I Ran Away And The Reverse Harem Started Chapter 122

At that very moment, at the Bullosen family estate.

After reading the article in the newspaper, Yvette went into her father’s bedroom early that morning. Sunlight streamed through the window as she pulled the curtains open. Madam Bullosen was already sitting at the bedside, helping the viscount sit up as he woke from sleep.

“What are you saying? You found Irene? This isn’t a dream… is it?”

“It’s not a dream, Father. It’s real.”

The viscount looked at his wife and eldest daughter in disbelief, glancing back and forth between them. He was still in a daze. They had found the daughter they had searched for over twenty years—what could possibly have happened while he slept?

He turned to his wife, confused.

“Then why isn’t the child here? Why didn’t she come back with you?”

Madam Bullosen hesitated for a moment before replying.

“Dear… she sees us as strangers.”

“What did you say?”

The viscount stared at his wife, not understanding. A flicker of confusion passed through the eyes that had briefly lit up with hope at the thought of their daughter’s return.

“She’s our daughter—my child.  How can she possibly see us as strangers?”

“Dear…”

A flash of sorrow crossed his pale blue eyes. Loss, emptiness, disbelief—all tangled together. Yvette remained silent, while Madam Bullosen, as if trying to calm him, gently placed her hand over his and offered a soft smile.

“It’s been twenty years. A full twenty years.”

“……”

“Even I didn’t recognize her right away. Too much time has passed… And maybe, somewhere along the way, we gave up on the hope of ever finding her—so much so that I couldn’t even imagine she might be our daughter. She didn’t recognize me either.”

“But still…”

The viscount couldn’t hide his devastation. Though he still carried himself like the dignified man he had always been, to both his wife and daughter, he looked terribly small just then. His shoulders drooped and his body trembled. His voice was filled with pain.

“How could the world be so cruel? We searched desperately for Irene—if there’s a god, how could this happen? How could parents fail to recognize their own daughter? How could she not know us?”

“Darling, I understand your pain.”

“……”

“But we must be the ones to understand her. If we wait… if we give her time, she’ll open her heart to us.”

“……”

“You can’t imagine how lovely a young lady she’s grown into. You’ll see her soon enough. She may not run into our arms like we always imagined, but we always said it, didn’t we? That all we wanted was to know she was alive.”

“……”

“So let’s be thankful. Thankful that she survived and grew up safely.
Yes?”

“……”

“She may not remember us… But Irene is alive. Our daughter is alive, and for that, we can be grateful. Everything else—time will take care of it.”

Madam Bullosen gently patted her husband’s shoulder. Though his face remained clouded, he gave a small nod, as if there was nothing else he could do. The two held each other for a moment.

Still, compared to those twenty long years of fearing their daughter might be gone forever, knowing she was alive was more than they could have hoped for.

Yvette waited until their emotions had calmed a little, then stepped closer.

“Also… there’s something you need to see, Father.”

“What is it?”

Yvette handed him the newspaper she had received early that morning from the capital press. On the front page, in bold letters, was the headline: “The Fake Saintess Who Deceived the Entire Kingdom.”

Inside were the full details of the saintess kidnapping conspiracy—every part the viscount needed to know. It was all laid out far more clearly than words could explain.

“Please read it quickly, Father. The reporters will be here before noon.”

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, at the time when Yvette and Madam Bullosen had gone to see the viscount, Deborah was walking through the halls of the estate.
She, too, had visited the Bullosen family estate often and was very familiar with it.

She descended the stairs to the basement. There, artwork was stored. But Deborah passed the art room and headed straight to the very end.

At the end of the hallway was a large portrait. Currently, it depicted Yvette and Irene’s grandparents—the previous Viscount and Viscountess of the Bullosen family.

Her eyes fell especially on the former viscountess, her red hair tied up.

Deborah looked at the portrait of the couple for a moment, then grabbed the right edge of the frame and pushed it slightly to the side.
With a grinding sound, the wall beside it moved back, revealing a hidden room.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Deborah said.

In the corner of the narrow, windowless room stood a guild member, stationed there for protection and surveillance.

In another part of the room was a small, single bed—on which Rumiz was curled up, sleeping with her back turned.

This room had been built as a secret shelter in case of war or air raids. Only members of the Bullosen family knew about it. Even if someone broke in, they would never know of its existence.

That made it the perfect place to both guard and protect Rumiz.

“Could I have a moment alone with her? You can go grab some breakfast if you’d like.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Of course.”

Deborah smiled faintly, as if drawn with a brush.

The guild member gave a respectful nod and exited the room. Once again, with a grinding sound, the wall closed shut. Despite the loud noise, Rumiz did not turn around.

“I know you’re not actually asleep.”

“…”

“Let’s talk.”

Deborah didn’t seem to care whether Rumiz responded or not. She dragged over the chair the guard had been using and sat close to the bed. Only then did Rumiz, with a resigned look, sit up.

“What do you want? I’ve been staying as quiet as a mouse.”

She looked at Deborah with a slightly annoyed expression. Deborah placed a newspaper right next to her.

“First, read what came out in the morning paper.”

“…”

“By lunchtime, journalists or people from the temple will be barging in. The whole capital will be in chaos—after all, the saintess they believed in for twenty years has turned out to be a fake.”

“What is it you’re trying to say to me?”

Rumiz turned her gaze away from the paper. Deborah stared intently at her and calmly asked,

“I said it before. Why are you suddenly being so quiet and cooperative?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I want to know. Why, after twenty years, are you suddenly helping us? Why are you, who’ve been living quietly like a mouse in the capital, only now confessing your crime?”

“…”

“When the guild found you, I’m sure you knew immediately. That they were there because of the Irene Bullosen kidnapping case. You could’ve run. You’re a clever woman.”

“You flatter me, but I’m afraid it won’t get you anything.”

Rumiz gave a sardonic smile. Deborah stared at her steadily.

“If it were really guilt, you could’ve come to me earlier. You could’ve confessed to a newspaper. But no—you only admitted it once you were caught by the guild. And now you say you’re ready to accept punishment. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to anyone?”

Deborah narrowed her eyes and spoke in a calm, even tone. She didn’t believe it was guilt. Someone who had gone so far as to make up a fake identity just to abandon a child couldn’t possibly be ruled by conscience now.

Deborah didn’t trust Rumiz—there was always a stench of deceit around her.

“Or is this another scheme? Did you secretly make a deal with my father? Did he offer you money to take all the blame by confessing?”

“I swear it’s been ten years since I last saw the Baron. There was no scheming.”

“Then why are you suddenly confessing now? I know you have a son and a daughter. You’re older now—but confessing means you’ll be imprisoned in front of your children.”

Deborah pressed her hard.

“If I give the word, the guild will dig up everything about your life. Where you lived, what job you held, what kind of life you led—everything.”

“…”

“Don’t make me go that far, Rumiz.”

Rumiz hesitated. At the mention of her children, a flicker of misery passed over her face.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she suddenly covered it with her hand and coughed harshly.

“Cough—hack!”

She covered her mouth with her sleeve. A violent fit of coughing followed. Deborah’s eyes widened in shock as bright red blood stained Rumiz’s clothes.

“…You!”

Deborah shot up from her seat. Rumiz finally managed to catch her breath. Her teeth and jaw were already stained deep red.

Between gasps, Rumiz spoke.

“You asked why I’m turning myself in now, didn’t you?”

The metallic scent of blood filled the room. Still gasping, she slid her eyes over to Deborah. Her gray eyes had gone dull and murky.

A faint smile spread across her grotesquely aged face.

“I don’t care whether I go to trial or not. Even if the judge gives me decades in prison, it doesn’t matter. Because I…”

“…”

“…was recently told I don’t have long to live. Tuberculosis.”

With blood still at her mouth, Rumiz gave a mad, hollow laugh.

“They said I have only a few months left. I’ll die soon after being sent to prison.”

Deborah clenched her fists and stared at her as if she were looking at something vile. Now she understood why this wretched woman had finally fallen into their hands.

She wanted to escape into death after easing her conscience—without truly paying for her crimes.

After abandoning another’s child and living her life in comfort, now, with death closing in, she wanted to confess and be forgiven by the gods.

Rumiz wiped her mouth with the other sleeve and said,

“But since I’ve confessed, I’ll be forgiven in the goddess’s name, won’t I? Saintess.”

 

 

 

****

 

 

At that moment, an unwelcome guest arrived at Roan’s townhouse in the capital.

On the second floor, royal guards were stationed everywhere. Roan, Colin, and Lucas stood in the lobby with grim faces, glancing up at the second floor. They had been practically chased down to the first floor by the guards.

“That lunatic—how dare he kick the homeowner out of his own house? He bursts in uninvited and thinks he can do anything just because he’s king?!”

“Roan, the guards can hear you.”

Colin gave him a warning glance, but Roan glared up at the guards, eyes blazing.

“Let them hear. That’s why I’m saying it. Go ahead, try throwing me in jail!”

Meanwhile, Daniel sat awkwardly in his guest room on the third floor. Across from him sat a man with blue-black hair, legs crossed, staring at him with clear irritation.

The king’s foot nearly touched the edge of the table—as if ready to kick it away.

Looking into his cup of swirling red tea, the king asked,

“Do you know something, Duke Drunia?”

“…”

“I’m in the mood to throw this tea in your face.”