Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Father's Room
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Rebecca stared down at my bundle of snacks with her eyes wide in astonishment.
She inquired hesitantly if I intended to forgo my treats, my lady.
I informed her that I would not be consuming them.
I instructed her that when hunger eventually struck, she should finely grind walnuts and almonds to mix into milk for me.
I explained that protein shakes were an absolute necessity to prevent any loss of muscle mass.
She stammered her assent and requested a brief moment to record my instructions.
I waited for Rebecca to finish scribbling her notes with frantic diligence before I continued.
I directed her to prepare a simple salad for me at half past five, just before I departed for my physical training.
The meal was to consist of lettuce, tomatoes, and boiled chicken breast cut into manageable pieces.
I emphasized that there must be no salt added and absolutely no dressing provided.
She responded with a vigorous exclamation of obedience.
It seemed she had detected a newfound sense of resolve within me.
Rebecca’s eyes shimmered with a spark of excitement as if my transformation were a personal victory for her.
Her enthusiasm was quite endearing and reminded me of a devoted younger sister.
I offered her a gentle smile before adopting a more serious demeanor once again.
I noted that I needed to begin my workouts, but an immediate problem required my attention first.
Rubette’s chamber was overflowing with extravagant gowns, restrictive corsets, and delicate silk nightgowns.
There was not a single garment within the room that was suitable for physical exertion.
I realized that running ten laps around the training grounds while wearing a formal dress was an impossible task.
I commanded her to schedule an appointment with a tailor for this evening.
***
After instructing Rebecca to summon the tailor, I proceeded directly toward the private quarters of the Duke of Diorus.
The chamber belonging to my father was situated at the furthest end of the manor’s third floor and was the very embodiment of melancholy.
A palpable chill lingered in the corridor from the moment I approached.
The massive and firmly sealed door appeared as though it would never yield, regardless of how forcefully one might knock.
Old Rob, the head butler, was positioned like a sentry by the entrance as I had anticipated.
He greeted me with a look of surprise and inquired about the purpose of my visit.
I responded by asking what he thought my purpose might be, stating that I had come to see my father.
He appeared utterly bewildered by my declaration.
It was unprecedented for Rubettria Diorus, who had lived under a veil of secret abuse, to seek out the duke.
Rob’s eyes flickered with a combination of confusion and visible displeasure before he lowered his voice with caution.
He informed me that the Grand Duchess was currently away from the manor.
He suggested that I should wait until she returned from her rest before attempting to see him.
The Grand Duchess of this household was Molga Diorus.
She had strictly prohibited any form of interaction between my father and me, fearing that I might utter something indiscreet.
Because of her interference, I was rarely ever able to even catch a glimpse of him without her supervision.
However, by a fortunate stroke of luck, Molga was currently absent from the manor just as Rob had mentioned.
This represented one of those rare and precious opportunities to speak with my father directly.
I crossed my arms with a casual air and remarked on the strangeness of his suggestion.
I questioned why a daughter would be forbidden from visiting her father within his own residence.
I noted that it was beyond ridiculous for a mere butler to dictate terms to the daughter of a duchess without any regard for proper manners.
Rob blinked in disbelief as if he were doubting the accuracy of his own hearing.
I acknowledged that he was advanced in years and might be suffering from a loss of hearing, but noted that such a condition was his own burden to bear.
I advised him not to compel his lady to repeat herself and thereby exhaust her efforts needlessly.
I offered a sweet and disarming smile while patting his shoulder.
I reminded him that he must adhere to the fundamental duties of a servant if he wished to continue being supported by this family’s wealth.
He stammered in confusion, seemingly unable to comprehend my sudden change in attitude.
I demanded that he open the door immediately, expressing my irritation at having to state it multiple times.
Only then did the old butler begin to tremble with a visible surge of anger.
It was absurd for a common servant to exhibit such indignation, yet this insolent behavior toward the lady of the house had been the standard until yesterday.
I reflected on his nature as a cunning and opportunistic man who had facilitated Rubette’s isolation.
He had served as Molga’s loyal watchdog, ensuring that I remained entirely separated from my father and brothers.
He remarked snidely that my recent dramatic episode appeared to have truly unhinged my mind.
He mentioned that he was aware that I had even struck Young Master Riki.
He sneered while adjusting his monocle and regaining his composure.
He informed me that the Grand Duchess would provide further training in proper etiquette upon her return.
He commanded me to remain quietly confined to my room until that time arrived.
His choice of words was a clear attempt to intimidate me with the threat of Molga’s soul-crushing lessons.
Those sessions of verbal abuse and mental torture were events that the original Rubette had come to dread with a pathological intensity.
I remarked that it was fortunate he was already aware of my unstable mental state.
Without a moment of hesitation, I shoved past him and struck the door forcefully with my foot from a high angle.
The sound of the impact echoed through the hallway as I repeated the action multiple times.
The startled butler flailed about in a desperate attempt to restrain me from kicking the door further.
I grinned with a wicked delight as the old man sputtered in a state of complete shock.
I threatened to inform my father personally that his head butler had lost his hearing.
I suggested that such a disability would surely make him unfit to continue his service within this noble household.
Rob turned pale and stared at the firmly shut door with a look of extreme tension.
The heavy door eventually began to creak open slowly and a distinct chill emanated from within the room.
Through the narrow opening, I caught sight of a man whose expression was profoundly somber and desolate.
He inquired with a hollow voice about the reason for the disturbance.
He possessed a tall stature and pale skin, accompanied by golden eyes that seemed entirely unfocused.
Dark circles under his eyes extended down toward his jawline and his face was completely devoid of any warmth or emotion.
This man was my father, Duke Leonard Diorus.
He looked down at me with indifferent eyes as if I were a stranger who had arrived unexpectedly.
I informed him that I had come because I possessed something important to tell him.
He asked for clarification with a curt and weary tone.
Rob attempted to intervene by claiming that the disturbance was nothing and that he could handle my needs personally.
He offered an apology for interrupting the duke’s afternoon rest.
I insisted that I had something to say to my father directly now that I was standing before him.
The duke remained silent for a moment as the butler’s voice rose in a state of panic.
My father, who harbored an intense distaste for noise, immediately scowled at the butler’s outburst.
Rob fell into an immediate silence as he observed the duke’s expression darkening with irritation.
The duke commanded me to enter as he pushed the door open wider with a weary sigh.
I cast a triumphant smirk toward the flustered butler as I slipped into the room.
I slammed the door shut directly in his face to ensure our privacy.
The room was plunged into absolute darkness the moment the sliver of light from the doorway disappeared.
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and heard my father’s slow and heavy footsteps.
The room brightened slightly as he lit a single candle on the table near the sofa.
He asked once more for the reason for my presence in a curt and dismissive manner.
He slumped onto the sofa as if his very bones were heavy and propped his chin up with his hand.
I realized that his condition was even more dire than I had previously imagined.
Despite his neglect, he was a man of striking beauty at thirty-six years of age, possessing fiery red hair and golden eyes identical to my own.
Had it not been for the oppressive gloom and the overwhelming stench of alcohol, I might have been moved to tears by his radiant appearance.
However, the reality of his state was far more discouraging.
His shirt was partially unbuttoned and his eyes were glazed over from the effects of constant drinking.
I noted with a silent clicking of my tongue that he had become a total wreck of a man.
As the candlelight revealed the liquor bottles scattered across the table, I could not help but feel a sense of profound disappointment.
I released a heavy sigh of exasperation instead of providing an immediate answer.
I dismissed my initial impressions of our meeting and walked directly toward the curtained window.
I pulled back the heavy blackout curtains with a decisive motion, allowing the sunlight to flood into the room.
I noted that the space was in desperate need of proper ventilation.
I threw the window open with considerable force and felt the rush of fresh air into the stuffy environment.
I turned back to see my father grimacing and shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness like a creature of the night tormented by the sun.
He appeared too lethargic to even question my strange and intrusive behavior.
Instead of speaking, he began to rummage slowly through his shirt pocket.
He produced a cigarette case, placed one in his mouth, and proceeded to light it.
I was utterly dumbfounded by the sight of him smoking in the presence of his young daughter.
I reflected on the daunting task of where to even begin my criticisms of his behavior.
I recognized that he was drowning himself in vice as a way to grieve for his late wife, a path that would lead to his death in three years.
I realized that time was running out and that he must be compelled to abandon these destructive habits immediately.
As he inhaled deeply until his cheeks appeared hollow, I commanded him to extinguish the cigarette.
He asked for clarification with a look of dull surprise.
I wondered if the habit of making people repeat themselves was a hereditary trait in this family.
I covered my nose and mouth to show my profound displeasure before repeating my command.
I asked if he truly expected me to breathe in his toxic secondhand smoke while I was standing right beside him.
Only then did a faint glimmer of awareness return to his unfocused golden eyes.
He blinked as his eyes widened slightly and he looked between my irritated face and the cigarette in his hand.
With a look of lingering confusion, he finally stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table.