Chapter 137
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 137
Her exhausting struggle for a peaceful life had never ended, following her from her family home all the way to Reinhardt Manor.
Then, one night, Ernst told her to follow him. He led her to the back garden, where he pointed to the trees planted here and there. They would likely bloom by next year, he said.
“What kind of trees are these?”
“Lilacs. …Do you not like them?”
No. She didn’t particularly like them. In fact, she detested them.
They were the flowers that had bloomed in abundance around her ruined family home; the mere scent of lilacs brought back memories of that place. Yet, Charlotte had smiled and said she loved them. She had even thanked him. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. No matter how hard she racked her brain, she could not recall ever mentioning that she liked lilacs. Why on earth had he made such an assumption?
Ernst stared at her quietly before speaking in a heavy tone.
“Is there anything you are hiding from me?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Ernst did not press her further.
The man who had unilaterally decided to gift her an unexpected lilac garden remained as distant as ever. He still held her from time to time, but whenever he did, his face would contort—as if he were forcing himself through an unwanted chore solely for the purpose of producing an heir.
The following year, the lilacs Ernst planted bloomed, and she became pregnant with his child.
The previous king, who had arranged her marriage to Ernst, had explicitly warned her never to bear a child. But what was she supposed to do now that she was already pregnant? Besides, Charlotte had never intended to keep that promise anyway. Only with a proper heir would her position in this house finally be secure.
The goddess of fate was on her side.
Her very first child was a boy. A boy who looked exactly like his father.
On the day the baby was born, Ernst came to see his child. It was the first time he had ever stepped into her chambers of his own accord.
Even for that cold-blooded man, a son seemed to be special. After staring at the newborn for a long time, Ernst named him on the spot.
“Oscar. Oscar von Reinhardt. What do you think?”
“Oscar… It’s wonderful.”
Charlotte, once nothing more than the illegitimate daughter of a ruined family, had not only become the true Marchioness of Reinhardt but was now also the mother of the next Marquis.
A husband of immense wealth and power, a son who looked exactly like him and would inherit it all, and herself.
There could be no family more perfect than this. It no longer mattered if Ernst treated her coldly.
Charlotte was overjoyed with the perfect life she had finally secured. She felt she would do absolutely anything to protect this happiness. On the rare days a sudden pang of anxiety struck, she would take Oscar and visit Ernst.
“May I come in for a moment?”
Whenever she brought Oscar to his office, Ernst never turned her away, no matter how busy he was. His subordinates, the Wolves, all of whom exuded a fierce and intimidating aura, would naturally step aside and bow their heads to her, the Marchioness, and to Oscar, the future Marquis.
“I think Oscar wanted to see his father. He kept…”
“Dada! Dada!”
“Look at him.”
The Wolves who had bowed to Oscar chuckled in admiration.
“It sounds like the Young Lord is calling Your Excellency ‘Papa’!”
“Indeed! His pronunciation is already so clear!”
Ernst, sitting behind his massive desk, let out a soft chuckle and stood. Dropping to one knee to meet the child’s eye level, he opened his arms wide.
“Come here, Oscar.”
Watching her son toddle toward Ernst, and seeing Ernst scoop him up into his arms, always brought a smile to her face. It was only in those moments that Charlotte could see his genuine smile. And even though she knew that smile was not meant for her, it didn’t matter. She was Oscar’s mother, after all.
It was around that time that the existence of the previous king, the very man who had made her the Marchioness, began to grate on her nerves.
Sure enough, the previous king made another demand.
“A man will visit the manor soon. All you have to do is open the gates for him and take him in as one of the household staff.”
The man she let into the manor was sharp-featured and handsome. Yet, strangely, the moment she turned her back, she could barely recall his face. Before she knew it, he had blended in among the Wolves under the name ‘Peter.’
It was chilling.
Charlotte lived in constant dread of when the king might demand another favor. She began to agonize over how she could free herself from his clutches, but fortunately, the king did not summon her again.
Instead, Ernst suddenly announced he was taking the vanguard in a war on behalf of the royal family.
“Why must you go to war? I truly do not understand why Reinhardt has to fight a war that belongs to the royal family.”
Charlotte opposed his departure with every fiber of her being. She wept and clung to him, begging him not to go, asking what would become of her and Oscar if he abandoned them.
But Ernst remained utterly indifferent. Staring coldly down at her as she pleaded, he asked that same chilling question once more.
“Is there nothing you are hiding from me?”
Her heart sank, but Charlotte answered without a moment’s hesitation, just as she had before.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing!”
“Then you…” he trailed off. “Do you intend to remain a mother to Oscar until the very end?”
His face, as he asked that, was twisted with pain. A sudden wave of fear washed over Charlotte, but she forced herself to speak with even greater conviction.
“What on earth are you talking about? I am Oscar’s mother!”
“Keep that promise.”
Ernst stared at her quietly for a moment before turning away. That was the last time she saw him.
“Ernst!”
In the end, he didn’t even say goodbye. When she opened her eyes the next morning, he was already gone.
He had left both her and Oscar behind.
Had he somehow discovered her true identity? The thought terrified her, but Ernst had never said a word about it. He hadn’t thrown her out of the manor, nor had he punished her. Surely, that meant he didn’t know.
Charlotte wrote to him every single day. She chose her stationery with meticulous care, writing and rewriting her words over and over. Once finished, she sent the letters to Ernst as he moved from one battlefield to the next.
In every single letter, she desperately begged him to return, telling him how much she needed him.
He never once replied. Eventually, exhausted and desperate, she sent a letter demanding to know why he had to fight this war.
Ernst did not reply to that either. She even cornered the Wolves and begged them for answers, but to no avail.
The perfect life she had yearned for so desperately was being shattered by Ernst. Charlotte could not comprehend his actions.
Why? Why on earth?
As her life crumbled because of him, Charlotte's attachment to House Reinhardt began to fade.
Then, the final blow came: that woman arrived.
Barbara Wald, who claimed to have come on the Marquis’s orders, seemed utterly determined to separate Oscar from her. By then, Charlotte couldn’t have cared less.
All she needed was Oscar as the vessel to inherit the vast wealth of House Reinhardt. A young son who required constant care and attention was nothing but a nuisance.
By the time House Reinhardt had been reduced to a mere hollow shell, the previous king contacted her once more.
She found it almost laughable that he was reaching out now, when the family was already ruined. What was left for him to exploit? Besides, by then, the king himself was visibly ravaged by illness.
At their secret meeting, the man who had been hiding among the Wolves under the name ‘Peter’ stood by the king’s side.
“You failed to keep your promise to me. I explicitly told you not to bear a child, yet you went ahead and handed Ernst a son. Even so, I did not punish you.”
“…”
“This time, you must keep your word. It is not difficult. A trivial matter, really. You only need to write a letter to your husband, exactly as I dictate.”
“A letter, you say?”
“Yes. I hear you used to send them to him incessantly.”
The contents of the letter he dictated were utterly absurd. It was a preposterous note claiming she was in so much agony that she was going to end her life, begging Ernst to come to a specific location to retrieve her corpse.
“…Why are you asking me to write such a letter?”
“You do not need to know.”
“Are you planning to send soldiers there to kill the Marquis?”
“That is none of your concern.”
Charlotte let out a hollow laugh. “Surely you don’t think he will actually come just because of a letter from me?”
“Then it matters even less, doesn’t it? Just write the letter. Ernst never replied to you once, did he? He probably didn’t even bother to open them.”
“Then why on earth must I write this…”
“This is the end. This is the very last thing I will ever ask of you.”
“…Swear to me that you will never demand anything of me again.”
The previous king scoffed at her audacity but gave his word that he would never summon her again—and he kept it. On the day the king died, Charlotte burned the written pledge, leaving nothing but ashes.
The letter, written exactly as the king had dictated, was sent to Ernst. Of course, he likely never even read it.
A few weeks later, news of Ernst’s death arrived.
Charlotte never asked anyone where or how he had died. She didn’t want to know.
She simply could no longer bear to remain in the manor where he had lived, nor did she have the strength to deal with the ruins of what was left behind.