met with Elodie while Edgar was away—especially that she had fainted during the visit—it would do me no good at all.

And yet—

“Cecilia!”

I couldn’t move.

“Now—come on!”

I couldn’t leave a collapsed woman alone. She would die.

“We need to get her out of these clothes.”

“What did you say?”

Margaret’s voice questioned in disbelief, but I ignored her and started loosening Elodie’s garments.

I tore at the intricately tied ribbons with little regard for neatness.

Beneath them was a tightly laced corset, squeezing her from just below the chest to her waist.

“This— I don’t know how to undo this. Margaret, what should I do?”

Margaret, who had been watching in silence, suddenly slammed the half-open door shut.

“Hold on.”

She went to the kitchen and returned with a paring knife.

I stepped aside, as useless as a sack of flour, while Margaret began cutting through the corset’s seams.

“There should be towels in the bathroom. Wet one with cold water and bring it to me.”

I rushed off to find the bathroom, fumbling with the unfamiliar space.

I dipped my hands into the cold water, trying to calm myself.

I struggled to separate the image of the unconscious Elodie from memories of my mother.

“Margaret, I brought it—”

“Cecilia!”

Margaret suddenly shouted.

“Don’t come any closer. No matter how I think about it, it makes no sense for us to be nursing this woman. We laid her on the sofa, we got her out of those awful clothes. That’s enough. Just like I said—let’s tell the caretaker. He’ll call a doctor.”

Her voice, both angry and shaken, came from across the room. I approached, the cold, dripping towel still in my hands.

Without the suffocating clothes, Elodie’s breathing had stabilized somewhat.

Her face was still flushed with fever, but at least her chest was rising steadily now.

I placed the towel on her forehead.

“Margaret, please.”

I removed my outer cloak and gently covered Elodie with it.

“Tell Sir Juan to send for a discreet doctor. Someone who won’t speak.”

“No.”

“Not until she sees a doctor—no one can know about this. I’m begging you.”

Margaret didn’t answer. She simply left the house.

But I knew she would pass the message along.

Now alone, I kept my distance from Elodie.

What had been hidden beneath the corset now lay fully exposed before me.

I had come fishing for a small catch—and ended up hauling in something far bigger.

And yet, I felt absolutely wretched.

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