No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 62

Edgar returned with a carriage full of gifts.

Before even reaching the city gates, he had sent someone ahead.

He was the type who enjoyed showing off—figuring out his intentions wasn’t difficult.

He clearly wanted someone waiting for him. That much was obvious.

He expected the household staff lined up in a row, with me standing in the center, ready to greet him as he stepped out of the carriage.

I lingered in my room for a long while before finally rising, only when I heard the sound of the carriage arriving.

As I listened to the dull thud of boots hitting the ground, I called for Martha to help me change.

Not that I needed a change of clothes.

Penelope, always busy to the point of exhaustion, had ignored my protests and even made me an indoor dress by hand.

Her craftsmanship had gained a reputation in the capital. Though it lacked the embellishments of an outdoor gown, it was so well-made that I could have visited Marchioness Federica in it without raising any eyebrows.

So if I insisted on changing now just to greet Edgar, it was only because I had no desire to feed his fragile pride.

“For someone who seems so grown up, he’s ridiculously childish with these petty tantrums,” I muttered.

After I’d suffered from a migraine, Martha’s attitude shifted again. Though she hadn’t fully returned to her old ways, she now treated me as something in between a lady and her former mistress.

At times she served me with the utmost respect, only to sigh moments later and soften her gaze as if I were a young girl.

Cecilia was gone. Even if I was nothing more than the fragments of what remained, being on the receiving end of even one of those shards was far from pleasant.

“The Count has reached out. Would it hurt to reach back?”

To Martha, Edgar’s little display must have seemed like a cute gesture—like a husband yearning for his wife’s affection.

“So I’m supposed to wag my tail like a dog just because the master’s returned?”

“A dog…? Really, ma’am…”

Her eyebrows twitched in displeasure—half parent, half caretaker—at a child too old to scold, yet too precious to ignore.

“To Edgar, Justin means nothing.”

Martha’s hands paused mid-button at my back.

“If it weren’t for the gossip, he probably wouldn’t even know Justin lives in this house.”

Her hands resumed their work without a word.

“You don’t think I know that?” I continued. “Still, he is your guardian. If he’s at ease, then so are you—that’s all I meant.”

My guardian? If Ricardo had heard that, he’d have claimed Martha was senile and needed to be sent off to a distant sanatorium.

Ah. I thought of Ricardo again.

Despite constantly reminding myself—like a mantra—that our arrangement was purely transactional, he kept slipping into my thoughts.

How he’d figured out my true identity didn’t matter anymore.

Ricardo would keep the secret, and in return, I would grant him the recognition he sought until the divorce was finalized.

Playing along with his fantasy that I was not only his kin but the queen of a race of two… it wasn’t that difficult.

What puzzled me was what, exactly, he saw in me that left him so enchanted.

Just because two broken people formed a “tribe” didn’t mean it would function properly. But Ricardo didn’t seem to grasp that.

Humans are social animals, they say. Family is the first community.

And I was the one who’d shattered mine.

A failure from the very first step.

Since then, I had been approached repeatedly by what people considered “normal”—but it always ended in ruin.

Eventually, I decided it was better to isolate myself than to destroy others.

And that decision had been right.

I could appreciate the beauty of those who lived harmoniously in their own ways, without interfering, without breaking anything.

That was enough for me.

At least, it had been—until I put on Cecilia’s skin.

Cecilia, isolated from the world, had loved every person she ever interacted with.

And in the end, she scattered herself everywhere, never reclaiming that love. She simply burned out.

From where I stood, it had been a beautiful ending.

But not for Cecilia.

Even if she hadn’t chosen it, she’d left her shell with me. So it was only right I collect what was owed to her.

That’s what motivated my decision to avenge her.

Unfortunately for her, the one who inherited her body was a defective product like me—so I wouldn’t be able to collect that debt in the form she would’ve wanted.

Still, if I could recover what was hers in material terms, perhaps her soul might finally rest.

“My lady. I believe the Count is still waiting.”

Martha’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

“Still?”

It had been twenty minutes since the carriage arrived.

“He’s probably waiting for you.”

Was he really unaware that refusing to enter the house just to receive his wife’s greeting made him look even more pathetic?

I had expected that, slighted by my absence, he would head straight to Elodie. But Edgar’s pettiness exceeded my expectations.

“You’re dressed now,” Martha said cautiously, reading the room.

I swallowed a sigh and started walking. Seeing Martha’s relieved expression out of the corner of my eye made me feel sorry for Cecilia.

She’d poured out love until it burned her up—and never got any in return.

Maybe it was for the best that I was the one here instead of her.

If it had been Cecilia—the kind of woman who, despite starving for love, was never afraid to give it first—she wouldn’t have survived.

Then again, that’s probably why she gave up and left.

It wasn’t just her husband’s love Cecilia had been denied—she must have known, deep down, that no one around her would ever return the affection she gave so freely. That’s probably why she finally let go of the life she had barely been clinging to.

When I stepped down to the front entrance, Edgar stood there, hands on his hips, wearing a furious expression as he intimidated the household staff with his bravado.

“Edgar.”

“Cecilia.”

He looked taken aback by how unaffected I was by his show of anger.

“I was changing. By the time I finished, I thought the carriage had only just arrived, so I figured you’d be inside any moment. But here you still are.”

Edgar gave an awkward cough.

“Well… at least I wasn’t kept waiting too long, right?”

I gestured subtly to the head maid. Everyone here had far too much work to be wasting time standing around for Edgar’s vanity.

The head maid gratefully nodded and dismissed the poor staff, who had been dragged out for nothing more than a performance.

“You’re not allowed inside until I say so.”

Edgar snapped, petulantly.

“Oh? I thought you were waiting for me. Now that I’m here, I assumed the show was over.”

This whole pointless charade.
I didn’t say the words aloud, but he seemed to catch the omitted jab anyway, his lips pressing tightly together.

“What happened while I was gone that made you change so much?”

His voice was harsh, like he was chewing the words before spitting them out. I almost laughed. A change of heart? There was no such thing. Only the core had changed.

And even that, Edgar hadn’t noticed. Not in all this time.

I hadn’t even tried very hard to act like Cecilia. He had accepted it when I said I didn’t care about his affair. But the moment I said something that irritated him, suddenly I was “a different person.”

“You weren’t gone that long.”

He scanned me with open suspicion.

“Did you escort Miss Elodie back safely?”

“Yes.”

The moment I mentioned Elodie, his wariness ebbed a little. Instead, that smug, predictable expression surfaced.

“You bought her gifts, too?”

“Yes. I had them delivered.”

I could practically hear his thoughts: No matter how clever you act, you still care. You said you weren’t jealous, but you’re still watching, aren’t you?

To Edgar, Cecilia was a woman who loved her husband to death.

So much that she would even embrace his lover. A hopelessly stupid woman.

The more I mentioned Elodie, the longer that illusion would last—and that served my plans just fine.

I was curious to see his face the moment both women he was so certain adored him turned their backs on him.

I felt no guilt. Love, after all, was dangerous. Loving someone meant accepting that risk.

I wouldn’t know. I never had, and likely never would. But Edgar knew. He knew and still chose it.

Unlike me, he wasn’t broken. He would crumble at first, maybe—but he would get back up. Either way, watching that first fall was going to be satisfying.

“Any news?”

He motioned for the carriage to be unloaded. When I didn’t react to the boxes piling up, his voice turned irritable.

“About what?”

“Lady Federica. I remember you said she might help you get an audience at the palace before I left. So? Are you going?”

His patience—much like his character—was shallow. He cut straight to the point.

“The Marchioness has been gracious as always. Just the other day I read her some passages from the royal history. Her knowledge is exceptional. I was thinking of organizing a book club so others could learn from her—”

“Are you joking right now?”

He snapped, unable to stomach my evasiveness.

“What about the palace? Didn’t you say you might get in? Is it happening?”

Half the gifts tumbling out of that carriage were probably for Marchioness Federica, and the other half for the Queen—bribes in fancy packaging.

I’d bet anything there were a couple of trinkets in there for Elodie too. He must’ve visited her before even coming home.

“Didn’t you say it’d be hard to find gifts in the countryside?”

“It was hard. I mean, what could I possibly give the Marchioness—local trinkets?”

He unwrapped one of the boxes himself, proudly revealing a beautifully crafted ceramic piece.

“I couldn’t exactly give her jewelry either—not like she needs any. So I tracked down a master artisan and had this commissioned.”

He looked so proud, like a rooster fluffing its feathers.

“I couldn’t figure out her tastes, so I made a request at every estate I passed through. Picked them up on the way back.”

When I reached for the ceramic, he pulled it away.

“You should’ve told me her preferences. I went through all this trouble because you didn’t.”

This is my effort, my triumph. Don’t even think about claiming a piece of it.

It was absurd. The only reason he even had the chance to meet Marchioness Federica was because of me—and yet, in true Edgar fashion, he completely disregarded that.

“I’m going to the palace.”

So, I struck back, abruptly.

His hand tensed around the ceramic, leaving a clear fingerprint on its pristine surface.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. What a shame. If you’d returned just a day earlier, you could’ve accompanied me to meet Her Majesty.”

Not that I would’ve ever gone with him—even if he’d shown up a week early. But I said it to sting.

“I’ll make sure your gifts are delivered. Just like last time.”

I took the ceramic right from his arms.

He was so stunned, he didn’t even notice it leaving his hands.

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