I Slept with the Villain Holding My Hand Chapter 122

“Extra! Extra!”  

 

A young boy’s voice pierced the dim dawn light.  

 

At this early hour, the newspaper offices hadn’t even opened yet. What he clutched in his hands was a gossip rag—filled with rumors and eavesdropped tidbits.  

 

Though nobles sneered at its vulgarity, commoners found nothing more entertaining.  

 

Here, for once, the ones being torn apart were the aristocrats, while the ones printing the words were ordinary folk.  

 

No wonder the nobility despised it.  

 

Yet the demand for such scandal sheets had persisted since their inception, proving impossible to eradicate.  

 

And occasionally—just occasionally—they contained credible news.  

 

Ariene wondered if the noblewoman’s disappearance had made headlines. But when she glanced at the paper, she was met with entirely unexpected news:  

 

[Mysterious explosion at Etowas Forest hunting tournament—royal family member caught in the blast…]  

 

Her green-colored eyes widened slowly.  

 

Ariene couldn’t suppress her shock, her hand flying to her mouth.  

 

‘A royal family member? Who? Surely not—’  

 

She experienced firsthand how one’s vision could truly go white.  

 

Thud—  

 

In the predawn stillness, a few early risers rushed over in alarm.  

 

“Miss, are you alright?”  

 

“Hey! Someone get water!”  

 

“Good heavens, she’s lost all color!”  

 

From what felt like a great height, Ariene saw faces peering down at her, forming a concerned circle. Blinking slowly, she furrowed her brows.  

 

‘I can’t collapse here. Not yet—I haven’t done anything for her yet.’  

 

Beneath her distorted expression, bloodshot eyes stared blankly upward.  

 

“Oh dear! Child!”  

 

A hoarse voice cut through the gathering crowd.  

 

An elderly woman pushed her way forward. Ariene, still on the ground, blinked slowly—as if trying to recall something.  

 

‘That voice…’Oh, I’m sorry.’ 

 

It was unmistakably the same woman she’d collided with in the alley.  

 

“What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you not to come out?”  

 

The familiar tone made the onlookers focus on the old woman.  

 

“Do you know her?”  

 

“Y-yes. She’s my granddaughter.”  

 

At the effortless lie, Ariene’s lips parted slightly.  

 

As the crowd alternated glances between them, someone asked,  

 

“Where do you live? I’ll carry her back.”  

 

A young man bent down to lift Ariene. 

 

She felt herself being hoisted into the air and mustered the last of her strength to roll her eyes— trying to catch a glimpse of the woman impersonating her grandmother.  

 

“Thank you, thank you.”  

 

But the man carrying her was too tall.  

 

All Ariene could see were slightly frayed robes and a wrinkled hand clutching a familiar object.  

 

‘Ah. There it is.’  

 

Her jaw tightened. Because dangling from that hand was the golden ring she’d been desperately searching for.  

 

💫

 

“Ack—!”  

 

Ariene gasped violently, like someone dragged from drowning. Her eyes flew open as she whipped her head around.  

 

A small wooden bed. A lone table.  

 

This appeared to be a shabby inn room.  

 

She scowled deeply. Ariene had no idea how she’d gotten here.  

 

All she knew was that the thief who’d taken the noblewoman’s ring had brought her. The absence of sound suggested the old woman had stepped out.  

 

Outside the window, morning had already broken.  

 

“Damn it.”  

 

Her meeting with Deston was fast approaching. She’d intended to see him early—but now, precious time had been wasted.  

 

Clench—

 

Her teeth ground together. Did that woman really think Ariene would just sit here obediently, waiting in confusion?  

 

What nonsense.  

 

The moment she confirmed her limbs could move, Ariene pushed herself up. Her weakened legs wobbled, but she steadied herself.  

 

She stormed toward the door—only to collide with the old woman returning with breakfast.  

 

“Oh my…!”  

 

The woman exhaled something between a sigh and an exclamation at the sight of Ariene already on her feet.  

 

Ariene halted, brow furrowed fiercely.  

 

“You.”  

 

Despite her pallor, her glare was razor-sharp. The old woman tilted her head and let out a dry chuckle.  

 

“Who are you?” Ariene demanded.  

 

The woman only giggled in response.  

 

Beneath her lowered hat, green hair—strangely similar to Ariene’s own—peeked out.  

 

‘Ah.’  

 

Ariene’s frown deepened slightly.

 

Green hair was uncommon in the empire.  

 

Now Ariene understood why that man had so readily believed the stranger’s claim—the similar hair color must have convinced him they were related.  

 

“Careless,” she muttered, directing silent criticism at the departed man.  

 

Meanwhile, the old woman—now done laughing—rolled up her sleeve and revealed something.  

 

The noblewoman’s ring glinted on her raised finger as the Grand Duke’s magic stone hummed disapprovingly.  

 

“You need this?”  

 

Ariene instinctively checked her own pocket.  

 

‘When did she—?’

  

With an irritated sigh, she ran a hand through her hair.  

 

‘What couldn’t be taken from an unconscious person?’  

 

This old woman’s actions perfectly mirrored what Ariene had done to the noblewoman yesterday. The similarity was so exact it nearly drew a hollow laugh from her.  

 

“If you want me to have it, come inside,” Old Ariene said in a deliberately rough tone.  

 

“I’d rather not.”  

 

The ring was merely a means to an end—useful but not indispensable.  

 

Ariene smirked and turned away.  

 

“Then how about this?”  

 

When the woman proudly raised her other hand, Ariene’s eyes widened.  

 

💫

 

There hung the very ring she’d been searching for—the one meant for Deston.  

 

“…You.”  

 

Amused by her reaction, the old woman doubled over with wheezing laughter.  

 

“Give it back!”  

 

Ariene lunged forward but stumbled, nearly falling. The woman steadied her shoulder and whispered in her ear, then clutched her stomach in renewed laughter.  

 

“Where are you rushing off to?”  

 

“…?”  

 

“To that blue-haired master of yours?”  

 

The self-deprecating tone beneath the mockery made Ariene narrow her eyes.  

 

‘She knows about Helena too. Another subordinate?’

  

This could be another spy sent to check if she’d completed her mission. Ariene knew others had served as Helena’s agents before her.  

 

The woman’s composure suggested she might be worth talking to.  

 

For the first time, Ariene considered postponing Deston.  

 

And that ring… If her guess was correct, perhaps—  

 

Steadying herself, Ariene pushed past the woman back into the room.  

 

The old woman rubbed her shoulder where Ariene had shoved her.  

 

Collapsing onto the creaky bed, Ariene jerked her chin— ‘Go on, say something.’

 

The woman settled into a nearby chair.  

 

“Is Lady Helena unharmed?” Ariene asked, recalling the newspaper.  

 

The woman shrugged after a pause.  

 

“Who knows? By now, Her Highness is probably enjoying her elegant tea time.”  

 

She even pointed helpfully to a clock.  

 

Indeed, this was when Helena would be taking morning tea in the gardens—a detail only her closest attendants would know.  

 

The smugness in the answer grated on Ariene.  

 

“Are we close enough for jokes?”  

 

Her icy stare could freeze flames.  

 

Helena’s safety and happiness were Ariene’s sole priorities—every action she took was for that purpose.  

 

Even in her past life, she’d never met other servants. She had no idea how this woman earned her place at Helena’s side.  

 

But something felt off.  

 

The woman spoke of Helena without reverence and seemed an unlikely subordinate.  

 

When no answer came, Ariene tried another question, “Do you know who I am?”  

 

“Of course.”  

 

The quick confirmation confirmed Ariene’s suspicion.  

 

This situation was unforeseen. Her posture relaxed slightly—it had been so long since she’d last encountered another like herself.

  

Or perhaps this was truly the first time.  

 

Leaning forward, Ariene nodded.  

 

“So that’s how you can handle the ring.”  

 

She murmured like a detective piecing together clues.  

 

The woman watched with interest before speaking, “Knew one thing but missed the other, as expected.”  

 

‘How foolish,’ her headshake seemed to say.  

 

Ariene raised an eyebrow at the condescending tone.  

 

“What do you mean?”  

 

Slowly, the woman lifted her hand. As her hat tipped back, faded green strands spilled out—revealing a face that made Ariene’s lips part.  

 

Identical eyes locked onto each other.  

 

Wrinkles creased as the woman smiled.

  

“I’m the Witch Ariene. The original you from the true world.”