To My First Love, With Regret (Libenia) Chapter 34

“I’ll take care of that myself.”

“Owen and I have a rented room down by the cliff. We’re supposed to be here right now anyway—so maybe you could use it?”

The generosity squeezed Eve’s chest. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“Thank you. But you don’t need to help me this much.”

“But you’ll always need someone to help you, my lady.”

That was true. In this city—crawling with her father’s people and those who knew her face—Eve couldn’t find a lawyer or go to Ethan.

“I’ll repay you.”

She decided to accept the help and followed Chantal.

No one crossed their path as they slipped out of the ducal manor. At this hour, the trail across the cliff field toward the city was empty. They shielded their lantern, keeping it hidden from the manor’s view, and walked.

Just a little further, and they’d reach Kentrell Castle. Behind that dark shadow, they wouldn’t need to hide the light anymore.

They stopped halfway up the hill, catching their breath, and looked at the grave where the Kentrell family’s former glory was eternally buried.

An engine roared behind them. The moment she turned, headlights appeared.

Eve shouted:

“Run!”

In the open field—no trees, not even bushes—there was nowhere to hide. The two women dashed up the slope toward the castle, their only possible shelter.

Immediately, her breath caught. She couldn’t stop, even as the sharp air shredded her throat. The headlights, already upon them, swallowed Eve’s ankles.

Screeeech.

The squeal of brakes tore through not just the night sky, but Eve’s hope.

The sound of running men’s boots was brutal.

“Lady Evelyn!”

“Return to the manor at once!”

Eve didn’t stop, even though the guards were shouting right behind her. Then came a cry.

“AAAH—!”

Chantal, running close behind, had been caught. Eve spun around and immediately lost her mind with rage. They’d grabbed a weak woman by the hair and were dragging her across ground littered with sharp stones.

“Animals! Let her go this instant!”

Eve, trying to save Chantal, was of course caught as well. At least they didn’t drag her by the hair.

That was a job for someone else.

“I can’t stand the sight of you. Lock her in the attic.”

But her father didn’t strike Eve this time. Was he afraid his heart would stop again?

Ah, what a pity. I’d have gladly taken another slap if it meant your death.

---

The sun over the cliff rose so high that its rays beat through the tiny attic window. The lighthouse fire had long gone out, but Eve kept staring at the sleeping night guardian. As if offering a desperate prayer.

Please, let Mr. Robinson save Ethan.

There was no hope for Eve herself. Now Ethan could only rely on his grandfather.

“Ha…”

Her stomach growled treacherously.

Ethan’s probably hungry too.

Should I starve myself as well?

A hunger strike wasn’t a bad idea.

But what good would that do?

If Eve starved to death, the only one who’d benefit was her father. She spun around to face the door and ordered the person guarding it:

“Bring me food immediately.”

She sat at the window-side table and waited.

Crash!

Outside—from the window she’d opened to keep from suffocating in the stale dust—came the echo of breaking glass. She stuck her head out and saw shards scattered across the garden. Directly below her father’s bedroom.

Is he angry that I’m demanding food so brazenly?

Then it hit her.

I can kill Father even locked in the attic. Fine. I’ll keep brazenly getting on his nerves.

But a moment later, the door opened, and a maid entered with a tray. Eve had thought her father—furious at her demand for food—would order her starved.

So why…?

She asked the maid setting the food on the table:

“Why did the duke break a window?”

The young maid glanced at another maid standing outside, then whispered secretly:

“They say the real killer of the baron turned himself in.”

So Ethan didn’t do it?

“Then was Ethan released?”

“Yes.”

“Ha. Thank God.”

This sudden luck could only be called divine will. Offering a prayer of thanks, Eve asked:

“Then who’s the real killer?”

“The old lighthouse keeper.”

“What?..”

This couldn’t be called luck anymore. And she couldn’t thank God either.

---

The gray-haired old man’s gaze was brighter than the old bulb in the interrogation room. Light and shadow divided his wrinkled face sharply. This was a man standing on the border between life and death.

The way his silhouette kept blurring—like a ghost—was due to the smoke the detective was puffing out thickly.

Shepard looked with uncomfortable respect at the lighthouse keeper whom all of Cliffhaven revered.

Jeremiah Robinson was nothing like Ethan Fairchild—a seed of evil. He was a model citizen—someone who couldn’t even spit on the road, let alone kill.

This man is giving a false confession to save his grandson.

Love ends in sacrifice. As a father himself, Shepard sympathized with his decision.

But as an investigator, he couldn’t let the real criminal escape. He had to prove this was a false confession and throw it out.

Shepard stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. For the first time in his crime-fighting career, he began an interrogation with the goal of proving innocence.

“Mr. Robinson, what’s your motive for the murder?”

The old man closed his sunken eyes. As if exhaling, he gave his answer:

“Baron Langdon shot at my lighthouse.”

“Ha…”

The detective smirked.

“You killed a man just because he shot at a lighthouse? Does that make sense?”

“The lighthouse is like a father to me. A son.”

“It still doesn’t add up. Didn’t that incident happen a month before the baron’s murder? And you waited until now to take revenge? Besides, I heard the duke’s family fully compensated for the damage.”

The old man didn’t flinch despite the logical objections. His pupils—calmly watching the detective—were perfectly still. As if he was certain he’d win, no matter how Shepard twisted and turned.

“Mr. Robinson, you have a much stronger motive—why bring up this lighthouse business? You’d be better off saying he tried to rape your granddaughter.”

“That never happened. Don’t sin by insulting a lady.”

“So you’re pretending nothing happened for your granddaughter’s honor… As a father, I understand your concern for your grandchildren, but…”

The moment Jeremiah Robinson took something from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table, Shepard knew he’d lost this battle.

It was a pair of garden shears.

“The weapon I struck the baron’s neck with. Compare it to the wound on the body.”

That same day, the forensic report landed on the chief investigator’s desk.

The shape of the garden shears matched the stab wound on the victim’s neck.

Jeremiah Robinson was immediately arrested as the murderer of Baron Langdon.

---

“Captain!”

As they led him to the holding cell, Ethan Fairchild—sitting behind bars—recognized his grandfather and sprang up.

“What are you doing to my grandfather?”

Seeing the handcuffs on him, Ethan grabbed the bars and started causing a commotion.

“He’s been arrested as the murderer of Baron Langdon.”

“What?..”

“Therefore, you’re free. Release him.”

On Shepard’s order, an officer opened the cell door. Ethan Fairchild didn’t walk out. Instead, he stood in the doorway, blocking his grandfather’s path to the cell.

“Captain, what are you doing? It wasn’t him! Please, don’t do this.”

No matter how much Ethan clung to him and begged, his grandfather was as silent as the lighthouse at the edge of the cliff—weathering every wave. He just looked at Ethan firmly, eyes growing moist, as if taking the storm meant for his grandson. But does a lighthouse—after showing the way to safety—sink in place of the ship?

“You can’t, Grandfather.”

In the end, Ethan called him “Grandfather” like a small child and broke down sobbing. Only then did the Captain raise his cuffed hands and touch his grandson’s wet cheeks.

“I love you, Ethan. If you love this old man too, don’t try to save me. I want you to be Becky’s support in my place. Promise me.”

Ethan didn’t promise.

He would get his grandfather out of prison—by any means necessary.

They would live together again, the three of them—poor but peaceful and close, like before.

The dream he’d shared with Eve… he’d have to let that go.

He never should have wished for the unattainable.

The price of arrogant bravado—not knowing what he was reaching for—had brought him to the brink of losing everything.

He shouldn’t have challenged fate.

The sharp edge of reality woke him from his futile dreams.