To My First Love, With Regret (Libenia) – Chapter 33

Author: Piki

“That bitch. Out of her mind over a man…”

But her father didn’t search Eve’s clothing or belongings.

“I raised you so well—and you coupled with that worthless creature?”

How dare he call my love something so vulgar—”coupled.”

Eve shot her father a murderous glare.

“Did he seduce you? Or did you lure him in first? I’m asking—did you put that killer’s spawn up to murdering your brother?”

“No! We didn’t kill Harry! If running away from your hellish land is a sin, then that’s all the sin I have.”

“No. You tried to take Harry’s place as heir! To hand my family over to that lowlife impostor!”

Her father saw right through Eve’s true intentions.

“Are you pregnant by that worthless thing?”

Eve neither confirmed nor denied. A rough hand grabbed her by the hair. Tears sprang to her eyes from the scalp-tearing pain. Before her, bloodshot blue eyes blazed.

Breaths came ragged—hers from fear, his from rage.

“The seed of a worthless killer will never get my title.”

The corners of her father’s mouth dug deep into his sagging skin. Eve wasn’t imagining it—that twisted smile carried murderous intent.

“Because I’ll slit its throat before it can crawl out of your belly!”

You killed my son, so I’ll kill your child.

When Eve finally heard the declaration she’d dreaded and half-expected, the fear vanished. Hatred was stronger.

With that, the last remaining thread of attachment snapped.

The Duke of Kentrell is not my father. He never was.

University. Ethan. And now her child. He was a thief—always had been—stealing everything Eve ever wanted.

Just die already. That’s the only way to stop this terrible robbery.

The moment she gritted her teeth and cursed him, realization struck.

Yes… you just need to die.

That was the only way to save Ethan, really. As long as her father lived, no matter what lawyer she hired, Ethan would be a dead man walking. Would she even be able to hire a lawyer, with her father blocking every move?

The shout that echoed through the massive study seemed to strike his heart. Watching the middle-aged man clutch his chest and struggle to breathe, Eve smiled crookedly.

The doctors had warned: if his emotions flared, a blood vessel in his head could burst, or his heart could stop. The duke was supposed to avoid anger at all costs.

“Tell me where Harry is buried.”

Her father, teeth clenched, stared at Eve. Through labored breaths, he spat an accusation:

“What—going to grovel in false repentance?”

“No. I’m going to dance on that son of a bitch’s grave and throw a party.”

His face—all sagging skin—contorted horribly. The duke raised his hand as if to strike her again, then winced and grabbed his chest.

It’s working. I barely had to try.

“That bastard deserved to die. How is it my fault that he died because he asked for it?”

She was just letting out everything she’d held back.

“I’m glad your precious son is finally dead.”

And you die too.

“Y-you… crazy…”

His weakened body shook as if about to fall apart. Sensing trouble, Callas caught the duke.

“Stop this, my lady. The duke is unwell after his son’s death.”

He spoke as if she should feel sympathy for the grieving father. To Eve, it was just encouragement to keep going.

Callas led the duke toward a chair, supporting him.

So close.

Before he could calm down and ruin everything, Eve fired off the poison words like a machine gun:

“You never loved me. You only saw me as a slave to be sold off profitably. How am I a whore for not selling my body to the man you chose? You old boar—sleeping with a real whore yourself—dare to call someone else a whore?”

The duke, walking unsteadily, stopped dead. He turned slowly to face Eve. Disbelief filled his eyes. His face purpled.

He must not have known that Eve knew.

“Wh-what?”

The duke, blood rushing to his head, could only point a trembling finger at her. Eve finally sharpened the words she’d held for so long—and drove them into her father’s heart.

“Want to know why the Queen allowed me to inherit the title? Because she’s sick of your disgraceful behavior! Sticking your filthy cock—the one you’ve fucked syphilitic whores with—into noble families and demanding their daughters! She couldn’t bear watching the girls she cared about suffer at an old man’s hands!”

Callas—stunned by the vulgar speech from a lady who, while direct, had always spoken elegantly—completely forgot to support the duke.

“H-how dare you speak to your father that way! Kkh!”

The duke, exploding with rage, clutched his chest.

“Ah… a-ah…”

His face twisted grotesquely. Turned blue.

“D-Duke!”

THUD!

Before Callas could catch him, the staggering body crashed to the floor.

“Chantal! Fetch Dr. Callas!”

As Callas ran out to find the physician, Eve stared at her father’s twitching body—and laughed. The laughter she’d been holding back.

Father, I hope your death is agonizing.

Maybe he took my pain with him. The throbbing in her cheek no longer hurt.

The old bastard was tough. He didn’t die.

Even as he lost consciousness, that spiteful old man managed to order the servants who ran in to grab Eve and lock her up. Her plan—to take advantage of the chaos, grab money, and run—had failed.

To save Ethan, what she needed first wasn’t a lawyer. It was Eve’s own freedom.

If things continued like this, Ethan really might end up on death row.

Locked in her bedroom, she stared at the lighthouse—which faithfully illuminated the sea even on the night its grandson ended up in prison—and slowly went mad.

“My lady.”

Chantal had come.

“What? Is Father dying?”

“No, he regained consciousness and is resting.”

Eve sighed in irritation and looked suspiciously at Chantal, who was acting strangely.

“Then why did you come to me?”

“I came to ask if you needed anything. Perhaps your cheek hurts, or you might have bleeding…”

“To check if I’ve miscarried? My father sent you. Get out.”

“No. The duke doesn’t know. I came because I’m worried about you.”

Chantal explained her reason to Eve, who was still full of suspicion.

“This afternoon… when I saw you struck in the face, my heart sank. I still can’t calm down—it keeps racing.”

She’s more sensitive than I thought.

“I thought the duke at least didn’t resort to violence against women—that’s why I brought you as he ordered. But it turned out like I set you up to be hurt. I felt so awful.”

“Chantal, it’s not your fault.”

“Thank you for saying so, but I still regret it. I should have let you run away on the road…”

Eve’s dim eyes lit up instantly.

“Then help me run away now.”

Late that night, while everyone slept, her father still kept his daughter locked up—posting a maid outside her door. Unaware that his daughter was escaping another way.

Two dark figures appeared in the dark garden. They carried a ladder to the maiden’s bedroom window.

Eve opened the window silently. Her eyes met Chantal’s first, then Owen Callas’s. Dr. Callas—even while helping her flee like a thief—bowed respectfully to the duke’s daughter, then gestured for her to throw down her bag.

She dropped the heavy bag—crammed with every valuable thing in her room. The doctor caught it soundlessly.

Now it was Eve’s turn.

She turned her back and climbed onto the windowsill. In a skirt.

Below, Dr. Callas blushed and looked away.

She’d never seen a ladder long enough to reach a second floor. Eve stepped onto the first rung, repeating mentally:

It’s the same as going down a yacht gangway—or a pool ladder.

Coaxing her trembling legs, she descended carefully, rung by rung. When she was halfway down, Dr. Callas reached out his hand.

She took it without hesitation. Thanks to him, she touched the ground faster.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Think nothing of it…”

The doctor looked tense. He’d probably been an exemplary student his whole life—this was his first offense, helping someone run away from home.

“You should go back now.”