No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 58

I could’ve pulled my hand away.

It wouldn’t have been hard.

Hadn’t I already decided to live as Cecilia? To imitate her, not become her?

The real Cecilia didn’t feel any kind of deep connection to Ricardo.

She longed for affection, and she gave it away freely, even when it drained her dry.

She had an attachment disorder, perhaps—but at least she was still human.

Affection. Love. Attachment.

Those were the things Cecilia wanted. And wanting meant she could at least imagine handling them.

She and I were fundamentally different.

I was born into a desert where no oasis existed to begin with.

I envied Cecilia. She had a nanny.

Even if she realized the nanny was using her, Cecilia would’ve still kept her close.

To her, it was worth the cost. All she needed to do was stay within reach, and her thirst for affection could be quenched.

I couldn’t do that.

That’s why the nanny became Martha—no longer nanny, just a servant.

I’d claimed it was because childhood had come to an end, but in truth, it was to draw a line between myself and Cecilia.

Because I could never truly be her.

If I tried to play her too closely, I feared those who had known her would see through me.

Ricardo didn’t know Cecilia.

I had thought that, at least with him, I could safely pretend.

That was a mistake.

“I want to know your name.”

His golden eyes gleamed—wild, like a beast’s.

He had dropped the usual arrogant mask of a nobleman, desperate not to let go of something he’d finally caught.

“There isn’t one,” I lied.

I should’ve lied better.

Ricardo’s face twisted.

“After all this, that’s what you say?!”

His voice rose in a sharp shout, and I flinched.

It was instinct.

No matter the shell I wore, the soul inside was still mine.

I was used to violence. My body knew how to brace for pain. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Damn it…”

But the slap I was prepared for never came.

Even the hand gripping my wrist loosened and fell away.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

He was the one apologizing, when it should’ve been me.

He covered his trembling face with both hands, mumbling under his breath.

“I just panicked. That’s no excuse, I know. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

His grip had vanished completely.

I glanced between Ricardo and the door.

I could walk away. He wouldn’t stop me now.

“Ricardo.”

Logic screamed at me to go.
Told me I should abandon this and forget it ever happened.
That asking him for help had been a mistake from the start.

“Ricardo, look at me.”

This was the first time.

I had always chosen logic.

Emotions didn’t exist in me—not really. So following reason was as easy as breathing.

Whenever people came close, I would observe, then withdraw. If anyone tried to cross a line, I bolted like lightning.

“Ricardo, I really don’t have a name.”

I gently laid my hand over his, which still covered his face.

His skin was rough.

We’d met many times before, but we always kept a proper distance.

Even during escorting, there had been gloves. At most, my hand would rest on his forearm—never this close.

“I want to tell you, but I truly can’t remember it.”

Until the Duke of Bastian formally acknowledged him, Ricardo had been, in cruel words, a child “without a father.”

Where I came from, and in this world too, being the child of an unwed mother carried unbearable stigma.

The man in front of me wasn’t the polished heir of House Bastian who used his late-earned power to look down on others.

“Ricardo.”

At my touch, his hands slowly fell away from his face.

“…Ah.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek.
And then his large frame tipped forward.

He leaned his forehead against my shoulder, shoulders trembling.

What… what am I doing?

I couldn’t handle someone this exposed. This raw.

I should run—just like always.

Ricardo was like me—but also, not like me. I’d known that from the start.

But I hadn’t expected to feel the difference so deeply.

“Don’t go.”

His tear-choked voice rooted me to the spot.

“I don’t… want anything. I’m not asking for anything.”

His words tumbled out, disorganized and broken.

“Just don’t run away.”

He said it as if he could see right through me—like he already knew what I was about to do.

But he was crying. It made the words sound more pleading than threatening.

Slowly, my mind came back to me.

No—that’s not right.

My reason had never left. It had been screaming the whole time.

I just… hadn’t been able to listen until now.

It was too late to flee.
All I could do now was wait for Ricardo to put his mask back on.

And I would politely pretend not to have seen his face beneath it.

…Or so I thought.

“I made a fool of myself,” he muttered.

“No, I… I didn’t see anything.”

“I didn’t even cry in front of my mother when I was little. Guess Lady Cecilia really put me at ease.”

No. I was going to say I hadn’t seen anything.

“I’m sorry. Where were we, Cecilia?”

He didn’t even call me Countess Linton. Not even Lady Cecilia. By the end, he’d dropped the “Lady” altogether.

“Lord Ricardo.”

“Just Ricardo is fine.”

His eyes were still red from crying, yet he seemed to believe he’d successfully put his mask back on.

“Lord Ricardo.”

“Ricky’s good too.”

“Lord. Ricardo.”

“Oh, but Penelope already calls me that all the time. You’d probably be sick of it. Then again, I was annoyed when Lady Margaret started calling you ‘Cecil’ like it belonged to her.”

So, letters didn’t count?

Ricardo had called me Cecil in his letters more than once.

More confusing was that those two were clearly talking about me behind my back. I had no idea what they were saying—and truthfully, I didn’t want to.

And yet here I was, still mentally separating truth from lies. Ridiculous.

“Rico.”

“…What?”

“That’s the name I only ever let my mother call me.”

It made sense. That kind of nickname suited a toddler, not a grown man.

“If it’s you, Cecilia—you can call me Rico too.”

“I’ll pass, Lord Ricardo.”

Calling this massive man Rico? I’d have nightmares.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll express my gratitude for your time some other way.”

The paralysis was finally lifting. Now was my chance to leave.

Ricardo had already shown me far too much of himself. He’d cried, he wasn’t even embarrassed about it, and now he was asking me to call him by some awful childhood nickname.

If I didn’t leave now, something truly chaotic was bound to happen.

“Lia.”

Just as I stood up, Ricardo stopped me.

His voice was sweet enough to make your heart melt.

I turned slowly.

“…What?”

“Lia.”

As with everything else involving Ricardo, I had guessed wrong again.

I thought disaster was about to happen.

But seeing him approach, I realized—it had already happened. Long ago.

Probably from the moment he first started doubting who I really was.

“Cecilia Linton is the name of the Countess. It’s not really yours, is it?”

His large, calloused hand gently took my elbow, guiding me away from the door.

That door—the only exit—was now blocked.

“Let Lady Margaret call you ‘Cecil’ all she wants. You’re not jealous of someone clinging to the name Cecilia, are you?”

If we were going by that logic, Lia was still part of Cecilia too.

“No one hears ‘Lia’ and thinks of Cecilia Linton,” Ricardo said confidently, as if reading my thoughts.

“That’s why it’s perfect. It’ll be our secret name.”

He emphasized the word secret like it meant something profound.

It didn’t.

If you want to romanticize having a secret name, you should probably be under ten years old.

Ricardo didn’t qualify.

He was in his mid-twenties. Well past the point of calling secret nicknames cute.

A grown man, blushing and calling it “our secret”? It didn’t feel sweet. It felt inappropriate.

“You’re disgusting, Lord Ricardo.”

“…What?”

I narrowed my eyes and took a step back.

“Lady Margaret warned me about you. I didn’t believe her.”

I looked him up and down.

“But you really are slimy.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

“A secret name? Seriously? What kind of twisted thoughts are you hiding in that head of yours?”

His expression crumbled. It looked like he finally understood how his words sounded.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Lia—it was just a name!”

“A secret name, just for the two of us? Ugh. That’s even worse.”

He was rattled.

I waited for that—his guard was down. He’d shown me too much. He’d be off balance, distracted.

Perfect.

Of all people, Ricardo should’ve known that wouldn’t work on me.

He’d tried this kind of thing before. You’d think he’d learn.

Still, I had faltered earlier. So maybe, in some twisted way, it had worked.

But only for a moment.

That moment was over.

I’d whip myself back into shape once I returned to the estate. Unlike Ricardo, I did learn from my mistakes.

This had caught me off guard because it was unfamiliar. Next time, it wouldn’t.

“If I stay here any longer, who knows what other gross things you’ll say.”

I grabbed my skirt and prepared to run.

In my head, I counted to three.

“Lia, I didn’t mean it that way—”

Three.

“I just wanted something small, something that felt like it belonged to you—”

Two.

“If Lady Margaret hadn’t annoyed me so much, I wouldn’t have said it like that—”

One.

I ran.

“Wait—”

And he caught me.

“Let’s stop messing around and finish the conversation, shall we?”

He was calm now. Strangely calm.

He wrapped an arm around my waist. Thick, firm. No amount of struggling moved him.

“H-hey! Wait a second—!”

My feet left the floor.

“Lord Ricardo!”

He lifted me and placed me down on the sofa.

Then, instead of sitting across from me, he sat on the table right in front of me, boxing me in between his legs.

“What do I need to do?”

My escape had failed.

Not just leaving the house—but escaping him.

Ricardo.

It was over.

That feeling sat heavy in my chest.

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