To My First Love, With Regret (Libenia) Chapter 44

“If you don’t want to live with the soldiers, and I must fulfill Kentrell’s duty, there’s a good way to satisfy us both.”

Eve shifted her gaze—not to the intrigued Chantal, but to the man staring at the wall as if he weren’t there.

“Dr. Callas, you are now also a member of the Kentrell family.”

The doctor spun toward Eve. His pupils trembled. Did he really think I’d acknowledge him as family? Dream on.

“Therefore, if the doctor goes to war as a representative of Kentrell, I will cancel the decision to station officers.”

The doctor faltered, and Chantal—horrified—immediately raised the white flag and changed the subject.

“It’s time to go out.”

There were no clocks in this corridor—how would she know it was time? When Eve turned toward the stairs, Dr. Callas hesitantly asked:

“Lady, wouldn’t it be better for you to take a different car?”

“Why?”

The doctor didn’t answer—hesitating again. Although he was Chantal’s puppet, he wasn’t so timid as not to express his opinion. His hesitation struck her as strange, and then—

“They say if the groom sees the bride’s wedding dress before the ceremony, they’ll suffer a misfortune they’ll regret for the rest of their lives…”

Now she understood why he had been staring at the wall as if he’d caught her in her underwear the moment he saw Eve.

“Ha-ha!”

Eve laughed loudly—then immediately grew serious and asked:

“Doctor, do you want this marriage to be happy?”

This marriage really was a contract for the selfish happiness of two interested parties. Except the parties to this contract weren’t the bride and groom—but two women. It was a handshake exchanged by Eve and Chantal, each hiding a knife behind their back.

And the groom—merely a puppet in the hands of these two women—knew his position but still coveted the most ordinary happiness. The only one dreaming of sincerity in this impenetrable hypocrisy. Could anyone be crazier than that? Owen Callas was undoubtedly the biggest madman in this house.

“Does that mean, for the sake of a happy marriage, you’re willing to carry me into the bridal suite, Doctor?”

“That’s not what I meant at all…”

The doctor blushed and faltered. Chantal looked at her lover—who dared to dream of a happy marriage with another woman (whether seriously or by mistake)—with an expression as if she could devour him, but then suddenly smiled sweetly.

“Tony! My baby!”

Because at the end of the corridor, rounding the corner, Tony had appeared. The child walking toward them, glaring fiercely in their direction, had a menacing expression.

What’s upset him now?

Tony was a Sherwood too—hot-tempered, stubborn, and capricious. Because of that, he was a difficult child—both physically and mentally.

The boy came right up to them, close enough to show the whites of his eyes, and drilled his gaze into all three adults. Is he upset with the grown-ups?

Chantal, as always, paid attention not to the child’s feelings first, but to his disheveled appearance.

“Oh my god, my beautiful duke! What happened to your hair?”

“Were you running? Anthony, I told you not to run.”

Still, for Eve, there was something more important than the child’s mood: his health.

Tony had been born with a heart defect. The surgery had been miraculously successful, but the doctor had ordered caution for life. Of course, if he listened, he wouldn’t be a child.

“Oh my? Baby, have you been crying?”

Chantal squatted in front of Tony and exclaimed in surprise. He stood with his head down, only glaring fiercely from under his brows—so they hadn’t noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks. Eve was bewildered too.

Tony was weak, so he didn’t go to school—he grew up surrounded by adults who indulged him. Because of that, he spoke in a precocious manner, but his actions were still those of a child. Still, since last year, he had stubbornly insisted he was already grown up—and rarely cried.

“Who dared to upset our duke? Mom will—”

Chantal reached out to wipe his tears.

“Take your hands off me, whore.”

From the lips of a nine-year-old with an angelic face came a curse that would make even a devil shudder. At that moment, the adults froze as if slapped.

“Your Grace, you mustn’t say such bad words.”

The doctor had always been a bystander—watching Chantal spoil Tony without interfering. The fact that he now stepped in to scold him about something that wasn’t his business must have been because his lover had been insulted. And this time, of course, the curse fell on the doctor.

“You’re a slave, so shut up.”

It wasn’t funny, but Eve felt like laughing in their faces.

She hadn’t been able to find good parents for Tony, so they had to live together. Eve—who had once wanted to abandon her child—had now decided to raise him properly, but due to Chantal’s interference, she only ended up with a headache.

Chantal had stolen someone else’s child herself, yet acted as if Eve were trying to take him from her. What love could she have for Tony? She was just clinging to her source of money with a death grip. Every time Eve tried to discipline Tony strictly, Chantal covered for him and drove a wedge between them.

“His Grace is allowed. Of course. Absolutely.”

When Tony did bad things, she always defended him like that—so why wasn’t she saying, “His Grace is allowed to call me a whore” this time?

You’re the one who taught him he could do anything, didn’t you?

To be honest, Eve felt a sense of Schadenfreude—but at the same time, she was astonished at how shocked and hurt Chantal looked.

Didn’t you think that if you raise a child to be a beast, he’ll eventually bite you? How stupid.

Chantal had fallen into the trap she’d dug herself. She couldn’t scold the child, afraid of ruining her relationship with her only source of money—so all she could do was cry and play the victim.

“Tony… how can you say that to the mother who gave birth to you?”

I don’t recall Tony ever calling me a whore. What audacity—claiming she gave birth to Tony.

Maybe Tony really needed to be scolded for this mistake. This woman isn’t a whore—she’s a swindler. That’s a completely different crime.

Fine, be the mother. Then take all the responsibility for failing to raise the child properly.

Then Eve could speak her mind. “Oh my god, what kind of mother is this? How did she raise that child? Since he was raised by an ill-bred woman, of course the child grew up ill-bred.”

She wanted to sneer—but she restrained herself for her own sake. She didn’t want to stoop to Chantal’s level by using a child as a tool for revenge.

“Anthony Sherwood.”

Eve called the child in an icy voice, stripped of all warmth.

“Where did you learn such filthy words?”

She had no reason to defend Chantal. She scolded him solely out of a desire for Tony to grow up to be a decent person.

“Never let me hear those words from your mouth again. If you disobey, you will be punished.”

“Why not? Who decides that?”

The child showed no remorse—he talked back defiantly. If Eve said something was wrong, Chantal would stubbornly insist it was right. Because of that, the child judged right and wrong not by generally accepted norms—but by whatever benefited him.

Now Chantal was paying for it. Tony pointed at Chantal’s face and, with an incredibly innocent expression, spat out that filthy word again:

“Mom is a whore, and the doctor is a slave. Am I wrong?”

My head is splitting. Because of you, I’m suffering too. What the hell? Eve coldly looked at Chantal—then turned back to Tony.

“Even if it’s true, you mustn’t say words that hurt others. It’s not polite.”

“They’re both below me in status. Why should I be polite to them?”

No need to be polite to those below you in status. The moment Tony uttered the same words Harry had spoken years ago, Eve’s heart dropped. On her son’s angelic face appeared the ghost of the devil she had hated and despised her whole life.

If I don’t nip this in the bud, one day my son might grow up to be a devil. Eve resolved to use the cruelest, most extreme measure she had been holding back for so long.

“Tony, you’re so like Harry.”

Tony was shocked—as if he’d heard a curse from his sister. He had never met Harry, but he had heard to the point of nausea about who he was and how he died.

“Do you want Chantal to kill you, like Ethan Fairchild killed Harry? Don’t forget—one day, those you insult will come to kill you.”

The medicine worked instantly. Tony went pale—and found no words to argue.

Eve had suppressed the plague that had spread even to her child—but she felt nothing but bitter defeat. The name “Ethan Fairchild” was not an extreme measure for her—it was poison. What’s more, she had made her child afraid of his own father.

I’m a terrible mother.

Chantal glared venomously at the sighing Eve—as if ordering her not to drive a wedge between them—then turned to the child with an angelic face.

“Is your stepsister slandering your stepmother again? Why would Mom want to kill you? I love you—my precious treasure.”

Tony violently pushed away Chantal, who was trying to hug him.