I Ran Away And The Reverse Harem Started Chapter 112

Rosieta looked at Yvette with a puzzled expression. Yvette’s face was like a flawless porcelain doll. The faint smile and any trace of emotion had disappeared, leaving behind only a cold, impassive aura.

“My father’s only wish before he dies is to see Irene, even just once. My parents said they would give up on her because of me, but I want to grant my father’s final wish. Only then… will I be able to let go of this regret too.”

Yvette clenched her fist tightly for a moment, then sat back down beside Rosieta and met her eyes.

Though the two of them shared the same bench, the distance between them felt vast.

Yvette gripped her fist again, tighter.

“My father doesn’t have much time left. At best, six months… Even just this morning, he had sudden chest pains and we had to urgently call for the doctor. He might not even last until the end of the year.”

Though she stated the desperate situation plainly, Yvette kept her face emotionless. But there was no way she felt nothing. It was just a mask.

Yvette always hid behind a thick, solid mask. She acted like nothing could touch her, but inside, she was already breaking apart. She just didn’t want to be seen as weak.

And yet here she was, casting aside all resignation, making a shameless, inappropriate request.

“…”

Rosieta looked at her in silence, as if trying to find the crack in that flawless mask. Then, she finally parted her lips.

“I think I understand what you’re saying.”

“…”

“You want me, someone who’s not even your real sister, to fulfill your father’s wish. You’re asking me to pretend to be her.”

“That’s right. And I know better than anyone how disrespectful this must sound to you. I know it’s a selfish and outrageous request.”

“Yes. It really is…”

She didn’t deny it. Yvette’s request was clearly inappropriate. Even between nobles and commoners, there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed as human beings.

Rosieta looked at her, full of things left unsaid. She had come expecting a simple errand. But Yvette’s request was far beyond her understanding, too heavy to process.

Yvette straightened her posture and said firmly,

“I told you—I would do anything for my family. Even if you were to scold me or slap me, I wouldn’t take this request back.”

She was genuinely prepared to offer her cheek for as many slaps as it took.

Yvette knew how outrageous her request was. Even if Rosieta got angry and yelled, she wouldn’t be able to argue back.

That was how important her father’s wish was to her. She didn’t want to let him die feeling powerless.

Her father had spent his life tirelessly searching for Irene, and she couldn’t bear to let him close his eyes in vain.

But deep down, maybe this request was easier to make because Rosieta was a stranger.

She resembled the sister they lost, but after this, they were unlikely to cross paths again.

And perhaps sensing Yvette’s reasoning, Rosieta gave a faint, bitter smile.

“This will hurt me.”

“…”

“You know that, don’t you? And you’re still asking?”

Yvette closed her lips tightly, saying nothing.

Rosieta’s reaction was a little different from what she’d expected. She thought Rosieta would get angry or storm off, but she just sat with her hands folded, silent.

A few minutes passed in heavy silence before Rosieta spoke again.

“Do you really want this that badly?”

The soft, sweet-natured woman now looked at Yvette with a firm face and sharp voice.

Yvette had braced herself for reproach. She had even steeled herself for a slap. So what more could be said?

But contrary to her expectations, Rosieta said something surprising.

“Yes. I said I’d help you, didn’t I? Because you helped me.”

“…”

“If you really want it, I’ll do it. I’ll go see the viscount and pretend to be the lost second daughter.”

Yvette’s blue eyes widened. She had never imagined Rosieta would accept so easily.

“But you’re making a big mistake, Lady Yvette.”

“What… mistake do you mean?”

Rosieta frowned slightly, her voice rising, filled with frustration.

“Do you really think the viscount and his wife—your parents—would want that?”

“…”

“You think they’ll be happy to have someone pretend to be their second daughter just because she looks similar? Do you really believe that’s what they want? Do you not know your own parents at all?”

Yvette opened her mouth to reply but then stubbornly shut it. She didn’t want to answer.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew this was deception—just pretending not to see the truth.

Yvette turned her head away, and Rosieta let out a soft sigh. Then she murmured something under her breath.

“Honestly, why is everyone around me like this?”

“…”

“That portrait you showed me earlier—do you know how it looked to me?”

“…”

“It looked so happy. Warm and ideal.”

“That was when there were four of us.”

Rosieta pounded her chest with frustration and shouted,

“Then why don’t you think of a way for three people to be happy?!”

“…”

“You were four and now you’re three, so the hole feels too big. But now, the three of you should try to be happy. It’s been twenty years. Twenty years!”

“…”

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but do you really think the viscount and his wife will thank you for bringing in a stand-in?”

Yvette slowly turned her head to meet Rosieta’s eyes. Their gazes met in midair. And for that moment, Rosieta didn’t back down at all.

“The moment they find out it was all a lie, a rift will form in your family that you won’t be able to repair. And then you won’t be able to be happy as three either. I guarantee it.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? If things go on like this, my father will die just like this…”

Yvette’s face twisted in pain. She let out the words before she even realized it—half a complaint, half a cry. In that moment, she overlapped with the little girl in the solo portrait—the sulky, hurting Yvette from long ago.

She was probably someone who had rarely ever complained to others. Someone who always just quietly took care of things on her own.

Yvette was consumed by obsession. An obsession that she had to do something for her father before he passed away.

An obsession that, since her parents had lived with heartbreak for twenty years, she—his child—had to give them some kind of compensation.

Rosieta understood that it must hurt. After all, the viscount didn’t have much time left.

But…

Rosieta could relate to Yvette’s sense of obligation, at least to some extent. She herself had always felt indebted to Lynne’s family, who fed and sheltered her for over ten years.

‘But this is different. Completely different.’

Rosieta let go of the tension in her shoulders and exhaled deeply through her nose. Her shoulders finally relaxed.

“You just asked what you should do, right? It’s something I told Daniel too…”

“…”

“Just don’t do anything. And stop trying to take responsibility for them.”

Yvette frowned, as if she couldn’t understand.

“No, I can’t possibly…”

“They’re not children, Lady Yvette.”

Rosieta straightened her back and spoke firmly.

“You don’t have to take responsibility for them. Their feelings belong to them. Don’t carry the weight of healing your parents’ pain on your own shoulders.”

“…”

“Stop worrying about your parents for now, and start tending to your own wounds. Isn’t that why they told you they were going to stop looking for Irene—because they want you to move forward?”

Rosieta was sure that Yvette had always been a good child. Seeing her parents suffer from such a young age, of course she would’ve wanted to do something for them.

But Yvette was trying to fix their pain with her own hands. Rosieta saw that as foolish in a way.

Yvette, seemingly at a loss for words, fell silent.

“Still, if you insist on me playing the part, I’ll do it. But once I do, I’ll have no reason to see you again. And your parents will only be hurt all over again.”

Rosieta was confident. Yvette’s plan wouldn’t bring peace to anyone.

“The only way your parents can be happy is if you, their daughter, are happy. Do you really think they’ll find joy in watching you suffer and struggle for their sake?”

“…”

“You don’t have to carry the burden of their emotions.”

“But I’m their daughter. I just…”

Her lips trembled with anguish.

She just wanted to grant her father’s final wish. To tell him those twenty long years hadn’t been in vain…

But deep down, Yvette knew this was an excuse. As Rosieta had said, other people’s emotions weren’t hers to manage—and didn’t need to be.

In truth, this deception was for Yvette herself. If her father died without closure, she’d be left behind—empty-handed, alone.

Only now did she realize her own arrogance.

Her pale face was framed by messy strands of golden hair. She was speechless. Rosieta’s words echoed in her ears.

‘My own happiness…’

Could her happiness really bring peace to her parents? Could their wounds actually heal?

She slowly cast her gaze beyond the gazebo.

From across the garden, a breeze blew, stirring the air between them. The scent of flowers carried with it an unexpected sadness.

The periwinkle hydrangeas at the garden’s edge sparkled faintly with moisture. The sun, emerging from behind the clouds, cast soft light into the little gazebo.

And then, from somewhere in the garden, came the lingering echo of a gentle voice:

‘Look, Yvette. Bees and butterflies.’